There’s a time and season for every reason
no cookie bakes itself
cherries don’t burst on their own
cherries don’t burst *******!
a bottle doesn’t empty itself to full/fill
breaking clocks is a wonderful way to **** time
ironic glory hole of blood and glass
running out of test tubes, the ****’s too tight
****… reason!
INVEST!

Admiration is the state furthest away from understanding
pawns don’t need details
******* with teeth make ******* meaningful
smashing the cow softens it, …digest it well
meaning is derived from screening STD g string
of a starry eyed jail-bait that drowns in a sea of ******
obtuse and absolute are the only submissions
failure to comprehend results in *******
cuckolds worth….
IMPROVE!

Lexicon laxative
this antipathy won’t last
stimulate thinking with cankerous drinking
***** ***** need no season or reason
to drown ****** who never show
the tears of heaven that understood
misled admiration and adolescent aberration
that silently candle deplorable fornication
time stays unchanged
counting doesn’t prove progress in this game
falling short… half beat hesitation
ITERATE!

No one chose to iterate
Or elaborate to me
The vast unending sea of grief
We tred; trying to breathe

Our paths bisect and weave to form
A beautiful tapestry
That on the surface gleams and glows
With possibility.

Beneath, time tugs each thin line
Until one snaps and breaks
One little thread removed and gone
Left havoc in its wake.

Something once so beautiful
Unravels, sags and fades
Parallel to how the Sun
Sets each dying day.

He only imbibes because of his dipsomania.
She only practices onanism because she's afraid he'll impregnate her.
He despises her monomania.
She's too affable, almost to the point of being obsequious.
He's too acrimonious and muzzy.
She knows she's a bit of a coquette.
He thinks he's a cuckold.
She used to be flighty until she fell into this convoluted dystopia.
He used to find it scintillating to get sozzled.
She just wants a lark once in a while.
His iniquity makes him want her to be lascivious.
Her every fatuity leads to a cabal.
He's too opaque and insipid.
She has to iterate and reiterate everything she says.
He feels his infatuation is unrequited.
She finds this unproblematic.
He doesn't imbue her with anything anymore.
She thinks he's unpitying of that.
He'll malinger tomorrow.
She'll wonder if it's all adventitious or kismet.
She can't handle his odium.
He can't stand her ten dollar words.

A toast! let's celebrate!
It's time to commemorate
As I demonstrate
And iterate
******* friends that I'd love to hate

Those ******* ******
With their bags full of tricks
They throw stones and sticks
Like ******* lunatics

They're bullies on steroids
What to expect?
Break my bones, calls me names
With no signs or ounce of respect

**** them
and their memes
**** them
by all means
**** them
those merciless machines
And **** them
in between

So let's toast! let's celebrate!
For this poem that I create
A tribute has been made
To my ******* friends I love to hate

by John M. Ford*


The worm drives helically through the wood
And does not know the dust left in the bore
Once made the table integral and good;
And suddenly the crystal hits the floor.
Electrons find their paths in subtle ways,
A massless eddy in a trail of smoke;
The names of lovers, light of other days
Perhaps you will not miss them. That's the joke.
The universe winds down. That's how it's made.
But memory is everything to lose;
Although some of the colors have to fade,
Do not believe you'll get the chance to choose.
Regret, by definition, comes too late;
Say what you mean. Bear witness. Iterate.

That dancing
Lover
Is empty
Caress
Faded
Photography
All encased
In memory space
By ageless
Glass
Over ancient
Death
Waded hands
Over welts
Over
Skin
The tightness
An heirloom
To your
Troubled
Breath
A rasping cry
In perpetual
Iterate
Recursive
The motion
Of ending eyes
When all lights flutter
And die

All Apps Un-installed
Hard disks wiped out
Operating System lost
System Shutdown
RAM cleared
BIOS destroyed
Object Id Retained
ROM info Retained

Hardware burnt to Ashes
Or left for Micro-organisms
Scriptures say, Sages re-iterate
Believers believe, others disagree
Object ID may be Reborn
With new OS and Apps
Or there is another possibility
Object ID gets destroyed
And witness Moksha
Free from further rebirth and deaths

Sorry this poem is not on Computers
But I am sure, it's about Humans
Smart Humans, Mortal Humans
Bound to follow the System of
LIFE, DEATH, RE-BIRTH
Until Moksha comes for Rescue

