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Mary McCray Apr 2013
Today we get trochees and pyrrhic feet
slacked like the clouds of New Mexico floating
high across the blue canopy of sky.
Today we get spondees vaulting like towers,
cumulous syllables dwarfing mountains,
a vast landscape full of metric vapor.
Substitutions are what Stephen Fry calls spondees, trochees and phyrrhic feet in "An Ode Less Traveled." Our exercise today was to use them.
My timing is off
The bricks are laid
A fallen trail
Of pretty little
Puzzle pieces
That print and press
All the sickness left
I'm tired
Of making it less
Never did the trick
It sugar coats
It tastes too thick
Rain will hit
And quick tossed
Trail crossed
Will melt away
That imaginary
That you
Always create
Goodbye to the past, and the last ******* chapter of my life.
of what is a love poem
for me, to me was

always cyclical
first noun
then pronoun
then nothing

noun loves me,
pronoun loves me not

noun loved me last week
prounoun loves me not this week

noun will love me evermore,
pronoun, poe-no, nevermore

a name is a noun
a pronoun is a substitute

for matters of love I announce forevermore
only call me by name
no substitutions

even cycles must end,
only call me by noun-name,
Saint Audrey Jun 2018
Stake claim, enslave
Falling behind
A wake so odd
Cosmic, wretched truth
Will all compose
With repetition
Til all devolves

Equally wrong choices, with dire stakes
Options weighed, time again

Derived presets, and presupposition
Derivative motion,  placed on this clean slate
And left for a lifetime
Of horrid substitutions
Revolute Jay Sep 2012
Nothing is indestructible.
We all know most things can be broken.
At home, in your friend’s toy chest
Breaking things in a place you’re considered a guest
I guess,
Breaking a bone hurts. I know through some testimonies
I wouldn’t know, but maybe eventually
That ninety or so broken degree
Painful message sent through the spinal cord holding me--
Underneath the thin material having been tethered.
The spine surviving endless stages of weather
Holding on to claim being a backbone helplessly held together
Hoping through each trimumph the chronic pain might feel better
Only holding onto the self as a go-getter
As life’s building blocks as the brick setter
The rain picks up
And life’s damp becomes wetter.
Just let her.

Things, as if they were pushed right over the edge
Smashed, or broken, as the smasher’s true pledge
It’s not me. These ten fingers deny
To be responsible for all the pain felt as the time passed me by

Maybe it was everything. The endless rotation of our planet.
Maybe it was this or that. ****, I have had it.
It wasn’t everything, or anything, or anyone or body
It wasn’t the unerasable ink splatter and splotting
It wasn’t the wind that knocked me over
It wasn’t the colors you’d paint me
It wasn’t the night,
It wasn’t the morning,
It wasn’t the past or present cold mourning.

It was not my limbs or the joints, or the ligaments that compose me
The fragments and pieces ] glued together intravenously

Each psalm taken in the hurricane seasons’ wrath
One, after another, too broken to cast

The two unequal hands ring based on the hour
Whose sounds was the ring of a shared life now gone sour
Because being ignored, as if I never existed is power
Unconsider yourself, at least today, that forever blooming flower.
I might be a million things. But of those not a coward.
Today you took the title with a medal to show off to the people you know
Welcome to the black and the white swan’s big show
At this point I’m the raven, she’ll never know
I was too drunk to function at the end of the show.

The curtains begin to rise, and I watch in surprise
How exposed and naked are the both of our lives
As your patience has taken time to disguise
Replacements as substitutions for the nature of the styles
We have to live life in the ways that we fight
Hoping for what we want in the end without struggle
How about perfection? I said on the double.

And those two uneven hands of the clock are due to change places
Ticking away at our concept of time
And aging our faces
The weeks pass us by
The days and the hours
Ask me who if not both of us are the coward

The giant dump truck grinds up countless materials
Making fragments of the things that existed for real
And what lasted in the bins of the emotions free wheels
Making internal rationalizations for what I tried to feel.
It’s over and over on what I wanted to seal
Were too many things to remember?
Dreams turning it all too, too real.
Turn my mind inside out I begin to expose now and peel.
How long will it take to forget
Or to heal?
I don’t know what to call this.
And idea or what’s real.
I’ll tell you what the heart asked for his final meal
Peace to believe what we did have was real.

Life keeps grinding up what treasures I’ve collected.
Forget what memories I ever recollected
All I’m asking is that I remain intact and protected.

But no one can guarantee me that.
No one can ask me to offer up my hands frostbitten with your cold
No one can ask me to bluff followed by my own fold
No one can ask me the number of me having been sold.
There was one dream and I bought it.
Except the belief in the memory is what I’ve left to have fought it.

I don’t ask or expect to ever be repaired.
But you didn’t break me, so why were you ever so scared?
Maybe for the immeasurable amount that you actually cared.
But today’s findings have left me quite frankly impaired.
I didn’t exist to you at all. I was the invisible man.
I use all my abilities to understand as I can.
But nothing makes sense to the invisible man.

So he hopes and he hopes for just one part of him to be seen.
One of his hands through the smoke in your overly-woven screen
To knowingly be holding one of yours, when your reality’s clean.
I’m the invisible man.
Pretending not to see me was a game played unclean.
I hope one day in your life he exists.
Parting through the smog and the fog and the mist
As I feel forgotten in both my clenched fists
What's left is to let go of  those fogged moments like this.

Copyright © Jimena Zavaleta 2012
DaSH the Hopeful Jul 2014
I filled my bullet holes from the inside out
Concrete substitutions for flesh laid by a man of stone
So cold to the touch in the moonlight hours
I almost forget I was ever warm
Perforated to the core of my being
My initial rebuttal to the pain i felt was to harden myself
Teach myself to live with the cold
And look towards the solid shadows I then casted for inspiration to carry on
Fool myself into believing in the wholeness of a broken man
I lived as a creation of my own twisted and transformed imagination day in and day out
Dragging along the heavy weight a shield of hate brought with it
The problem being
Behind that shield I was protected fully from any outside source of grief
But I was trapped as well
A layer of thick rage and apathy deflecting any and all other emotion
A poison that constantly ate at what was left of me
Soon I became too weak to stand
The price you pay for being invincible against all other forces is that you can never stop yourself from dying on the inside
I had built a fortress to no avail
Because I had trapped the evil within myself
On my knees, my body rotting away
What was left of my flesh began to shrink back
The concrete was losing its grip the walls of skin that held them in retreating
The evil had won
Chunks of cement fell to the ground and crumbled
The agony indescribable
I was losing the last ounce of security I had left in this world
I was weak and the heaviness of the shield left when I could no longer hold it
I was defeated
I sat awaiting a death that in my mind was the only thing left assured to me
But it never came
Instead, I saw the sun rise over the horizon
I felt its warm rays on my disfigured flesh
And all around me was illuminated
In the light I saw how horrible what I had done to myself really was
At the price of living I had bought myself immortality
Nothing more than a cruel joke
Night never came again
And eventually I stood up
The light shone through my bullet holes as I did and the last of my disgust for the world was gone
I buried the shield and the crumbled stone deep in the darkness and never went back
Because no matter what may have been in my past, no matter how much blood I had shed, I knew that now I could live,

