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words float a-whirl around my head

then from my fingers silent said

like sweetest notes of soft refrain

on a bed of pixels gently lain


then rearranged and juxtaposed

to bear the meaning I supposed

spruced up and trimmed – their syntax tweaked

then freed to find the home they seek


some, as if deaf, no music hear

my meaning missed, my thoughts unclear

yet, others sense a heady thrum

as nimble longings heartstrings strum


if these words, in some way inspire

give birth in those, enlightened fire

if they can feel this thrill in me

that is the gift of poetry

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nearly crushed it

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Tell Me...

Tell me
What you would say
If you just had
A few breaths left
Within your lungs,
Tell me
What you would say
If you just had
A few beats left
Within your heart,
Tell me
All the things
You never said
When your pulse
Beat solid
And your lungs
Ran full tilt,
Tell me
What I want
To hear,
But what
You wished
You could
Tell me
But didn't
Out of fear,
Tell me...
APAD13 - 107 © okpoet

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I wished
You had
Sent cookies
I wished
You had
Sent drugs,
I wished
You had
Sent anything
And everything
Else but your love,
I can eat the cookies
I can consume the drugs
I can go through anything
And everything,
Leaving not a trace
Stuff my face
And pass out
Forget all about
What has just transpired
Wake up tired
And groggy
My mind a little bit foggy,
Happy to be alive,
But you sent your love
And like a freed dove
It flew out at me
And though it filled me with glee
I'm left emptier
And like a drunk less friendlier
Missing you, wanting you
Needing you; and now I'm blue...
APAD13 -102 © okpoet

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Tonight, the streets are
empty. And I want you
to take my hand,

and drag me like a ragdoll,
take me to places as far

as the moon. The stars shown
paths branching into deeper


Dispersed fireflies
are here with us

as angels to fly over

But we still have to choose

from these darkness;
don’t worry,

the moon is God’s halo
ready to witness for this
wanderlust, do not

Take the first step,
this is only like blooming
colors beneath eyelids,

and so, now, we let these neon
lights devour us,

like rivers eating
bodies whole.

The wind blew strong;
so strong we flew
as if carried by those
fireflies, evolved to
the angels that
we have

The wind blew
strong, and I swear

we were flying
towards the sky.

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Our Father

“Our Father, Who art in heaven
What the hell are you doing?
Why does it matter?
Hallowed be Thy name
Like prayer actually does anything.
It calms me down, okay.
Thy kingdom come
We don’t even believe in God.
I don’t need to believe in anything,
Thy will be done
So, you admit it’s pointless?
To do something that relaxes me.
On Earth as it is in heaven.
Why on Earth would you continue
I don’t care if it doesn’t help;
Give us this day our daily bread
Saying the same damn words repeatedly 
I don’t care if no one is listening;
And forgive us our trespasses
Knowing it doesn’t help?
I just need something to do.
As we forgive those who trespass against us
It does absolutly nothing,
I seriously doubt it affects anything
And lead us not into temptation
And I don’t understand
But then again, neither does pacing.
But deliver us from evil.
Why you need the comfort.
Plus, it kept you distracted too.

0 0 0

Home Dog Silly Winkers (A Love Poem for Buttholes)

all these home dogs,
these silly winkers.
there is so much more
then finding your way
to the bottom of a quarry.

Like being behind a girl
when her butthole winks at you
and you put your hands up to your head
like moose antlers.

more simplicity in the way
a butthole winks at you
than an eye does, I think.

More love in it.

Like in the bottom of the rain
when all resisters become transistors
and you feel the weight
of your dead grandmother
as you carry her coffin.

My grandmother was a big woman.

always ate my Chinese leftovers,
not much love in when you're hungry
and your dead grandmother has eaten
your leftovers.

But surely there is love in V-shaped
migrations of hooded teenagers
and how you wish all of life
was a musical so you could hear them
sing instead of the awry wink.

I still get urges to reinstall from time to time,
you know,
the deathly ills in imaginary responses
to the winking butthole,

how full of philosophy this poem is
blew my mind as I wrote it
and my grandmother haunts me still.

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One in the Same

when guilt and grief are just the same
no way of knowing which one to claim
the sorrow of a loss too close
to home, to heart, to what we know
and what we cherish most in this world
for that lonely boy, that loving girl
now far estranged with no hope of return
I guess all that's left are the feelings that burn
the guilt of living, the grief love earns 

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Rack 'em up

We amuse ourselves with this;

Angles and clickety-clacks

Table tennis with twists

You break, I’ll rack.

Love triangles are

Something I’d rather avoid.

You gleam, you shooting star

You spill, you cup of poise

rec-tangle might have

Chalked our love

We wreck, laugh

Tangle, shove