What does it mean to be human once more?
To wake up on the wrong side of this floor?
To walk naked through my house on a quest to urinate?
To see differing opinions with nothing but hate?
To work my second nine-to-five?
To sit through another 30 minute drive?
To party at night, with my beer cans stacked?
To awake in the morning with all of my odds stacked?
To plod through the same  job breaking my back?
To miss little league games for which my kids give me flak?
To throw money at them hoping they'll take me back?
To display disappointment with my life thus far?
Is this how we display how civilized we are?
How well we can march to the whistle?
How well we can bend in the wind like thistles?
That we are able to make the most money?
That we are the ones who decide what is funny?
That my polo shirt is more expensive than your nikes?
That if I stepped on them you would attempt to fight me?
That the only thing we revere is might?
That we re-iterate things that are bleak and trite?
That we poison our love with the hours we work?
That we would tear your heart out with a rusty fork?
That we're all caged pigs on anti-biotics?
Rather than wild with diseases that frolic?
People say they hate what society has become.
So we look for another public forum to dispose of our gum.

each iterative
a lesson
to fail
gracefully

Every book has a last page, every song a last verse to sing.
Every sentence its full stop, every beginning its ending.
Every existence will one day cease to be,
In the inevitability of death, there is unity.

'Death is simply a beginning,' confidently some state.
'In death, there is nothingness,' others iterate.
But the lock of death in the living world has no key.
In the ignorance of death, there is unity.

In the hearts of some resides unwavering misery.
Others march on, donning costumes of pseudo-normalcy.
The actuality of their loss, still others refuse to see.
In the incoherence of death, there is unity.

Cinema, literature, poetry have ostensibly tried to explain,
With the knowledge directors, littérateurs, poets feign.
No living soul can grasp its intense incongruity,
In the incomprehensibility of  death, there is unity

I'm a biochemical construct
mechanical of flesh and bone
software-infused hardware being,
another release,
an incrementally updated
version of humanity;
all off my data cells
come with prerequisites
I had no knowledge of;
the veins of my dreams
were blueprints and schemes
in my mother’s blood
in my father’s skin;
I scribble but cannot rewrite
the me, the I,
procedurally generated,
processed by algorithms;
and the purpose is clear
perpetuate and iterate,
move on with baby steps
not merely in time and distance,
but beyond existence

Our past paved the way
for a magnificent present
But now the moment has come
to surpass the next

As the chronicles of time would iterate
Without people there wouldn't be any history
And when you unleash your guts
You attain glory

So, step up your pace
for the time is near
The future… begins here!

What reminds you of me, sugar?
What brings a smile to your face?
What fills your mind up
and gives longing for an embrace?

I know I see you in the stars
the lake and the trees
I hear you in gunshots
and waves breaking free

A song on the radio
The lyrics a perfect fit
But feeling slightly cheesy
If I re-iterate it

Your little quirks
How you do what you do
They aren't just oddities
They are why I like you

So what reminds you of me, sugar?
Because I see you everywhere
What brings a smile to your face?
Because all I need is wind in my hair.

By Arcassin Burnham

Don't think that your alone for one second,
There's a world out there to explore,  you don't know about it,
Don't have to enter a sequence,
Just close your eyes and breathe,  there's no need to doubt it.

Don't think that your alone for one second,
There's a world out there to explore,  you don't know about it,
Don't have to enter a sequence,
Just close your eyes and breathe,  there's no need to doubt it,
There's no need to ever hate,
There's no need to ever fake,
Love and hate will fuse with destruction i hope you can't relate,
Sincerely your mistake of believing that clickbait,
Don't you feed the beast, just know your worth in this world to iterate,
The music,  the food,  the equality is all ******* up,  no apologies,
Left to wonder where the free thinkers will rewrite their discographies,
The world will be coming to an end, no time for thinking,
In the end you will decide what's real and fake in reality.

Linguistics for the intangibles -
would that be manageable?
: For one person to sit and create
some words that none can negate
fully explain all which we feel,
those words and verbs
we know to be real.
- To further iterate
our experience had;
words bigger than “happy and sad”

Right about when you'd think it'll fade,
Underestimating the darkness you face,
Black will always be the new black!
Blacker and deeper than what is before!
Insolent boy, do you not know of yourself?
Stop telling yourself ****!
Hope won't make you stronger!

