Little white rabbit goin down a hole
Wondering if it even has a soul
Goin to wonderland drifting far away
The grass turns to green and night turns into day
A girl named Alice falls into a hole
Not knowing she just lost her only soul
Goin to wonderland drifting far away
the grass turns the green and night turns to day
A little stripped chesire cat tells her where to go
Whether or not it's lieing, alice doesn't know
But goin through wonderland drifting far away
The lights all go out and the paths fade away
A hookah smokin caterpillar asks you who you are
You don't have an answer that is up to par
You look up in confusion and you wonder why
As the smokin caterpilliar becomes a butterfly
Walk up to a tea party that doesn't look that bad
But then you start to realize that they're all quite mad
They tell you not to worry cause that is all they are
Gain through wonderland going oh so far.
"Yes your Majesty" is all you have to say
But paint the damn roses and you go away
Cause in this wonderland you do what your told
Cause in this wonderland you don't have a soul
Private Mod Note
():
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Thank you for choosing
Rodemy Pizza
It’s not the best choice, but it’s a choice nonetheless
I know you don't have the audacity to say,
That my entire life has been led astray
By empty bottles and warm ashtrays,
But now I fear it's too late
You just couldn't acknowledge
What a failure I've become
Have fun in college
i saw the best minds of my generation starved by irony,
dragging themselves through streets looking for a person who would be real enough to touch them,
devilbrowed hipsters blinded by the glow of computer screens and the promises of empty lives,
who bellow and waste themselves and all their friends floating among the tops of cities contemplating suicide,
who bared their brains to the nebulous masses hoping naively for some sort of connection or hope at the end of a meandering path lined with butterflies and ferns that quickly grew indigenous to the region,
who looked at colleges but idolized television and passed around it, escaping the sin of being educated,
who spent their days and nights being boring and letting people do things they would have done, should have done,
who watched behind viewing windows made of glass as everything they loved was taken from them and gave the world a collective shrug, as if to say that dreams and drugs and everything we did was meaningless and reality and hypocrisy were the only two things that ever survived democracy,
who let themselves be deceived and traded their land for tokens, who traded their souls for tokens, everything they ever had meaningless,
who gave away their potential to be people in their haste to be people,
who embodied everything that the world despises and everything the world admires,
who are driven to do everything the wrong way, at the wrong time,
who are impatient,
who don't talk but use similes to pretend they do,
who beg and borrow and steal and say that they are all unique and special, like an explosion of snowflakes in the middle of summer,
who journeyed abroad,
who found themselves abroad,
who sat and stared at walls and had furtive late-night conversations, singular, with people they would never talk to again and could only see through those screens,
who watched themselves slowly and unconsciously move away from everyone they'd ever loved, except for the dead ones, and wondered why, and made this all about them, because that is the curse of their generation,
who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in space and time through images juxtaposed and different, and found the archangel of the soul and talked to her and became her, and felt their soul changing oh!, and changed their body later,
who stared at walls unbidden,
who watched mountains melt before their eyes and everything pale in insignificance and melt away,
who found that they were able to feel emotions, just a little bit, but enough that it was no longer possible to quite ignore the cacophony of screaming self-doubt and hatred,
who built statues to themselves and watched other people smoke away the remains,
who watched everything disposable thrown to the wolves and left to rot like so much flotsam and jetsam, and lay there, attempting to be a rock, for rocks don't have feelings,
who watched the roaches scurry out of their hiding places and spread all over the world unbidden as a result, great big avalanches of feeling and death and uncaring and attempts to not be evil,
who watched everyone they'd ever known laugh at them, thinking it was all a joke,
who watched everything they'd ever known and love become destroyed with the sands of time and the loneliness of being human, the additional loneliness of being less than human, of being different,
who watched their face in the mirror and was never quite able to recognize the stranger there, haggard, unkempt, beaten down, that was shown there, except for obvious comparisons to their parents, the wrong parents,
who knew that everything was the wrong everything,
who purchased faces online so people could see them, could maybe see at some point why they were what they were and why they did what they did and maybe had a sliver of an inkling of empathy to relate,
who let themselves die after everyone else, writing pastiches and watching others hang out and be social while wishing fervently that everything around and inside themselves should die,