There was morality in why women want,
but emotional voids are consumed by consumerism
and it’s redundant, but you can’t feed the starving
food. These days you can’t find one not
entranced by the idea of a “better ****** diet,”
and it sounds like they need to eat out more, but
the Glamour in magazines is under empty stomachs
and proof-labeled wine. So you find yourself at a cross,
cross-eyed and in a skeletal body running in the rain.
But if she wrote Drinking: A love story, and broke my heart,
then she can fill voids with Hegel substitutions. She filled
one with God and one with Zoloft. A baby escapes,
escape that Burroughs found only in blow-jobs and *****(
until he met a golden pig and finally blacked-in)
And in the child’s first suckling moment
“Let her be filled.”
Based on the book 'Appetites'
Is fate a myth
Or simply history
In the making?
Time has no control,
Humanity can alter in many ways,
Change is inevitable,
It eventually possesses species
To age and exist,
Change is a chain cycle,
Like repeated life and endless death,
Every time
A new creature is born,
A human is modified
Into an improved being,
Fictional characters attract
Later relations
Becoming real friends,
Emotions rain
Upon nothing,
Carelessness listens,
Rusted persons remain,
Fascination of naive substitutions,
Dissimilar appearance is shown,
It is humor,
A parody act of an individual,
Copycats are role models
Also reversed,
Prototype is modernized,
A flash realization,
Attire is just costumes,
Halloween is every day,
It is bitter
To join a daily moment
Without forgetting happiness,
An original reemerges alone,
Continuous trial and error,
Cancelled plans,
Prevention of bail,
Focus on detachment,
Enemies enhance friends,
Vice versa,
Ignorance, selfishness, and obstinacy
Play important roles
For imminent loneliness,
Layers peel off,
Phases reattach,
Advanced coating,
Flesh is fresh,
Advantage is taken
Before it rots,
Practice makes perfect,
But nobody is flawless,
So why rehearse?
Conversion is harder
Once an escape is made,
Easier to turn back to habits,
Longed antique people
Update to mainstream
For the familiar fame
Causing personal depression,
Difficulty in translation,
One false move,
One mistake
Can shape everything,
Change is for better or worse,
It is neutral,
Trust is a dare,
It shall be a risk if so,
Life is not sacred anymore,
Beautiful opportunities,
Immortal lessons,
Unfulfilled difference,
Generation increases,
Veneration decreases,
A drifter or a breather
From a mundane reality
Lived in today,
Buried childhood,
Alive adulthood,
Until skin wrinkles,
Life becomes dull,
Change is the only regret,
Eyes analyze nouns,
Burn from mutation,
Melt out of sockets,
Now fluid, now tears,
Due to Change
In this planet,
Lips are blankets,
Teeth forever hidden,
Numb dumb face,
Distressful internal scream,
Thanks to Change,
Influence should disappear,
Good or bad,
Abnormal transformation
Is inner and outer,
Every living period,
The topics,
The only events,
Violence will never change
But progress,
*** will never change
But process,
Suicide will never change
But build deaths,
Down to the physique of Earth,
Its decay,
**** sapien extinction,
Change occurs,
Past blurs out,
Present is happening,
Future will shout,
What is not needed
Is pleaded,
What is not wanted
Is taunted,
Creating temptation
To shift self,
Society ripens into rumors
Always developing
Over infinite time,
Civilization is the tumors
Of the world divine,
Of course
Looks mature,
Genes mix,
Still adjusting,
From a caterpillar
To a butterfly,
When insects die,
Old selves perish,
Where there is dead
There is still transition,
Not by action or choice,
Soul disintegrates,
Spiritual decomposition,
Sprouts regenerated seeds,
Change is sane and insane,
It is humane and inhumane,
Keeping some youth
In the heavy heart,
Offspring morph into aliens
Proving Darwin wrong,
What stays human
Is what stays pure
To hinder their contagion,
No matter what at first,
As it grows and grows,
Change is unexpected,
Social morality
Evolves into
Singular morality
Unless hate enters love,
Love is reduced
And produced,
The amount varies,
True passion figures out,
Full respect notices disguise,
Isolation underneath,
Distinct memories
Soon fade obsolete,
Exception of fragile organs,
Mind is psychologically sadden,
Recollection is to function,
If consciousness is missed,
Recreate remembrance,
For an everlasting current
Since time fluctuates eternally.
Caitie Mar 2014
when time summons you
and tells you it is your time
you must go.
reluctantly given no warning
and given no space
reluctantly understanding
thoughts you should never
have to understand.
taking precious and valuable
heart space
and shattered soul
you must go.
listen to time
as it knows best
when our minds fail to cease
our darkened thoughts
and we become violent
listen to time.
listen to its boundaries
and when it tells you to leave.
your heart, nor your head
are substitutions for time.
and if it is not your time
you will know.
forcefully or gently
time will grab you
and remove you from
the place you thought
you should be.
but don't act against it.
you will only come to a place of regret.
Nicole Joanne Aug 2017
love is more than just a language between two people.
it's several phrases, actions, and words
foreign endeavors and behaviors,
all together as one.

as those speaking acts of love,
we expect those we speak to
to understand.

but we all speak different forms of love;
compatibility of such revelations are misunderstood.

love is an adventure
a search for whose language of love,
though different from one's own,
can be interpreted and understood;
and wished to be learned.

though to learn a love is easy,
to comprehend anothers love cannot be forced.

love is tragic
an algebraic expression with several substitutions
and a million different answers;
but only one is correct in the mind of the beholder.

love can be the worst or the greatest thing;
unrequited can ****,
but when it works out;
it can live forever.

N.R 2017
Victor D López Feb 2019
Such artificial nonsense rhyme,
That can turn art into slime,
And make your thoughts not worth a dime,
And words a total waste of time.

Throw away the limiting forms,
Burn all the idiotic norms,
Old-fashioned rules apply to fools,
No one but me plays with my tools!

The new trinity is Me, Myself and I!
I set the rules for every game,
And follow none, just the same,
Anarchy rules all, and that's no lie!

Iambic pentameter? Pyrrhic substitutions?
Who the hell cares about those illusions!
Counting syllables and each line?
Grand, old, pompous idiocy most sublime!