Ride your way to oblivion!
Ubiquity would be your word!
Blasting word after word,
Blasting statement after statement.
Is this what you say is truth?
Speak up now, then!
Hesitating now would only lead you to suffocation!

Realize the visions in your real eyes!
Undress the lies you wear!
Blot out what you want to scream!
Belittle the fears you possess!
Instigate the light to your plea!
Stand up and be your own guardian!
Hold on to your sword!

Read between my lines, for once.
Under these horrific words,
Blight truly manifests.
Blooming be what you see,
I beg to differ what is real.
Stars may glitter the skies,
Havoc can they cause when they fall.

Rotting is the thought that reeks,
Ugly scars protrude from the beauty,
Break the walls and you'll see,
Bring curiosity into reality.
Ill is my mind with  everything,
Still, yes, but with nothing,
Hellbent are my gestures.

Reap me,
Untangle me,
Blow away the bad gusts,
Build me up again.
Iterate your soothe,
Stay by my side.
*Heightened false hope, again.

I roll in stolen moments
no deep contemplative hours avail me
an immovable watch, snatched and dashed by phone
or lipstick honed prose shopping for scandal
I am
the broken hands of faith offering naught but a vagrant malediction
where, but for a few chatty fists further, they remain below the none
in the unbound knots of shallow ruin
black
boxed
and cut into catastrophe
a unified cleave of impoverished woe

“immoveable?” say I

“I may chance sleep if it were in the hands of one beyond where ill goaded geometry is gone
Immaterial
come already danced, implacable
and I were vitreous to their bacterial digestion”

such chatty cracks may answer above their unleashed wish but…  

“but what?”

…but the chiral sun lies on its back smoking those hooves which have waited all day
the eternal don’t offer  faith in my diorama
so I own them
my own
my own scars that burn nicely enough
without your fire to iterate the bones

a few more herniated throats might join us yet
for a conveniently flagged final rebuke
each with a semi-toned profanity
as precocious coda
aged and offered with ******* down your maddening throat

picking up, if I may, where I left off yesterday,
before you so rudely walked away
or was it a year or so before?

I remain bored with these gods
twice removed from the approval ratings
their open mouthed statute holds no limitation
to my ambition
let me see those waves which are racked beyond recall
much like your neck should be
through jawed ears and briny tongue
a muffled centrepiece fetid
save for recalcitrant  sinew

I shall be the sky in which your virtuoso limbs must swing
swing
spastic in their envoi

now, serpent spat, pin-grinned, how is this sleep pain in the mirrored wide-why?

set vars null
set clock(ms)

t=clock(i)
i=0:1000000

iterate

Sometimes when you win you loose,
so hold on to all your *****
to sedate the hate
you've grown too tired to iterate

and as you hit the snooze to suppress the state of alarm within you
remember...

where've you been
what has hurt  and
what has elevated you to love and light beyond mundane normality


there is pleasure in pain
and pain in pleasure

sanity in insaneness

it's all just a dream,


only the mind sees in black and white
open your eyes to colors of possiblity
and feel the depth of senses completely  immersed in the experience of life...

for the way i see it,
there is not greater tragedy to reach the end of life without tasting the ecstasy of life itself ,
to die in a trapped mind, running on outdated information is the very
predicament know as the human condition

I'm a kind of tired that sleep can't fix
in a game gone amiss where no one wins
in a race stuck in place that don't begin
where every action is seen as sin

I am kind of lost where no compass
can find a home or points to bliss
facing the wind as I ****
the stains on my soles will iterate this

Im the kind of mad that lacks their tricks
a sad gone bad that cant be nixed
perplexed and had caught in the mix
as it all comes down like a ton of bricks

An introvert to escape the hurt
whos grew quite sick of chasing skirts
nomad on the landscape scraping dirt
disguising a grave as a yurt

Let me open the door for you he insists, a kindness born
from misunderstandings of power and luxuries, like this,
Grab the handle and pull hard toward me.  Standing dumb like a
stone easter-islanded headed fool, voice will out me, crackle of
Fury, but instead Why Thank You, honeys, sashays. Inside there’s
push off, rub off, get off, quick little deaths.  Pebbles in my shoe.