who wished for impossible things,
or possible things,
or things that took time and never quite worked right,
or things that were slow and morose and horrific and transfigurating and feared and molested and killed and ignored and mocked and hated,
or things that spawned great leviathans, coming out from the sea, to smite them all,
or things that wrote poetry and yelled and short stories and things that were hidden,
or things that never wanted to be found or spoke up or talked,
or things that were passing,
or things that wanted to pass, even underneath the illumination of the moon, so much brighter and better than the sun, since you can escape it,
who made you grow your hair long like babylon and who don't let the empty vessels around you see your face, for it is a liar,
who moves mountains on top of you, creates reverse pyramids of sand and stone and trappings,
who is disgusted by you and revulses you but by that designation is merely a normal, unexceptional, standard, average, sensible person,
who was sitting underneath the arizona sun so late once you would have thought it'd be the day that devils came out to roam, only they had all disappeared and found purchase inside them, and they stared into it with empty, sun-baked eyes, painfully, until they couldn't see anymore, and they walked around blind and flailing and felt that inexpressible impulse that this was better than anything they'd ever seen, this lack of knowing, this ignorance, until it wasn't,
who were rotting from the inside like expired fruit, turning black and grimy while people passed around them, not wanting to touch it,
who closed their eyes and realized in some essential way that there was something missing there, something nobody should ever miss, that should never be a problem, something taken for granted, and yet it was missing, it was a great monster clawing at the edges of their consciousness,
and cannot be
escaped,
my mouth is full of winsome lies -
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
when a city of makeshift facades would not
and his shelter brought his protection sought
me from those crowds of superficiality
engaged in their mannequin speech
with the mask of a thousand faces
in the eyes of dishonest gazes
bearing the expressions of genuine lies
he called me south-bound west
and with resolve i fled
onwards offwards beyond words
for the transition was pleasant
since he never judged without a court
never sighed unless the birds flew
and he even cried too
when the weather was blue
so i shed a tear back to show my thankful dues
Different than my usual work, this is more of a traditional love poem. Nothing really abstract here.
Flyswatter
How can years of dedication be destroyed within five minutes?
As if everything I've done,
And everything I said,
Everything I'd put out for you,
Finally reached its limit
And was crushed like a fly,
All heart and soul killed within it.
Remember when we talked all night until we both were sleeping?
While I would cherish every message,
Every little sentence,
Every single word,
You started sweeping,
All of our love
Into the trash,
Along with the fly,
Took it to a dumpster
And threw it inside.
so much sadness, so much breathing,
ever after's never fooling
me; the hatred burning, seething,
growths pop out our heads like boiling
plagues, endemic, but cures spreading,
at once freedom, death, and meaning,
we will overcome all feeling ...
make sealed boxes for our breeding,
live forever; lose reasoning.
my mouth is full of winsome lies -
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
I speak words of inspiration to a nation hard of hearing
and to citizens of criticism staring at the ceiling.
Hands are lending and befriending those that fall into the mess
and the watchful eyes see through the lies and decimate the rest
I am nothing but a person and a person I will be,
a hero of the wounded and the hero of the free.
A cape upon my sholders and a symbol on my chest
I'll say that I'm no superman, not say that I'm the best.
When the hero goes to zero and he falls upon his face,
who will be the person that will take him to his resting place?
And I wonder on that day if I will say I told a lie,
if I'll be the boastful being who told all that he could fly.
And when that day does come and everyone sees who I am
I will stand my ground and look around and shout that I'm a man.
Because, every day, I see the way that everybody lies.
Because in my head I'll be not dead, but high up in the sky.
Private Mod Note
():
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Thank you for choosing
Rodemy Pizza
It’s not the best choice, but it’s a choice nonetheless
He cracks his joints with the same
Clock setting rhythm of dice
Casting fortunes on mahogany
And so syncopated were the
Death gurgles of his drowning
That all the world claimed it
A song and danced along
So bittersweet were the clicks
And gasps and unruly sputters
That all men lowered the gun from
Their heads and cast themselves
From the bridge; in order that
They might attempt to set a clock
With the casting of their fortune
And he cracks his knuckles:
One set against a glass;
the other against a pen
And he cracks his skull;
Banging against a world
That refuses to hate
His self destruction as he
Hates theirs
We live between these contrasting pressures.