Write a sonnet? I'd rather wear a pink bonnet!
But if I do 15 lines it will be
Why, 'cause I say so, doggone it!
And no idiot ABAB CDCD EFEF GG

I am GOD and rule it blasphemy,
To follow both hard and easy rules,
That can make heads hurt, you'll agree,
Or burn in eternal hell as reactionary fools.

There is more art in a cow's mighty ****,
Than in Milton, Shakespeare, Wordsworth and Pope,
If you can't beat them, marginalize them from the start,
Drag them through the mire to raise me up, that is my hope.

From now on all couplets shall triplets be, thus do I decree,
Come to me on bended knee and I will set you free,
Everyone's a poet, welcome to the new reality.
This was originally submitted to another poetry site a short time ago in response to a challenge to essentially write an anti-rhyme poem in rhyme. For anyone who takes this at face value and misses the point, I hear my shrink has some openings available this week. Glad to pass along her contact information . . . :)
Guadalupe Meza May 2017
Love is something that
No one will be able to understand.
Because sometimes love hurts
So bad you feel like your
Dieing inside.

But love can also feel so good,
As if you can control all
Aspects of life.

But love is so hard to find
Because we don't know what
It truly feels like.

We try to make substitutions
For that feeling.
But in the end it leaves us
farther away from that feeling.

Love can only come once
In a life time.
But sometimes it's so well
Hidden that we can look at it in the face
And let it leave us forever.
Love is a mystery to everyone.
Jimmy Timmons Jul 2014
We've reached an age where we talk at people. There's no 'to' or 'with'. We carelessly throw words around to each other hoping not to catch any unsatisfying sentences in return. Most of these substitutions for conversations are shoveled bit by bit through radio waves to small circuits in our pockets. Verbal language has become distant and alien to us. We're too content removing ourselves from the intimacy of communication that we've created societal norms that only further entrench this behavior while encouraging a facade of emotionless abandonment.

An answer other than 'good' to the masquerade of an endearing question - "how are you?" - will raise eyebrows and prompt suspicion. How far removed are we as humans from one another that a question on another's well-being is genuinely regarded as a greeting and meant to be mostly ignored and never answered honestly?

Put down your device and pick up your tongue.
Scarlet Keiller Jan 2018
Where is my language
and why can't I speak it?
It's being replaced
with a haze of Spanish eyes
and olive skin
casting shadows across itself
in the mid-morning sun.
I would be one
to remember the days
of what I could say,
words integrate,
binding my tongue to the roof of my mouth.
Colder, colder, migrating south,
hold my hand and tell me
it will be alright.
I wanted to know how the bird in flight
felt to have its feathers washed from its body,
how the decaying leaf
felt to be buried in snow.
And now all I want to know
is how it would feel
to be the world's smallest organism.
How it would feel to divide, divide,
roots so shallow I can't find my feet,
swept away by the smallest rush
of pins pushing against my body.  
How it would feel to be torn apart
in the name of science -
would I still be beautiful
if my ribs were inside out?
Would I still be beautiful
if my heart bloomed like the winter flower?
Would you love me if I could be anything,
a wasteland with a clear surface,
water being poured down the drain?
If I was a sequence,
the number of steps before the next system over,
would my DNA align just enough
to make me reflect you?
I'm hapless,
entirely theoretical,
and I'm counting the number
of substitutions I can make
before I no longer exist.
What will it take to wipe me away?
How many cells do you have to remove from my spine
before it is no longer my own?
I used to want to feel
the air breathing with me,
to know what it is
that makes the water love the earth so dearly.
Now all I want to feel
is soft skin on my hands,
the curve of my waist as I sleep,
the skin pale under the sheets,
beauty sighing from between my blue lips.
~~ Still going strong. ~~
Once upon a time
There was a boy
His life was full of
fun and joy

Waking up at six
in the morning
With a feeling everyday
is more adorning

Getting ready for the school
And waiting at the bus stop
Every day he felt
He was on the world's top

Entering into the class room
Saying hi to all
Gossiping with friends untill
Assembly call

Standing in the playground
Listening to principal's speech
All that was nonsense
Which she used to preach

Coming back to classroom
Attending all the classes
Just for staring a girl
wearing red-blue glasses

Four continuous lectures then
comes a break
So as to avoid
stress and headache

Sharing lunch boxes
Was like a business deal
what actually matters
Was getting all tasty meal

Last period used to
Pass very slowly
With the history teacher
Teaching them very lowly

When it reaches two
in the school clock
It was the time to fly
Like the bird hawk

Running Faster and faster
Down through the stairs
Coz no one likes
bus seat to share

Giggling and laughing
Screaming and shouting
All the way back to his home
Doing all nonsense with his friends
When he had time to roam

Pressing the doorbell
mom opens the door
Setting the fan speed
at three or more

Resting under the fan
And watching the television
Discovery science was
His first provision

After the lunch
Comes time for the tuitions
Coz studies do not hav
Any substitutions

From there he goes
to the football ground
To play cricket
Just for one or two rounds

Back to home asking for
a cup of horlicks
With few of almonds
In the milk to mix

Then studying in the bedroom
Doing all his homework
Finishes the everything on time
With all his hardwork

goes to the kitchen
For having some snacks
Jar of biscuits
kept on the rack

Sharing secrets
with his dad
long discussion
They used to had

Have his dinner
Then goes to bed
Thinking what to do
with the future ahead

Thinking and thinking
eyes stops blinking

Fall asleep
hoping for a better tomorrow
#schoollife # childhood #funlife
Devin Walton Oct 2016
Where would I go but heaven?
What could be a substitute for happiness?
Nowhere. Nothing.

The howling winds of change
move me. I am not a piece,
manmade or plastic.

I am a Mist Being,
created from the mist
of love - of just wanting to crawl
out of this body of water.

It has gone beyond
the point of death.
I am not obsessed with death,
I just want Heaven.

I am happy... because.

I am like all changing
leaves in the autumn, falling.
Because I have fallen, I am decaying.

My surface goes putrid
and it doesn't matter
because I am not this face.
I am the happiness of heaven.

Before the peace of God,
I don't prefer a single thing.
This is my identity. So today
I will not fear. I will clench this body
that doesn't exist and
resemble the wind as I say
"I love you, I am here."

This heart will race but in the end,
it's just the wind.
On the other side of the earth
is the Land of Dawn,
the First Man.
I am the Immortal Embrace,
He is the source of spring.
Darkness has it's place here
in the non-existence where it's quiet
and there are clouds.
God stands in between us
"I am your eyelids. I am your eyes."

