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subterfuge at the cube farmreclaimed meat
we were once solemn beings
like epaulets from imperious shoulders
diluted in bottles and sold
back to our fledgling descendants
volcanic islandlate bloomers
frouzy tephra where the earth needs remodeling
our progenitors feasted
on fire and spawned
indignant continents of ash
subluxationsinertia demands we keep going
voice like a wet bruise
gods' prototypes left promised
and lost inside momentum's maze
our voice wets their bruises
dressed down in libretti
the last maze of momentum lost
through a flux of squandered air
but libretti undressed
will easily starve out in the wild
air squandered in flux
conundrum or myth
myth or conundrum
god's prototypes left promised
wild and starving
...but inertia demands we move on
curfew urgencya calamine itch of faith
with the wrong enzyme in the right coincidence
far from our former
jigsaw made for sadists
and burgeoned forth a neon beacon
built by bedlam hominids
germane in our inertia painting
perfect arcs through space
a life expressed by movement
through non-newtonian fluid (s)
the pristine math
left by those we have replaced
life in the exospherethere's a plague upon the cattle
but they can see
well beyond hermetically sealed skies
above savagely conquered revenge
tinctures of light and darkness
on the warm midnight horizon
where many things are learned
and many things are lost
chasing worms uphill and being
consumed by their debris
know heretofore as
a temporal causality
chasing uphill warsover time we have - overthrown time
and in becoming its ruler can see
of dark clouds above the delta
skies aurum and gun-metal gray
in the demonstrable distance
and sights of dis-in-teg-ra-tion
are felt savagely slowing
their innocuous prey
senescence will plan her revenge
like an animal held
out over a ledge by its ankles
for a taste of its own skin
visigothsin the hyperbolic ether
we've a history of failing at history
our thoughts through the eyes
of discontent fish and dreamnt beasts
neon fresh from a mongrel's ripe nightmare
this interstice world discovered
made ingenious by sleep
and the beacons it keeps [in]
...the laboratory skies screaming circles
Drowning in this AddicitonI tried to drown out your voice
Inside the lies, I made my choice
With my lips against the bottle
I tried to swallow the memories
I put the speed of my destruction
In complete full throttle
I brought this about, a self induction
Laying here drowning in my worries.
Just laying here in my corruption.
I could whisper to you my series of sorrows,
Instead I'll just lay here in my low,
Or I could borrow another bottle
Of sweet nectar and fire
As my blood acquires
The song of a liar.
Brittle and bare,
Lay me to rest on the wave
Aware I am this may be my early grave
with a kiss to my Jackie D.
Like a whisper to the noose waiting
For me under the elm tree
as I am aching for another bottle
Of sweet nectar and fire
As I try to rejoice
I think I finally have forgotten your voice.
Last will and testiment of a fallen angelI being of sound body and mind do here by leave ..... this world to the flames.
Another time another place, I may not have succumb to much disgrace.
A cold ember of what might have been, If I'd have known this to happen.
We walk the cold streets at night. We live now by the moonlight.
Wings broken and no more, I walk alone but with a whore.
Seeking salvation from the fool, I knew not this till I met you.
Another day another time. broken hearts distorted rhyme.
Trust and you'll be trusted said the liar to the fool
An AgreementStop, thee, now!
Do not attempt to silence my private brooding;
do not try to dry my eyes, -
they are busy cleansing themselves.
I am allowing my emotions
of my physical form-
I may take these sorrows;
and write them.
I will load them in a pen
and scribble down
my clearly disorganized thoughts
on an aged square
of yellowing paper,
of your selfish actions.
I will detail
-to the world-
how you attempted
to seize from me
in the form of
and tear-streaked eyes, -
-so brazenly- attempted
the fragile metaphysical agreement
between my physical form
and my soul.
The truth about Eli.I'm looking into brown eyes
down the barrel of gun
and I inhale,
then turn pale,
and the day becomes undone.
My face reflected
in silver bullets
but the cups not full its
And I'm running out of AIR.
I consider it a crime
to diffuse my meaning
in prose more purple.
I won't lie.
Yes, I will,
My work isnt about pain,
its about beauty.
Ugly words are the spaces left behind,
just because I rhymed doesnt
make them any less mine.
Whether I write for love or hate
is not up for debate.
Its not a decision you can make,
its one I've had to fake,
so I know what I'm talking about.
A piece of poetry clearly defines
the abstract positions taken
by an individual
But thats not true.
Not even close.
Its just a little morose
to think that it might be a part of me.
that you cant fill
up with lies and distractions.
I thrive on interactions.
I am in love with being sad
because it feels real
and I dont have to steal
an emotional exc
Velum TempestumWiatr przyniesie sól, deszcze i ból
Pod chmurnym niebem zapłaczą drzewa
Ja będę wyć, rozdzierać i bić
Rozetnę słońce pazurem cienia
Deszczu biczem uderzę w twą twarz...
Zostawię na niej szramy
Bo jam jest sztormu pan i gradu,
Jestem ja wiatr nieokiełznany!
Jam Orkan, Huragan, Tajfun,
Uderzę znów, pełnia czy nów
Gdy nie będziecie się spodziewać
Przyniosę deszcz, przyniosę gniew
I gradobicie i los i cios!
poor directionsit's a drug
addicts so high
waking each day
crawling for miles
for a drop on their tongues
a sweet sound in their ears
a tainted air in their lungs
retreat to faith
when you run out
let's be brutally honest
it's another excuse
a desperate delusion
you've lost your reason
you've lost your dreams
you've lost your way
are you so empty?
are you so blind?
are you so weak?
with a promise of forgiveness
you can be as immoral as you need
it's okay to rape and to kill, God'll forgive
are you out of your fucking mind?
you're excused for crimes
because you prayed tonight?
how do you live in these lies?
has your need for answers
led you completely astray?
TeethShe had long
strawberry blonde hair,
and a posthumous smile
with big shiny teeth
that leave stains on your memory
like great films.
When she gave blowjobs
I'd feel those teeth
like little surgical instruments
sweet, painful, pleasure.
It was hard to come
and when I was nearly there
hanging on the precipice of ecstasy,
ready to burst,
those little scalpel
held me in.
pressing down on my cock,
and when I finally let go
covered those big teeth
with drops of white sperm,
and leaned over,
pressing her naked body against mine,
and kissed me.
She made her way
with lavish footsteps
to the bathroom,
and brushed her teeth.
Now whenever I smell minty, menthol, flouride
or see oral-b commercials,
I think of her
and those teeth.
Bardotempered by uncertainty;
our suppers were served
each evening in relics of parsimonious saints
cruciferous vessels disavowed
by the heliocentric spiderwebbing of the past
yet in the instant of that interstice we learned
(wrapped in our own
writhing kinetic tendrils)
that the difference between controlled chaos and a universe defined
is a coddled algorithm
an odd posit
choiced in the bowels of sub-consciousness
that when sufficiently bred
and stacked on our heads
can brings us all back from the dead
AerosolIt has been a day and a half since the crash, and I have found a cabin. In some ways, this is a relief. I don’t know if I could face another night on the mountain without shelter. Outside, a fire does no good: the heat simply travels upwards. However, this place also raises some difficult questions. I estimate that I’ve put eight miles between myself and the crash site. I don’t know if this will be enough. It Saving...
occurs to me that I don’t really know anything.
The survival manual recommends staying with the plane. It explains that this affords the best chance of rescue. It explains that the wreckage offers warmth and shade. It explains that seventy percent of pilots who stay are located within three days, while seventy percent of those who leave are
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