Each push, of aggression; each pull, with desire.
We love to see such misgiven gestures.
Each wince, in elation; each howl, like a choir.
The nerd timidly moves,
Speaks with tone and inflection,
That suggests that he has a fear,
Of crippling rejection,
But there is no objection,
To ask the hottest girl to prom,
With a big grin on his face,
He can hardly hide his erection.
oh it's that feeling, it's that feeling, could you ever understand?
i watched my mother's face light up and felt like stabbing her again,
my brother smiling in the background, so content with the world's plan,
they wish that i'd be happier but don't accept the pain i am
it feels like acid's in my bones and burning fire's in my hands
remember when i told you that i had these thoughts of something else
a long time ago - yesterday - and you said you could accept it
and would be understanding? 'Cause it seems just like you've been lying,
and it hurts so goddamn much to be shown that you don't give a ****
why lie and say you care? i'm a nonentity, irrelevant
to everything you've ever done - i may as well stand in the sun
and grab a magnifying glass the size of my enormous ass
and shrivel in the sun's sweet rays 'til my blood vessels burst and fray
so much discretion lasts forever
so much excretion doesn't matter
i think that i just stopped caring when
i realized no one understands
it doesn't matter what i say
you wouldn't read it anyway.
a piece of **** baked in the sun
turned golden-brown
is everyone
my mouth is full of winsome lies -
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
we watched the sun dive
into the horizon,
lifting the light
from the earth,
like the moon
lifting the water
from the ocean,
moving the stones
underneath the sea—
stones you've collected
as a child
that I've only tossed away.
I did not sleep last night
I went for a run
And I felt the wind blast
The morning dew; tumultuously
Along the highways between
Skyscraper grass blades
I did not sleep-
But i ran the road from Rome
To the Athens of the south-
And somewhere along the way
I steeled my resolve
And with new zeal raised pace
And my guilt gave up the chase,
So i built a kingdom in the space
Between the lacy parting clouds,
And delighted in the riot of
The birds singing against the sun.
I did not sleep-
But the greenery gave me peace
Against the routine i had undone
Everything that is
lingers in blissful ignorance
of what can't be.
Safe with the knowledge
that there might not be
an edge or an end.
That life might not
in fact
be as short and sharp as it seems.
Private Mod Note
():
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I make words using things
like pen pencil computer
sometimes prolific
sometimes a neuter
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Little white rabbit goin down a hole
Wondering if it even has a soul
Goin to wonderland drifting far away
The grass turns to green and night turns into day
A girl named Alice falls into a hole
Not knowing she just lost her only soul
Goin to wonderland drifting far away
the grass turns the green and night turns to day
A little stripped chesire cat tells her where to go
Whether or not it's lieing, alice doesn't know
But goin through wonderland drifting far away
The lights all go out and the paths fade away
A hookah smokin caterpillar asks you who you are
You don't have an answer that is up to par
You look up in confusion and you wonder why
As the smokin caterpilliar becomes a butterfly
Walk up to a tea party that doesn't look that bad
But then you start to realize that they're all quite mad
They tell you not to worry cause that is all they are
Gain through wonderland going oh so far.