What but You could I desire to have?
What way but that which leads to You
could I desire to walk?
I walk amongst the nothingness.
It's all movement and there are
insects, ants and bees.
They move amongst each other
until they signify the end of dreams
and futile substitutions for the truth.
They start to move back far far away;
then they disappear.
Godliness is my only goal
and it is effortless.
Your Son would be
as You created him.
I hold up a star in one hand
and a stalk of corn in the other
but they don't exist either.

What way but [seeing You as my deity]
could I expect to recognize my Self,
and be one with my Identity?
I wonder as you tried to walk
into my non-existent mouth
calling it 'a kiss.'
In the end, we stand peering out
in all directions
every time we turn our head.
In the end, we are not alive or dead.
In the end, we realize it's the beginning.
In the beginning, there is no path or past.
We live on an island
- call each other God.
We do so because there is no body,
there is no ***.
There is no gender identity
there is only One Identity
and that's Atonement.

Never mind the body, it doesn't exist.
Forget about the love that I give.
Forget about the entirety of existence.
In forgetting You remember
that there is no skin to contain love.
Love is everything.
Matter wanting to walk
into and become
another form of matter, melting.
Steep in peace with this knowing,
this hush of Heaven.

[No importa el cuerpo, no existe.
Olvidar el amor que doy.
Olvídate de la totalidad de la existencia,
en esto recuerdas
que no hay frontera
para contener el amor.
El amor es todo,
la materia queriendo entrar
en otra materia para que todos podamos fundir.
Empinada en paz con este conocimiento.]
Tom McCone Feb 2015
in a haze of morning hours, scrambling for paper, amidst regular intervals of tingling:*

days splintered by loveliness, sharp aches,
clustering thoughts of blue snares. summer's
decline. your eyes. tumult.

but, what can or can't be done? seemingly
everything. i just hide. second nature.

paradise by weekend, far reaches
before long. isolation held in
firm grip. substitutions for the
lonely: mud, rock, leaf, water.

and then, as clear as sunlight,
another visage of your eyes,
grand blue snares;
a warm, glowing scar,
i am full of glimmer and
a recurrent dull ache. can't
help it. don't stop.

affections ran deep like
trenches, swift like gutters,
rained upon, forever.
nameless breath sent to or from
this greater scheme,
the mechanics of my inner chest,
sorrow poured out over the stars.
all seemingly as distant.
i miss you always.

but, you, wild& capable,
carrying everything with a grin,
give no reason for lament.
you, out there, behind doors
or in thickets, thatching all
skies with rivets of joy.

and, i, under slow-beating sun,
ain't seen to smile so much in
forever. but all flying creatures fly.
as misery did migrate, so too
do fear and consistency, heartache
and certainty. such is the path the
world will always spin over.

so, i write out new and old songs
on rust-laden heartstrings. lay
lips on nothing, typically. keep on
breathing, singing, laughing and
spinning, as the world does, knowing
all the while that in the recesses of
my chest you'll be somewhere, spinning
all the same, and i'll just be here,
poring over paper, trying to
figure the right pattern, to
speak words language won't.

i'll miss you, always.
even as we speak.
Arcassin B Jul 2017
By Arcassin Burnham

Hi I'm Arcassin And I was wondering how a black male
in america made it this far,
Dear Zeus Please tell me what I've done wrong,
And there ain't mountain high enough for journey's to start,
there's not enough room in this soul to smile.
I know what I've done and I'm not proud.

New mission.
with honorable mentions.
keeping one love.
no substitutions.
I know my role man.
to be a citizen.
but I'm so woke man.
the truth will hide in sin , sin.
we can't pretend like nothing's going on,
you wanna waste away , you wanna live your life,
I swear material things mean more to you than the
people that have your back in this life,
so calm down man.
you fought long enough.
I hope you understand.
It's just as simple as trust.

Hi I'm Arcassin And I was wondering how a black male
in america made it this far,
Dear Zeus Please tell me what I've done wrong,
And there ain't mountain high enough for journey's to start,
there's not enough room in this soul to smile.
I know what I've done and I'm not proud.

Don't need luck.
changes is a must.
***** your issues.
Not in the mood to fuss.
we all have weaknesses.
and we're all not so strong.
we all gotta fight.
to capsulize the wrong, wrong.
we can't pretend like nothing's going on,
you wanna waste away , you wanna live your life,
I swear material things mean more to you than the
people that have your back in this life,
I can't control.
whatever it is you do.
the guilt we try to hold.
will only bury you.

anastasiad Jan 2017
Back problems, many of us expect it is really the result of an accident, choosing some sort of bedding that is definitely previous or very gentle, or a poor spine storage.?And also as we try to remove this, many of us obviously station our own awareness towards individuals issues.?But what in the event there will probably be another cause of your back discomfort that did not fall under any of the above categories.?Are you keen to examine against eachother ? If you have experimented with many different cures without results, my prediction is that you would.

If discomfort continues on a constant schedule, it might normally possibly be followed with a issue with on the list of vertebrae devices. Every hard disk drive has a tricky surface which includes any softinner layer.?Should the surface drops, the inner level may herniate facing outward modifying the neurological basic or possibly a spinal-cord.?It seems sensible pain or maybe numb feeling.?Regarding 66% of folks that have continuous back pain have got a squeezed nerve or lack of feeling irritability.

Our own everyday activities induce modest stress to the spinal hard disk drives and also vertebrae consistently.?In order for this back to recuperate because of this day-to-day damage it takes an excellent blood circulation to generate oxygen along with nutrients to bring out the cellular throw away.?This kind of blood flow flows on the lumbar arteries and which office over aorta simply because it passes lower in the coronary heart down the back towards the hip and legs.?This indicates almost like the actual abs aorta is just about the 1st to build up plaque buildup (a blockage with the flow of blood). Considerable research has established that individuals with past back pain include veins in the small of the back that happen to be partly as well as completely impeded.

And so the future question for you is "can this specific impediment be turned around without the need of surgical treatment or additional obtrusive procedures"??As well as the fact is sure.?How the best part about it.?Guess what happens will come next.?Not necessarily unhealthy media nevertheless, you may not love it. to here you go.?You will have to improve your ways of eating by reduction of most beef,?rooster, pork, as well as trim meat. Have the ability to sufficient cholesterol levels along with weight to cause over-crowding.?Some fruits, fruit and vegetables, place products, as well as coffee beans don't have any cholesterol.?

A veg diet plan reduces extra fat along with ldl cholesterol from the human body, websites as bad the entire body remarkable ability to repair themselves, it enables the actual arterial blood vessels restorative method to get started clearing away this amassed cavity enducing plaque. Just like this had time for that plaque to accumulate, it may need here we are at natural purifying tactic to appear.?Show patience plus follow the diet plan.?You would be astonished at just how many delightful recipes slip in the vegetarian category.?br/>
At the moment, to get lumbar pain consider the herbal treatments Devil Claw and also Whitened Willow Sound off, keep to the quantity listed in your local package. Bear this in mind.?The term vegetable may appear being a unclean phrase at the moment.?Yet provide a chance.?Improvise to the formulas in addition to don't give up.?You might also would like to try meats substitutions.?I've attempted several brands and have absolutely identified a few to be fairly good.

