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Lou Jul 2017
At the Zoo

Patriots and faux exhibit and binge on synonyms of liberty printed on beer and underwear
Advertising what should be unspoken and inspired to pervert and romanticize
Preludes to the parades and finale above us all
Weeks of saturated irony
Cuckoo bird irony and BBQ
As they reform Phoenix, rebirth of distractions and thievery
Predators in ally ways pursing America's diamonds and legs

Then gunpowder
Gunpowder of colors and cuckoos
Layers of streets in gunpowder
Towns built of gunpowder
Sky is gunpowder
We are born addicted to led and gunpowder
Gunpowder ****** in the air
Success, display and diversion and more gunpowder to ingest.

The Grand Finale
The Volta of the evening
The hammer of the judge
*** appeal of death and nature flexing it's muscles-  
show us some skin!

Covering your ears
Eyes fastened-
Ready to burrow back to mothers ****
Binged and free
Chinese celebration hijacked
Red, White and Blue
And a moment of silence  

Orchestrated onomatopoeia in heaven
Chorus of arousal on Earth
Band marching war machines in ****

The showdown of 241 years!
This freedom we are all grateful to only talk about

Only free to battle shackling intoxication
Men and women tugging extra weighted offspring
Sulking for indoors and portable addiction  
Chanting three letter obedience
*** being counted by his blessings
Fear and Statism in every breathe for salvation from our stick swatted enemies
Checkpoints that serve and protect asking for a toll;
liberty synonyms.
Arresting the too free

At the Zoo,

The cuckoos regaining reality.
The phoenix red eye and held under oath
To the next day where we are back
To hate each others freedom, again.
Written on the 4th of July.
girl gonzo Sep 2018
silk blouses and cotton underwear
the nights merge into a sticky soup that falls into the pocket of a sweater i was wearing when they said that death is permanent
the voice echoing into the receiver of my first cell phone
the wavering tremble of someone in the middle of realms
sleep and consciousness turning the other side of the pillow
wondering if the smoke in my lungs felt comfortable
wonder if the moon sinks lower into your backyard
i was never good at distinguishing shadows and when i found myself on the dark side of the mattress;
my feet cold and feeble i wondered if you could hear my heart a thousand miles away
the fluttering of a drowsy bird, lethargically dragging it's clumsy wings into the plummeting stifle of open air
you said my lips were like the halves of a plum
i bit them until they bled but it was never as sweet
it was never as sweet
there's irony in the title
Johnny Noiπ Aug 2018
Women of the ROK            [South Korea]
unite to protest the rash of digital camera
up-skirting, hidden toilet cams & dressing
room holes by an avant-garde subculture
whose sole aim is to redefine beauty from
 the bottom up; tearing down the old order
   of mere very pretty faces for the surprise
  the unseen; online ******* poets who wax
romantically;  over South Korean women
who wear the shortest skirts of any westernized
Asian country; therefore, where the average woman
is expected to be above average, what could be
better than a possible *** or period stain; [        ],
Rupi Koar laid the foundation [her soiled garments
stinking of Canadian Desi BO; dreaming wistfully
of the blossoming cherry-trees in the hidden grove,
streams of crystalline blood threading through
the golden grass; (dead as if she was [Sleeping
Beauty (on the toilet)]) & w/ healthy [or unhealthy]
doses of Baudelaire, Swinburne, Poe, Sade & Wilde;
this new school of poets celebrating female underwear
& bottoms & beyond; what could future generations
make of various Internet pseudo-intellectual movements
all coalescing into a monolithic computer culture driven
by the embarrassment & shame of its female members
& their ***** backsides & underwear; essentially odes on
her laundry basket, odes on her farts, odes on her leavings,
odes on her mother's droppings & leavings,
&        her grandmothers' mothers leavings;
South Korean women are the original race,
               their intestine driven by pure ****
[a South Korean woman's soul  is in her belly]
Leigh Marie Dec 2018
I’ve been getting nervous that
you won’t call cause
I don’t wanna lose you
See I don’t often let myself lay
comfortably in someone else’s arms or
let someone rest their hand
on my hip while I sleep
I lose my breath remembering
that feeling of you feeling me

The simple intimacy of laying in bed
in our underwear
looking at each other after the sun rises,
Talking bout cards our parents gave us
our laughter filling the room with warmth
Lately it’s been so cold

I don’t want to let this all go
I rest my head on your shoulder
just to be closer to you
Don’t let me go

Innocently intertwining as we sleep
I hear you snore and you pull me in
Your body familiar, my body resurrected
Let’s lay here still while the world spins
Like we’ve done this all before
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