"Yes your Majesty" is all you have to say
But paint the damn roses and you go away
Cause in this wonderland you do what your told
Cause in this wonderland you don't have a soul
I know you don't have the audacity to say,
That my entire life has been led astray
By empty bottles and warm ashtrays,
But now I fear it's too late
You just couldn't acknowledge
What a failure I've become
Have fun in college
My Mafia Stats - My Helpdesk
G Omnath, Locus of Mana U Arcum Dagsson BUG The Mimeoplasm GW Gaddock Teeg X Karn, Silver Golem
A million more to taste
That blends into a symphony
That ends up in my waist
A quest to know, to search, to find
The grandest of them all
Encompassed in a golden shell
My will shall start to fall
A dash of hot volcano flame
A mixture of smooth cheese
A coup of beans gives me a smell
that surely taints the breeze
An ancient land yields to us, these
Delicious recipes
Yet one thing that they told us not:
Which one tastes best to me
i saw the best minds of my generation starved by irony,
dragging themselves through streets looking for a person who would be real enough to touch them,
devilbrowed hipsters blinded by the glow of computer screens and the promises of empty lives,
who bellow and waste themselves and all their friends floating among the tops of cities contemplating suicide,
who bared their brains to the nebulous masses hoping naively for some sort of connection or hope at the end of a meandering path lined with butterflies and ferns that quickly grew indigenous to the region,
who looked at colleges but idolized television and passed around it, escaping the sin of being educated,
who spent their days and nights being boring and letting people do things they would have done, should have done,
who watched behind viewing windows made of glass as everything they loved was taken from them and gave the world a collective shrug, as if to say that dreams and drugs and everything we did was meaningless and reality and hypocrisy were the only two things that ever survived democracy,
who let themselves be deceived and traded their land for tokens, who traded their souls for tokens, everything they ever had meaningless,
who gave away their potential to be people in their haste to be people,
who embodied everything that the world despises and everything the world admires,
who are driven to do everything the wrong way, at the wrong time,
who are impatient,
who don't talk but use similes to pretend they do,
who beg and borrow and steal and say that they are all unique and special, like an explosion of snowflakes in the middle of summer,
who journeyed abroad,
who found themselves abroad,
who sat and stared at walls and had furtive late-night conversations, singular, with people they would never talk to again and could only see through those screens,
who watched themselves slowly and unconsciously move away from everyone they'd ever loved, except for the dead ones, and wondered why, and made this all about them, because that is the curse of their generation,
who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in space and time through images juxtaposed and different, and found the archangel of the soul and talked to her and became her, and felt their soul changing oh!, and changed their body later,
who stared at walls unbidden,
who watched mountains melt before their eyes and everything pale in insignificance and melt away,
who found that they were able to feel emotions, just a little bit, but enough that it was no longer possible to quite ignore the cacophony of screaming self-doubt and hatred,
who built statues to themselves and watched other people smoke away the remains,
who watched everything disposable thrown to the wolves and left to rot like so much flotsam and jetsam, and lay there, attempting to be a rock, for rocks don't have feelings,
who watched the roaches scurry out of their hiding places and spread all over the world unbidden as a result, great big avalanches of feeling and death and uncaring and attempts to not be evil,
who watched everyone they'd ever known laugh at them, thinking it was all a joke,
who watched everything they'd ever known and love become destroyed with the sands of time and the loneliness of being human, the additional loneliness of being less than human, of being different,
who watched their face in the mirror and was never quite able to recognize the stranger there, haggard, unkempt, beaten down, that was shown there, except for obvious comparisons to their parents, the wrong parents,
who knew that everything was the wrong everything,
who purchased faces online so people could see them, could maybe see at some point why they were what they were and why they did what they did and maybe had a sliver of an inkling of empathy to relate,
who let themselves die after everyone else, writing pastiches and watching others hang out and be social while wishing fervently that everything around and inside themselves should die,
who wished for impossible things,
or possible things,
or things that took time and never quite worked right,
or things that were slow and morose and horrific and transfigurating and feared and molested and killed and ignored and mocked and hated,
or things that spawned great leviathans, coming out from the sea, to smite them all,
or things that wrote poetry and yelled and short stories and things that were hidden,
or things that never wanted to be found or spoke up or talked,
or things that were passing,
or things that wanted to pass, even underneath the illumination of the moon, so much brighter and better than the sun, since you can escape it,
who made you grow your hair long like babylon and who don't let the empty vessels around you see your face, for it is a liar,
who moves mountains on top of you, creates reverse pyramids of sand and stone and trappings,
who is disgusted by you and revulses you but by that designation is merely a normal, unexceptional, standard, average, sensible person,
who was sitting underneath the arizona sun so late once you would have thought it'd be the day that devils came out to roam, only they had all disappeared and found purchase inside them, and they stared into it with empty, sun-baked eyes, painfully, until they couldn't see anymore, and they walked around blind and flailing and felt that inexpressible impulse that this was better than anything they'd ever seen, this lack of knowing, this ignorance, until it wasn't,
who were rotting from the inside like expired fruit, turning black and grimy while people passed around them, not wanting to touch it,
who closed their eyes and realized in some essential way that there was something missing there, something nobody should ever miss, that should never be a problem, something taken for granted, and yet it was missing, it was a great monster clawing at the edges of their consciousness,
and cannot be
escaped,
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
I pulled gently...