In case you are using pharmaceutical drug or higher the actual countertop prescription drugs consistently, perform a Internet search to determine if upper back pain is a unwanted effect of that pharmaceutical.?You'll be shocked to determine the quantity of drug treatments have back problems as a complication.?Your back soreness might be resolved simply by altering medicines.

In the event nothing at all worked as kitchen staff, find the most simple remedy of the.?And i also speak therefore.?I'd an ongoing disadvantage in back pain and absolutely nothing I could obtained previously worked until the idea arrived at my family out of nowhere.?Understanding that considered would be to try a help detoxing.?My spouse and i sipped Sixty-four ounce regarding drinking water daily for 25 times (the duration of a cleansing) abstained out of ***** and low, as well as pain gradually vanished.

One final separating believed.?The body speak with all of us so we need to listen tightly.?Any time one thing actually starts to not work out that talks to all of us by means of agony along with other sort of distress.?Them understood that long phrase usage of prescription drugs possess a negative relation to your body.?If yourrrve been taking the very same prescription or even over-the-counter medications for many years and you will be experiencing baffling soreness, it could be your entire body telling you that it must be here we are at an alteration.?It could be trying to find your current interest by simply delivering anyone suffering alerts.?Focus on your entire body.?An effective entire body detoxify or perhaps remedy detox would be the response to your trouble. Password Manager Windows
Fleshy protuberances,
To fill the void of virtues,
Of the unvirtuous,
And ******-minded contentious.

Voluptuous caverns,
As substitutions for,
A wealth of strength,
Of personally refined law.

Praying on others temptations;
Using their weaknesses,
Since ones’ own strengths,
Leave only deficits.

Passive aggression,
Requires a little thought,
Without any passion,
On a plate, her demands are brought.
SassyJ Apr 2019
Halfway through the year time crept
Days seemed to flash like thunder
each vanishing by to its paradise
Sometimes I wonder about the days
If they will reappear above the mirage
far beyond the ever breathing skies
above the unreachable starry skies
above what is unfathomable and unattainable
and if these days sat on a mountain?
would it ever sink or be weighed down?
submerging below the strata and volcanic tension

aren’t we all stuck in a driven world
where souls are trying, prying, crying
each trying to find a place, some freedom
a resolution above all the substitutions

Yet as she sat at the fountains of love
all she could find was second class crowns
rusted copper coins sunk at the bottom
and all their wishes echoed eons ago
articulated with tainted rosy promises
pardoned within a series of mysteries
as if happenstance as delicacy was outpoured
and as she sailed, willowing voices unfolded
and all she could visualise was the future ahead
Inspired by a day out at Wagga Wagga, NSW AU
KM Hanslik Jun 2018
I catch whifs of you in between
the lines of my DNA, tangled
in everything I keep in the dark, tangled
in the knots in my stomach,
in all the white lies I tell.
I slide my fingers against the edges of
sharp things,  give myself lovely
collections of papercuts and splinters
for the fun of it, see if I bleed the same
as before the alcohol weighed
down my arteries and sunk
into my brain;

I am resting my arms at my sides now because they're too heavy
to hold up, carrying all this lead around in
my blood, my blood tells me go keep going, keep sinking all the way
all the way down till I can't feel it
anymore, keep colors plastered
on my walls today because the gray keeps seeping and seeping and seeping,
crawling back in around my fractured walls, back in around
everything I try to preserve,  clinging to everything
soft and poisoned and poisoned and

I always knew this house was
filled with too many secrets to hold, but I never thought my time
would be tallied up here the same way as everything else
falling victim to the same plague that carries
one old disease into the next,
I think I'm treading on
dangerous ground here, skin crawling
in cheap substitutions for the chemicals my brain
leaves convenient vacancies for,
take me out of my skin once
in a while,
breathe me into your sandpaper-scraped palms and rough me up
like the rest of you, rough me up till
my tongue bleeds
and my serotonin runs dry,
I tell myself the quiet is a good place to be but honestly I ******* die without
constant reminders that I'm okay
I'm slowly cutting paper chains out of the leftover tissue clinging
to my bones, maybe once I hang them up in here things won't look so sparse
maybe we'll learn to breathe
maybe your bones are too weak or mine are
laced with the concrete of all these decisions, because the numbness dilutes
the aching,
catch me outside doing
catch me outside in my bare feet, leaving
trails for you to pick up on because maybe at the end of them I let it all go
maybe my body wasn't built for breathing in this dust,
my lungs aren't
vacuum cleaners & my fingernails don't scrape away paint like
they used to
Jeannine Freeman May 2016
The day strangely culminates in
German potato salad
and trays of sliced meat
on my Aunt MaryAnn’s dining table.
A celebratory end to a hectic week,
filled with what seem interminable
discussions, plans, decisions.
My father takes deliberate care
to involve me in its events,
in part for companionship and in part
not knowing what else to do.

So, there we sit
in the overheated director’s office,
weigh the pros and cons
of viewing times.
Meet with clergy,
choirs and relation.
Design order,
odes and speeches.
Evaluate various technical
and stylistic advantages of
wood versus metal.
Apply for certificates
and approvals from this office
and that.
Fill out forms and releases.
Select a hairstyle
and a dress.
A shade of lipstick.
Glasses or none.

It’s a freezing February day.
The wind bites;
the snow is a dry powder
blowing over rock hard ground.
I sit on the stoop outside
MaryAnn’s back door,
a plate of uneaten food,
trying to size up what we had done.
All at once, it seems brutal.
The series of banal choices
that moments after they were made,
mean less than the potatoes
and onions in my lap.
A purposeful, unavoidable,
flurry of activity followed by

Time passes and other lives intervene.
All those boxes to tick
and formalities to fulfill,
their substitutions for
thought and reason.
A system well worn and little changed,
with its own unbearable demand.
But there was assurance,
and if I am honest
a little hope
within it.
Jade Jan 29
⚠️Trigger Warning: The following poem contains subject matter pertaining to self-harm⚠️


In the beginning,

I used Bic pen caps
safety pins
jagged remnants of plastic
salvaged from a broken mechanical pencil
the serrated edge
of a paper towel dispenser--

gateways to razors
and Exacto knives.

Objects that were too dull
to split skin
but were still sharp enough
to leave their mark--
puffy, red scratches
accompanied by the
occasional pearl of blood,
dark rarities
that blossomed in rosy drops
upon the dominion of my flesh.

