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"tastelessness" poems
The cover band plays a tirade of songs we all heard before. They switch to originals; which all sound the same. Originality is as rare as a dollar in my pocket and just as likely to be spent in tastelessness. She wore her dinner loose - more of a greasy pub lunch. ******* harder than diamonds in the open winter heat. Not hungry anymore.
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Jul 23, 2012
Jul 23, 2012 at 9:11 PM UTC
Pub Poem 1
In you, there must be empathy, For my madness, I've become. No other names to call me by, I am Mr. Numb. The pain of the daily tastelessness, Seems to lose itself in obscurity. In the abstraction of shape and form, I care to question me. In you there must be hope, For my mirror, you've become. You will be my clarity, I will not be numb. The moment that we met, Was ingrained within my mind, But as the hours turned to days, In the darkness, I now find... Abstractions, you and tastelessness, I'm found, obscured in loss. My mind is the universe you reside within, And emotion remains the boss, As hours, weeks and years pass, A moment becomes them all. In the way a seed becomes a tree, As we watch it slowly fall.
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Aug 16, 2010
Aug 16, 2010 at 8:56 AM UTC
The Doppler
Two soldiers Who write together Question life's Serenities Loving words Is a craft Of crazy wastefulness And tastelessness I forget at times That the moon Does but one job And the flowers Dewy, yellow, and ****** Lay there Looking nifty Laugh at the clothed mother At the way she prances And dances At her own secret sorrows She knows But is unable to show A word Is a word With one thousand meanings Some are demeaning: **** you **** my **** Lick my duck Your never enough But whom do I truly talk to? An illiterate With already enough of the jive **** Or maybe A stronghold of a woman With a temper tantrum Of an intellectual But a face of suction Grudges ain't never enough For they share no sense Of absolute solitude To write To be alone To cry And then die And to then reach readers Where ever they may be Will ask, Why? Why? Why? Ha! All who strive to feel Love to be beaten But they are the ones with the questions And we are the ones with the answers? Go to the monsters upstate They've been signing all their papers With ink blots and officially posted dates A will less man In a world un-renewed Is a follower In a loser's shoe
0
Feb 27, 2011
Feb 27, 2011 at 9:20 PM UTC
Repetition
The humor flies right over heads, Like leaves off trees much too overgrown. Quick to shoot and stab in darkness, Naked kitchen table manners, Plastic flaccid people actors, Vacant star shaped locket Picture frames a blackmail recipient. Forget your names for heavens sake. Preface to my new face in tastelessness, Fragrant little boomer baby.
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Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 11:11 PM UTC
Day In Flux
I’ve chewed this gum to tastelessness For I fail to find the words to describe How wilting day-old roses make me feel As I cringe to the sound of cuddling nearby Among other intimacies… I attempt to make it a testament to my strength And regard those sounds as mindless background noise, Not worth my time. But if I give in to such thoughts, Is that not already a sign of weakness? And what now that I’ve accepted it? Things won’t change. I’ll have to keep pretending That needles don’t hurt when they ***** my heart In the same way he deals me piercing stares And lulls me into daydreams with his voice. It’s senseless of me to continue I’m simply digging myself into a bigger whole of despair As my fantasies grow more fantastic. If only I could say the roses were from him…
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May 8, 2012
May 8, 2012 at 3:53 PM UTC
Untitled
Pulsing Pulsing All I'm doing is pulsing A tight grip on loose air A fickle taste of lips in the midst of a tragic interwoven memory despite their tastelessness and despite their grievance. Destroy them upon where they stand, and not because you want to but because they have to go. The shimmers of electric signals sending to your brain, seeing stars from a fall or dizziness from the spiral staircase which sends you to where you now seem to be. Desolate and a holiday and a slap and a curfew and a nap in the lake of humanity in the woods of lunacy in the dark of what we fail to see.
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Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 2:15 AM UTC
Pulsing
The melancholic stir of emotions Deforming this whirlpool, The miserable stench Accompanying noses around, The tastelessness Smoking up the tasteful surroundings, The crazy scent Climbing out mindlessly.... Just to get bottled in this purity.
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Oct 30, 2020
Oct 30, 2020 at 1:55 AM UTC
Bottled
The boulevard is hollow with sounds of a shadow falling down, caresses late night 2 in-the-morning as he's roaming with no purpose but to be found homeless yet under dark canopies' night no wakeful eyes with their human curiosity can witness the part-time employment of a piece of meat... He has lost count of years, the self-deluded reasons behind why still alive his feet are numb his senses save for scent & tastelessness have intertwined as destitute as cruel as thirst / un-cared for used for last, far from first... oh where to go, and how to get there what to do when kind arrives? with dust of too many past lives he's fabricated a coat of armor dementia for his steed he rides with shield of quick words remiss of wit dagger of harsh emotions self inflictions like a whip the truth is there's no such thing as happy endings for a thing like him piece of meat at markets that cater to the web to the beasts... A piece of meat has no story when it is consumed to fill the hunger of insatiable eschewing like teeth of wolves sharply chewing with the voracity of fierce unfed hunters killers thieves for them it is easiest to capture the **** who is blind than discover that their food in it’s short lived time had a life, complicated lack of voice complete with name and face and choice suddenly the price has its admission into existence how to consume the friend now known? or infect another now reflecting the flesh of brother... There is always a choice to be what it is you make yourself                      see... because you see: "no eyes doth have a piece of meat"
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Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 2:00 AM UTC
PIECE OF MEAT
The boulevard is hollow with sounds of a shadow falling down, caresses late night 2 in-the-morning as he's roaming with no purpose but to be found homeless yet under dark canopies' night no wakeful eyes with their human curiosity can witness the part-time employment of a piece of meat... He has lost count of years, the self-deluded reasons behind why still alive his feet are numb his senses save for scent & tastelessness have intertwined as destitute as cruel as thirst / un-cared for used for last, far from first... oh where to go, and how to get there what to do when kind arrives? with dust of too many past lives he's fabricated a coat of armor dementia for his steed he rides with shield of quick words remiss of wit dagger of harsh emotions self inflictions like a whip the truth is there's no such thing as happy endings for a thing like him piece of meat at markets that cater to the web to the beasts... A piece of meat has no story when it is consumed to fill the hunger of insatiable eschewing like teeth of wolves sharply chewing with the voracity of fierce unfed hunters killers thieves for them it is easiest to capture the **** who is blind than discover that their food in it’s short lived time had a life, complicated lack of voice complete with name and face and choice suddenly the price has its admission into existence how to consume the friend now known? or infect another now reflecting the flesh of brother... There is always a choice to be what it is you make yourself                      see... because you see: "no eyes doth have a piece of meat"
Continue reading...
58
joy to my family peace to my enemy strength to myself my wisdom and my health unkindness is tastelessness the only way i’ll face this is my long-term relationships with compassion and patience
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Nov 1, 2023
Nov 1, 2023 at 6:27 PM UTC
compelled to spell