Though it almost broke,
Letting it unravel slowly took patience i've earned with time.
I found a strand of your grey hair today
clinging to the cotton inside layer of my favorite, and most comfy black hoodie.
One thin grey strand of you...
Would this be the last piece of evidence?
Would this long curled twine be the sum of all our failed attempts at reconciliation?
I wish i'd left it there...
Safely zipped against my heart
I wish i'd left you in there....
I'm not quite ready, you see?
Letting it unravel slowly...
If i'd obtained this knowledge so long ago, unraveling wouldn't have stung so deeply.
I hope one day i'll change...
Safely zipped inside my hoodie.
http://kersmtgalters.deviantart.com/
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Gurgling and hissing
water ceases to flow
from the faucet.
Leaving me
with my cup.
Not empty,
but not full
by any means
like pen pencil computer
sometimes prolific
sometimes a neuter
all doubled as flood basins
And so dry were our bones
That we envied drowning
Where I grew up, ninety-one degrees/
Counted for Mild, fair and decent
When compared to the simmering
Of our reckless, sun baked souls
Where I grew up, words
Would melt off the page
And there was no faith
In any day or age
Where I grew up,
Past and present
And gods and men
And dreams and all of them;
Were every bit as empty
As the most stalwart of the
Promises we made ourselves
About ever getting out
Join the Poetry Running Contest!
Join the Poetry Running Contest!
when a city of makeshift facades would not
and his shelter brought his protection sought
me from those crowds of superficiality
engaged in their mannequin speech
with the mask of a thousand faces
in the eyes of dishonest gazes
bearing the expressions of genuine lies
he called me south-bound west
and with resolve i fled
onwards offwards beyond words
for the transition was pleasant
since he never judged without a court
never sighed unless the birds flew
and he even cried too
when the weather was blue
so i shed a tear back to show my thankful dues
Flyswatter
How can years of dedication be destroyed within five minutes?
As if everything I've done,
And everything I said,
Everything I'd put out for you,
Finally reached its limit
And was crushed like a fly,
All heart and soul killed within it.
Remember when we talked all night until we both were sleeping?
While I would cherish every message,
Every little sentence,
Every single word,
You started sweeping,
All of our love
Into the trash,
Along with the fly,
Took it to a dumpster
And threw it inside.
My Mafia Stats - My Helpdesk
G Omnath, Locus of Mana U Arcum Dagsson BUG The Mimeoplasm GW Gaddock Teeg X Karn, Silver Golem
so much sadness, so much breathing,
ever after's never fooling
me; the hatred burning, seething,
growths pop out our heads like boiling
plagues, endemic, but cures spreading,
at once freedom, death, and meaning,
we will overcome all feeling ...
make sealed boxes for our breeding,
live forever; lose reasoning.
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
I speak words of inspiration to a nation hard of hearing
and to citizens of criticism staring at the ceiling.
Hands are lending and befriending those that fall into the mess
and the watchful eyes see through the lies and decimate the rest
I am nothing but a person and a person I will be,
a hero of the wounded and the hero of the free.
A cape upon my sholders and a symbol on my chest
I'll say that I'm no superman, not say that I'm the best.
When the hero goes to zero and he falls upon his face,
who will be the person that will take him to his resting place?
And I wonder on that day if I will say I told a lie,
if I'll be the boastful being who told all that he could fly.
And when that day does come and everyone sees who I am
I will stand my ground and look around and shout that I'm a man.
Because, every day, I see the way that everybody lies.