At the time,
I deemed my attempts
at self-harming
pathetic substitutions,
euphemisms in lieu of
the real thing:

deep lacerations from which
reservoirs of Crismon
were birthed.

I still believe this,
even though it is
terribly unkind
to abbreviate my experience.

If my ninth grade
guidance counsellor
were to read this,
she would tell me that
it's not about the
depth of the wound,
or the means by which
the wound was acquired, but
the existence of the wound

(the existence of the
Don't be a stranger--check out my blog!

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JDL Nov 2019
Unsung heroes whom bare our scars
Substitutions to fight our wars
With strength and dignity that isn’t learned
To provide the freedom we didn’t earn
Like wounded victims upon their shoulder
Our weight they carry feels like a boulder
Yet in strength they stand to serve us all
So that we are not the ones to fall
To Veterans and to all who are currently serving, thank you for your dedication, sacrifice and loyalty. Thank you for being our substitutions.
if i were to pray to god... i don't think i'd would
tease his boredom -
     in islam the adhan: the call to prayer is
heard in the heavens... but the prayers aren't...
the church bells are heard...
perhaps even when a choir of castratos sings...
but never that ******* of credo mumbling
and "confessions"... it's not teasing the vanity...

well... yes... god... nothing too personal...
       it's hard to imagine anything of nothing...
the sober, scientific, objective: ex nihil...
        out of nothing - i'd wish...
then we'd all have the properties of stones and trees
and a that sort of adapted consciousness
of: never born with legs... with will...

to me: something from nothing...
      the sober, mature, scientific approach...
yes... but i don't think about a higher power...
i think about an invigorating force...
                    something to propose momentum...
something that concerns us to debate
whether free will exists... but enough of that...

there's still work to be done in the garden...
all the stumps are out...
          had to come the day where i'd heal
the earth by letting her breathe...
    which involved digging her up...
doing a pancake with her... then getting a fork
and twisting her into little pieces...
about half a meter of decent earth...
before the clay would appear...
in clay... you won't be finding any earthworms
at these depths... half to a meter in...

well... who needs to go to the gym...
when you can garden...
it's a bit like... if you ever ****** wearing
a ******... and when you haven't...
the only real ****** comes when...
    you send some mail of would-be sputniks...
shame though... if...
she is lying about taking contraceptives...
for that "one and only" moment of life's tick
                   fizzle fizzle out past...
but a few hours spent wearing gloves...
and it's numbing... when working with earth...
sure... you're using a shovel
a fork etc. -
but when you can't feel the earth...
it's a bit like that ****** sensation...
         should it matter to a man not circumcised?
hardly... it's enough of a bother to pull
the **** thing back and choke
whittle richard's heard into a proud plum...

but then to feed the naked hand to the earth...
one of those many other substitutions
for the hide & seek zenith of ***...
   in a shower... pouring water...
onto the neck and just above the occipital bone...
a less protruding occipital bone...
well... designation?! ******!
wow... just like that... i can whip-up
a venom... it's carboxylic acid mingling
with some ebola leftovers...
                                                    ­      em...
preferred temp. of the water...
approx. 4 - 5 degrees celcius beneath room temperature...
not cold cold...

"not enough ***"... or no *** at all...
         learning from the octopus...
                               8 things planned...
           i planned that trip to the brothel...
a little bit too late...
now there's the garden...
                   and there's that period of evening...
can it just be as simple as...
a glass of scotch... some pepsi max...
some jazz: but not too much - i don't really want
to think... blues would be great...
but it has become a period piece...
              like a jane austen adaptation...
a belgravia... something from charles dickens...
something simple like:
alice in chains - man in a box
down - stone the crow
danzig - 1000 devils reign...
                 so yeah... god... prayers...
i still like to attach thought to what would...
better be a tongue for a brain
or a brain for a tongue and at least 7 aeons
of silence...
                    prayer or mumble...
i can't see no advantage...
  i'd pray by crying when finding something
i'd pray by dancing and screaming
when finding something more than the sort
of beauty that'd mobilise my heart to
quench its thirst... needing my sweat...
more than my tears...
and i'd pray... by walking into a dark forest
at night... strip half naked and scream
and growl and return the beast to the father
of the night... force my mouth into
fallen leaves and turn this mouth of mine
into a snout to forrage for mushrooms...
once... near Harlow - Essex...
i did just that... upon the break of dawn...
took a bottle of bourbon with me
and ate... a lilac coloured mushroom...

    how did i end up walking from Romford
through to Harlow in the night?
i remember i had about 6 beers...

prayer... yes...
       well i was "praying"... for an unusually cold
my fridge is broken and it's not making
any more ice-cubes...
it would be super handy for me to be able
to leave a bottle of scotch and a bottle
of p' max or c' zero on the roof just
outside of my window...
   walking up and down the stairs come
the ungodly hours of 2am: i really don't want
to rouse the cats...

cabbage - plastic - playdough -
       some flour an egg a tbs of oil and water -
to live without... a categorical impetus -
other that: in times of the most dire needs...
to explore the endless avenues
of what can come from:
an absolute informality of language -
a metaphor and apostrophe
followed by a colon -
      a fusion of impetus - this current climate
of gardening and what's... probably
the justifying what is happening:
not much... besides...
                               i wouldn't be thinking
of *** being on the menu -
wordsworth's celibacy -
                       japanese girls attired
in mannequin bodies with porcelain eyes
and... that skin of unblemished tinge...
something had to be forever uninviting...
or better still...
              it had to be leveraged...
other outlets had to be fathomed...
                    nothing of what might be bemoaned
should the crux of dragging ghosts
and regrets all chained up: into
dreamworld and some other circus frenzy...

to rub ones hands ferociously against
bricks before the luxury of touching a body
was revelled in.... it had to be...
*** and disney...
                          then the distillation process
of culmination could homage me...
as... allowing a flow of water...
or whiskey turned into lemonade when
the erotica of taking a ****
was like all the genital parts included
for her treating the unshelled oyster to queen's

a... oddly weird cooling... a very... cool april...
anything to stop this...
it always sounds more **** when it's
an epidemic...
pandemic is hardly something to get all
hot and bothered about...
                                 god's sneeze...
                          and all that omni-
                                            prefix litany...
it's truly the most secured claustrophobia to
think of: gifting to later be grieving...
when at best: the magical finger tripped
up schumacher when skiing...

     or... some other spontaneity...
                              if ever some hegel...
i hardly think i'll live to read the phenomenology
of spirit...
   i've skimmed through the lecture notes
that inspired marx: the philosophy of right...
lecture notes... not even aphorisms...
not even maxims... lecture notes *******
a marx and...
     i'm not even going to bother...
dealing with both the marxist ideologues
as is the case with dealing with darwinist ideologues...

