Poetry-is-AWESOME

Tracing patterns in our skulls The hipshot is most reliable Yet flawed We enter the room so full of incense Eyesight was limited to about a foot in length Its scent reminded us to Relax and gather strength A powerful yet unknown song Began on original vinyl The rhythm was droning A Baritone so low it was barely perceptible Provided opening verse So too did the surrounds Begin to come apart The dust from deep in our hearts Repaired with broken parts When did it all start The early models summarily Were decommissioned Rebuilt Repaired Hidden circles trace spiral patterns The human mind too flawed to read Familiar verse The Baritone did sing Of unseen things Unknown things Hidden or repurposed Yes this is the one Empty Box empty Yet another Boon Not at All too Soon.

The night drapes over me, a shroud as dark as a vanquished spirit. My head, heavy, bows under the weight of sorrow, Visions of this world's relentless terrors etched deep within the folds of thought. Will this shadow ever lift? Can we turn a blind eye? Dreams of honor, courage, and purity plunge into an abyss, buried beneath concrete and earth. My heart, weary from the struggle, pulses with a tormenting rhythm. A glimpse of lives once carefree, dancing in ignorance or indifference to the looming storms, under ominous clouds pregnant with fury. When the final flame flickers out, who will stand to bear witness? Maybe, just maybe, a tender rain will fall, rousing us from our stupor, washing away the grime of yesteryears.

We are all one thing Everyone is everything We’re one entity

Agustina Bazterrica’s “Tender is the Flesh,” sensual shapes, cyberpunk neon pastel lit contours, cheeks made for eating… My body aches, from age, from hunger, from years of simmering, my skin, my soul, my pen on fire, pulsations beneath the surface quickening, drumming animalism, ancient, beautiful, primitive, raging hunger within, famished, my eyes, in the dark, glistening static & electric I crave your touch, your scent, your lips, your thighs, your toes, your chest, your stomach, your spit, your shoulders, your neck, your back, your cunny, your cheeks, and the hole in between Dripping with devouring, my gluttony, wet with unanswered prayers and agony, the roar grows, deafening, my grip tightens, my fingertips tingle, breath comes faster, gasping, I long to long, to feel, to have, to hold, to taste, EVERYTHING, to devour you whole, if only, for a moment in the grand scheme, a simple, singular moment of otherness, where I can become nothing, devoured by my

Once upon a time, in the quaint town of Evergreen, a feral kitten with a coat as wild as the forest itself wandered into the life of a kind-hearted man named Doug. He discovered her one chilly morning, her soft mews echoing through the stillness, and named her Crazy Cat in homage to her untamable spirit. Doug and Crazy Cat quickly formed an unbreakable bond. As the years passed, Doug's life blossomed – he moved from a cramped apartment to a beautiful house with a flourishing garden and married Jonnette, a gentle soul deeply connected to nature and magic through her practice of Wicca. Jonnette found solace in Crazy Cat's presence and soon noticed the extraordinary abilities the feline possessed. Jonnette adored Crazy Cat and understood that the cat had unusual abilities. Crazy Cat could come and go as she pleased, without any doors being opened for her, and she was an extraordinary hunter. Crazy Cat moved with an ethereal grace displaying a prowess that bordered on the mystical.

In the quietude of midnight, when stars hang like lanterns in the celestial tapestry, I seek the language of the void. The moon, a silver coin tossed across the cosmic expanse, whispers secrets to the wind. Its craters, ancient scars, tell tales of forgotten gods. I walk barefoot on dew-kissed grass, my mortal feet tracing patterns of constellations long extinct. The night sky, an inkwell spilled, holds the musings of eternity. I ask the stars: “Are we but stardust dreaming? Do we carry the echoes of distant quasars in our bones?” The silence answers, a cosmic sigh woven into existence. I am both particle and wave, observer and observed, a fleeting spark in the cosmic dance. The black holes yawn, hungry for knowledge, swallowing light and time. I stretch my arms toward infinity, grasping at the edges of existence. Perhaps the answers lie in the spaces between atoms, in the resonance of pulsars, in the curvature of spacetime. Or perhaps they elude us, forever dancing just beyond

There are many ways To do many things Our rhythm of speech The pitch we sing To wake up One thousand times Before growing old To keep our lives From being sold To take a name Only few may sing To share so much Without losing anything How our hearts beat Always and maybe We share such a thing To light the eyes Of those who've never seen With wonderous Detail, and memories Remember love Even forget some To find being lost But found on time Even our most precious ways Were once a nursery rhyme Told days upon days To feel emotion And make it ours In our lifetime

The fortieth millennium Abides by anarchy Another planet killer Rerouted dragging Mutagenic particles Scattered in the Atmosphere Redesigned food chains Intelligence in Primitive brains Natures balance Shifts dramatically Through pollination Ecosystem plant Domination Crosses vast desalinated Oceans of pure blue Hyper propagation Chokes the previous Millenia Again, and again To nonexistence North is West and East is South Mega insectoids Cross the Greenhouse world In a single day Another planet killer Heads this way Will the plants survive This inevitable day?

Unfolding memories, like a weird movie, play within my mind— A reel that refuses to unwind, looping selective imagery. A dance of repetition, certain words and phrases collide, Worlds entangled, a vortex in time. Places shift, yet remain the same, Discriminatory pauses etched into my brain. Programmed, perhaps, or a code to break one day, Deja vu, each moment old yet new. What does it mean, this tangled thread of existence? Sensing another plain, a whisper of elsewhere. Listen closely to the echoes, the unspoken truths, Messages to ourselves, unread, awaiting revelation. Can we decode our own essence before we past, Or is that knowledge reserved for another place and time? In the silence, let us listen, for within lies the key, Unlocking the mystery of our souls. Each memory a piece of the puzzle, A fragment of the past that shapes our present. A mirror reflecting our innermost fears and desires, A map leading us to our true selves. Embrace the weirdness, the

I am living proof the world ain't perfect Somehow, sometimes, always, never The seasons of imperfection Require no reflection Deflection, rejection, no direction Just thought I'd mention I see more every day You know, either way The gifted are rising to the surface Of Human correction Place, face, race, taste All are finding their place Amongst the most challenging Human ability to adapt, adopt, evolve My most regretful resolve I am closer to dissolving Than Earth in heavy rain Satisfaction, positive action I am humbled in my own Faction Outclassed, on the team Coaches thought I did seem To have talent Never relent Rejections all I had sent My band played in my basement Another life have but too show Forward it did seem A carpenter born in me Creating indelible art Music still played in my head Too saturate, like it rained Took rule book, learned, played to win An amazing amount of years This season, and another... Some way to ever explain I'll never do that