Because in my head I'll be not dead, but high up in the sky.
When written with
no words.
Poems become
empty spaces,
silence between faces,
emotion unemoted
leaving no traces,
lost between places.
like pen pencil computer
sometimes prolific
sometimes a neuter
disappear; hundreds
of starlings asleep.
Clock setting rhythm of dice
Casting fortunes on mahogany
And so syncopated were the
Death gurgles of his drowning
That all the world claimed it
A song and danced along
So bittersweet were the clicks
And gasps and unruly sputters
That all men lowered the gun from
Their heads and cast themselves
From the bridge; in order that
They might attempt to set a clock
With the casting of their fortune
And he cracks his knuckles:
One set against a glass;
the other against a pen
And he cracks his skull;
Banging against a world
That refuses to hate
His self destruction as he
Hates theirs
Join the Poetry Running Contest!
It's just as well.
My one piece of advice to you?
Just give them hell.
Join the Poetry Running Contest!
It was a fear of passion and inevitably endearment because of the way the willows shook and the facial hair that took
a toll on youth
It's the slightest bit rigid and taxing on the syntax but when a sprinter doesn't sprint his form grows lax
So when a writer doesn't write or a poet doesn't plead
cause becomes riddled
and questionably questionable
That tinkling of the spine and those goosebumps formed on arms seems to get a rise every time eyes
look past upon past while these fingers know best
that complexion upon completion is just a facade
just another excuse to make an excuse
It was a cusp of time once
filled with a slight of boredom
and an inkling of depression
with a touch of naivety
And having meandered back to the whims of the child
I owe it to myself.
We live between these contrasting pressures.
Each push, of aggression; each pull, with desire.
We love to see such misgiven gestures.
Each wince, in elation; each howl, like a choir.
The nerd timidly moves,
Speaks with tone and inflection,
That suggests that he has a fear,
Of crippling rejection,
But there is no objection,
To ask the hottest girl to prom,
With a big grin on his face,
He can hardly hide his erection.
My Mafia Stats - My Helpdesk
G Omnath, Locus of Mana U Arcum Dagsson BUG The Mimeoplasm GW Gaddock Teeg X Karn, Silver Golem
oh it's that feeling, it's that feeling, could you ever understand?
i watched my mother's face light up and felt like stabbing her again,
my brother smiling in the background, so content with the world's plan,
they wish that i'd be happier but don't accept the pain i am
it feels like acid's in my bones and burning fire's in my hands
remember when i told you that i had these thoughts of something else
a long time ago - yesterday - and you said you could accept it
and would be understanding? 'Cause it seems just like you've been lying,
and it hurts so goddamn much to be shown that you don't give a ****
why lie and say you care? i'm a nonentity, irrelevant
to everything you've ever done - i may as well stand in the sun
and grab a magnifying glass the size of my enormous ass
and shrivel in the sun's sweet rays 'til my blood vessels burst and fray
so much discretion lasts forever
so much excretion doesn't matter
i think that i just stopped caring when
i realized no one understands
it doesn't matter what i say
you wouldn't read it anyway.
a piece of **** baked in the sun
turned golden-brown
is everyone
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
into the horizon,
lifting the light
from the earth,
like the moon
lifting the water
from the ocean,
moving the stones
underneath the sea—
stones you've collected
as a child
that I've only tossed away.
I went for a run
And I felt the wind blast
The morning dew; tumultuously
Along the highways between
Skyscraper grass blades
I did not sleep-
But i ran the road from Rome
To the Athens of the south-
And somewhere along the way
I steeled my resolve
And with new zeal raised pace
And my guilt gave up the chase,
So i built a kingdom in the space
Between the lacy parting clouds,
And delighted in the riot of
The birds singing against the sun.
I did not sleep-
But the greenery gave me peace
Against the routine i had undone
Join the Poetry Running Contest!
Everything that is
lingers in blissful ignorance
of what can't be.
Safe with the knowledge
that there might not be
an edge or an end.
That life might not
in fact
be as short and sharp as it seems.
like pen pencil computer
sometimes prolific
sometimes a neuter