no god for a sense of:
no imagination... as long ast the facts can be
distributed and well regurgitated...
does it matter?

all that i can pour into "its" existence is my thought...
humble i, bring a stone before the altar
of the pyramid...
that i know of the "other" pronoun...
in greek... that's: θ(ought) i?!

by then it's already too late... the key has already
been inserted into the lock...
and has been turned...

                    margaret cirko, 35...
               $35,000 dollars worth of fresh food...
gone to waste... in pennsylvania...
and here they are... keeping me on a schizophrenic
i guess it's true then:
the madmen will lead the blind...
perhaps i only have one eye left in me...
i just watched a morse code wander the sky
that had to be feeding something my
unconscious could desipher...
the facade of consciousness that bears
the burden of the foetus and the stone stood
ground... my eyes didn't melt from
the exalted...

                    but i'm starting to think...
really? the crucifixion is... the epitome exit?
for a demigod? what about...
left hanging on a meathook...
                     for days... with the insertion
under the chin...
or with hands tied... having ultra-******
performed between the coccyx and the ****
when pretending to be the candle imitation
while the hands are tied: screaming the toll...
for the entry into gamorrah...
cherbu honey cherub honey for the old man
magritte: charon... das ist ein kamin!

no?             the treachery of images...
hold me stochholm syndrome prone when it comes
to... the treachery of words...
outside of the realm of nuance, ridicule...
and the thesaurus...
outside the realm of those that
will not clear the way for etymology
to replace archeology...
and of those who will not worship slang!
slang the... not the emoji hierogylphic statures
of: to escape the skeletons of
within and the past...
to turn the O(micron) into a ******* smiley :)!

hegel: master and servant...
    well... anti-hegel...
the parasite... and the host...
          the master is the parasite...
call it the fruition of 1960s intellectuals dabbling
in buddhism...
or... who is the master?
the master is apparent right now...
the middle-men... of work that can be done
from home... so...
what's the need to... commute... to subsequently
and "somehow"... "work"?
arbeit macht frei... "this" and "that"...
that's... work?!

   if you can work from home...
now... currently... how much of work is exacted
to pretend to be the architectural imprints
of power dynamics - verbiage:
and verbiage is all you're going to get!
i know the peacocks when i see them...
peacocks will verbiage tinge this sort
of "logic" as they'd call it...

macht frei... arbeit...

       a terrible slogan for the people who will
nonetheless butcher the meat...
skin it, prep it...
            but then we have...
i don't even know a windowlicker or a ******...
stupid or just evil...
        perhaps just a ****** frustration
             or one of those never to happen
celebrated abortions...
a margaret... cirko... 35...
honestly... the crucifix?
   i'm thinking... meat-hooks and pikes...
less worth for a worth of emblem when supposedly
left hanging...
more like: a dangling tooth...

that what i think of when and otherwise
schizophrenics are blamed...
for when everyone takes it: supposedly:
more easily...
                                       this is not something
a psychotic person would do...
nor a windowlicker ******...
    dumb evil...
                        woman evil...
           you almost wish to lacerate that sort
of behaviour... to the point where...
she wouldn't be able to squat to take a ****...
no... seriously... we should take better care
of your down syndrome retards...
given what the: glorious free spirited man
has to offer: anti-government blah blah!

she should be put in a cage... for
baboons to spit and **** at...
   and she should be given a diet of...
how's that caugh?
     good? phelgmatic? roughage?
good... eat your cough then!
             and locked up... like the myth
of the beheaded cockroach living for up
to two weeks and finally dying of starvation...
i'm guessing the genesis came with...
andrei chikatilo... or that batman quote:
perhaps he's wondering why someone would
shoot a man... after putting him in a prison cell?
brain head: tick tick...
  but the old ticker is still working...
this atheistic mr. ape grand finale of...
                                christine chubbuck...

brain dead ≠ the body is dead...
Kafka: stab at the heart...
what idiot took pride in hollywood when
distancing himself from suicide with
brain injuries...
oh sure... the brain dies... so much for all those
cucumber people of the comatose worldview...
all those... on life support...
looks like the "last clue":
the "labyrinth" can exist in a pickle jar...
switched on... and off...
at long as that... butchers' meat retains
it's... rhythm...

retards... widnwolickers...
does someone with down syndrome "suffer"?
personally... i think they're very much oblivious
to their afflication...
it's not about burning witches...
it's about... stamping out an egoism
that would hardly think about...
retaining the last dripping of water...
the last crumb of bread...

          if i were a ******...
i'd be keeping a down syndrome hulk...
like in mad max: master blaster...
hell: keeping a leech as... pretending it to be a tatoo
seems more worthwhile than...
all those save africa hunger ******* worth
whacking slogans...
   did margaret cirko work for some sort of...
save africa and hunger...

if­ my words aren't trivial... compared to what she did?
then money: does indeed grow on treets...
let's pluck some and cough into a bundled
up ball of $1 banknotes!

and... keep it rollin'! rarely will i lose my temper...
but some things are worth forgiving...
repenting over...
hell... at this point every other albert fish...
and every jeffrey dunham jr.
sounds more appealing to talk to...
at least either of them... wouldn't be found...
a marathon distance's length of having
just wasted $35,000 worth of food...
in hell: keep to having cain's offspring
as your company...

i really don't know what... "it"...
of any sensibility of man...
provided the ***** and the vacuum of body
for a surrogate: clearly there was no mother involved...
perhaps she's the first child of
that wunderbarpakt
of der: zweivati?!
                     she's the first child of "surrogates"...
she is the first child of two *******
homosexual partenting schemes?!
makes you wonder...

again: lasso an oops of the cut-off where...
this becomes... virus isolation wasn't enough...
people had to designate themselves
into making politics out of everything;

police! police! the thought! oh god!
the words! oh mein gott!
  police! police! ****! he's gauging out mein augen!
he borrows some german! natz-tee!
i used kinder words governing wood...
i did make-up a replacement to
the ritual surrounding tequilla drinking...
i called him a black cracovite...

slick lick of lemon? you sure...
you're smoking a cigarette...
you're agitate... some ash lands on your hand...
you lick it off... that's your new salt...
you're in galicia... which is not silesia...
you don't have tequilla you have *****...
you lick the ash off your hand...
down the *****...
oh ****... where's the bite?
you're not familiar with lemons...
but you are familiar with peppercorns...
so you bite 3 to 4 down...

there you go... a translation of the ritual
associated with tequilla...
the black cracovite... *** lesson number one...
or no *** lesson number two...
they have their precious israel...
don't they?
i best give my... incantations...
again: is that a transliterate chasm...
of finding enough syllable pauses
to read some deutsche?
perhaps... when translated into
english... and retaining their chemical

                hyphen as conjunction...
to better read: ol' wolf says...
carbo-xylic...                     de-...
               of many more deeds to come...

Solomon will not arrive in time...
and there was no sort of David in your time
of reign: since the last one...
to begin with... but you do have...
clarification as being the inspiration
for the creation of the Mosad and the ***...
so... cuddos... bravo!
let's hear a ******* encore!

sorry... i can't have them "jumbled" up...
the dead sea scrolls refer to the end of the old testament...
the fate of isiah... the courtesan prophet...
disembolwed... cut in two...
that's one...
the dead sea scrolls are not...
the nag hammadi library... that's two...
josephus ben matthias... the false prophet...
egypt... and from egypt...

this wound is most certainly bleeding...
put more pressure on it...
the more chances of negation...
esp. from the scientific couldron of the society...
the dead sea scrolls are not
the nag hammadi library...

it echoes in the claudron...
of but a single eye shared among...
6 plucked out...
to deafen the wind that combs the woods...
and the branches that find flutes
in their hollowing out worth... of...

                   i always wondered...
gloryhole *******...
         the imitation *****... beig soiled in
all that.. would be sponge-leeches
and liquidated butter?
        the **** of all worth of ****
with the extending umbrella *****...
and... the business of ******* was not
to sell the frolicking ambitions of...
merely a 0.01% of the... base attentions
and wants of... the nymphomaniacs?

look at us... lowly... poorly equipped peasants...
bowing before a Elizabeth Bathory...
how feeble our needs to attain
to merely warmth... to counter the cold...
to merely hunger... to counter crumbs...
how feeble our wants...
oh my pardon oh my rotting mind...

               what sort of theatre would allow...
what we digest in private?
i'd love to see ***** be made more... public...
it doesn't need to be this solitary endeavour...
just like...
this revision of grammar by the transgender
lobby... gender neutral pronouns...
what about fwench? where nouns
cannot be: gender neutral?!
what... then?!
    a chair is a male...
whether or not a chair is male when a man
speaks about it...
or whether or not a chair is a female when
a woman speaks about it...

this... transgender communism or attempting
to revise grammar...
sorry... no... can you revise
1 + 1 = 2 instead?
i'd gladfly give up my prowess in arithmetic...
i... won't be, though...
so easily swayed off the throne
of grammar...

  this isn't even my ****** ingrained
language... it's acquired! why should i care what
the natives and their...
sacred siblings of the holocaust of sanctity
do with it?!
   watch me...

                here's me... gladly giving away
the reins!

             of the people: for... the people!
a true democracy... one voice lost among the many...
and the many... voices...
somehow focused upon that one...
lost in the wilderness... somehow...
for no reason... being heard...
i'd call 20+ a class dismissed...
which is what Pythagoras had...
hey-zeus' devil's dozen of 12: him included...

thinking big is beside the point
with what's apparent... when starting small...
i dismiss the value of large congregations
of people...
outright... nothing is ever said...
while everything else is merely overheard...
i want to measure the size of my foot:
i'm told to weigh my liver
and my moral quest!

even among poetry...
this language is so... formal...
there is null of a concern for a cipher...
everything is just so... "required"...
ignoble and numb...

it's hardly a rhomus: darlin'...
nor a pola dotted bohemia ****...
so what's it; dear honey ****-squeech-p'ooh?
oh... one of those...
daddy issues?
i have mommy issues:
never stopped me ******* ******
like a trojan cohort...
or the devil... with vampirism h.i.v. worms...

or a bit of the smiths calling me deaf...
whenever you started plasyinf 65days of static...
because... me and you and the romance
of radiohead's kid a...
anything: the bends... and the chissick wonderkid...
o.k. computer with windows '98...
but not... vanilla sky and kid alzheimer's...
type 0 negative...
         i'll ask again: what's 70cl of whiskey
to a juggernaut?
                       a sly slip of the tongue...
a lick of this sort of concentration
of a waiting ice-cube... brother:
it better start melting!

                    in my head: there is a god...
but there's also an iron maiden...
i can't can't... oh yes i can...
make them into a matrimony!
   there's reaching the clasy of London
beneath half a meter of revised soil...
there are... these earthworms...
these phoneic brides akin to...
you cut one in half...
it pretends to be the dead:
the brain and the Brian that's all mouth...
to think... the digestion of sand breeds
the oesophagus that's waiting to be
blopd tinged...

       retards recovered: come treefingers...
or hugging... a birch tree...
as suggested by a... later than usual...
self-employed cabby... all from radiohead's kid A...
no... not from 65 days of static...
that sort of pristine retardation is
reserved for aliens and angels...

we do have to make it inclusive that...
margaret... cirko (35... pennsylvania)
is one of "us"... good god that sort of a "riddle"
with people having made it necessary to..
"opt out"...
god forbid living among such retardations
to be claiming the stature of faking

               waking: optimistic...
                here's to me later on bound
to limbo... and shy conversations about...
what's not to have shy conversastions of...
kept... cushioned and proud and...
sly and: workaholic.... insomiac...
but never... alcoholic enough to spawn...
the lost remains of the brute of silence...
the truth-sayer of the toothache...

this... best kept in german...
     diese taubheit...
           diese schattenlos mondlicht...
diese: gebet auf mitternacht!
                                      all this... under a shroud of english...
for... a... toothpick of german...
the zeppelin... and the blitz...
all... for the made thespian... pristine...
to sharpen the edges of hollywood...

      für einz! ich war auf zweck!

"misplaced" german... always the first...
even citing it...
fiddles with details of leather...
and boots, and belts...
and all those unconscious b.d.s.m. fetishes...
and long live evita... and argentina...
and fascists in brazil...
israel: the wall: palestine...
i love it! what's to be expected?!
a cosmopilitan... that's what!
*** and the city feminism...
pride on oats regret!
if i see anything less...
i won't be listening to ststic x's
black & white...
Wealthy people have a knack
Of making contributions
They don’t let trials get them down
But focus on solutions

So don’t let anger conquer you
Or seek out retribution
But seek to take the higher road
And offer a solution

Of several ways to undertake
A problem’s diminution
The best by far is simply choose
A mindset of solution

So cultivate this daily choice
There are no substitutions
To making it your daily goal
To seek out good solutions
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Laura Jul 2019
i wish i made you up in my mind,
instead of all the ink i spilled over tropes and trophies.
you’re much better than their tireless scripts -
only to be caught offside like the running red herring.
you’re not my cup of tea really either,
more like my morning blonde roast with too many substitutions -
but new things excite me and make me grow still.
and i have been stretching these pages longer,
taking up every inch of you that i can muster
hoping that i see an ending,
and not another oxford comma.

— The End —