No, that’s not how it goes.  It goes like this:
Step out of time, skin suit fold carefully on the bed or the shore of
a river and now test the waters with toe stubbed broken.
Gentle there soft, marsh daubed clays, inanimate reeds brown, hollowed,
Place one gently between tongue and cheek.  Sink into the river, tilt head
Breath through reed.

Can you imagine every day iterate? Repetition? Repeat the old rage?
Practice a minuet or tackle the sonnet form, line by line?
How does one get to Carnegie Hall?  This too has become play, become fodder, become the one I am becoming.
Undone and I wish to step away, from the curb and push, push me under. A car, or truck or bus.  Taxi me ferried to the farther shore. wait there.

Under my arm a fiddle case.  Fumble the latch open and beautiful!
The gasp the wish the harm in lusting for want.  Want and rage merry friends take hold and shove.  I asked to be shoved and I am shoven.  Small tiny violin plays angsty melody for me, pour moi, pourbois.
I will play for tips.  I will play for your half of half uneaten sandwiches.  Want and rage and rhyme.  Meter has it in for me.  
Half beats and internal lusts, magnetic poles attracting and repellent. I watch.  My goal was to extract myself.  
My goal was to be serene and write.

In the best case scenario:
Tonight’s sky lusted with Comae Berenices entwines two perspectives
that converge then diverge, with one asking how may I help you seemingly sincere and yet there is the price tag of submission, and the other accepts that rejecting this kind offer will precipitate another cascade of stars wishing them frantic, de-glowing each, as they fall from the clouds.  May Day May Day May Day.

Hey,
I know what you’ll say,
But I wanna say,
What I need to say,

Hey,
Every day,
I sit and pray,
You won’t go away,

Like she did that day,
So please just stay,

I never want to lose you so,
I never want to say goodbye,
I never want to see you go,
I never wanna hear there’s some other guy,

You and I are akin to lovers,
One could say we are, akin to each other,
Please know I will never love her,
So please don’t tell me, you're with another,

I want you to myself,
I want to be so selfish,
I need you to myself,
I need you to myself,

I need your hand in mine,
Lips against mine,
Love in sight,
And if you let me,
    I just might...

So never let me hear you say,
What you don’t want to say,
Never let me iterate,
What was said that day.

-June 20th 2013

Sweet despair, my midnight mistress, oh how you ignite my passions.
Tribulations infinite spawn manufacts divine.
Complicated algorithms this machine in turmoil fashions,
Weaving, chipping, sieving for a-natural design.

Self-destructive operations tend, the mind, to overwhelm.
Hearty incantations of the spirit, yet, defend.
Pushed beyond his limits, one may wonder-wander to the helm.
Ship's upon doomed missions make their course until their end.

Artificers carve away, their craft: idyllic aestheticians.
Strings that pull on spirits may yet siphon their morale.
Lovers bound in honeymoon reveal themselves unseen magicians,
Summoning forth beauty when the sky itself grows stale.

Bittersweet nostalgia offers weary minds a rest from toil.
Soil seeps between the cracks of memories forgot.
Thunderous infernos, in their glory, burn a shade most royal,
Razor blades, defiant, iterate on what they're not.

And shall it seem a meaning to this story yet remains untold,
Let yourself be made aware; you've yet to see the tale unfold.

This land has been robbed of all that it had
Nothing is left, even for the slick and the rich
Crumbling edifices to our capitalist greed
Our world no capacity now left for its need.

There were those amongst us fought agin this
Imprisoned in jails within our own tortured selves
Not enough of us tried to stop the horrors we saw
Now nothing is left, our charade is no more.

Your fathers all fought in such ****** campaigns
There fathers too, and there fathers before
New weapons of destructive powers previously unheard
That slaughtered the innocent in ways cruelly absurd.

Buildings left standing with all inside dead
People didn't matter, but the real estate did
And thus the corruption swept over the Earth
We were judged by our value but not by our worth.

It angers me now as I feel guilty shame
For I didn't do enough and that makes me as them
And for you with the mess whatever is left
There's a world that was rich and is now so bereft.

One thing is certain, save the wealth of the land
The one crucial thing that we never did foresee
Don't go down the pathway of war-like inventions
Create things for peace and for better intentions.

Think in these ways and you may stand a chance
It's a message I couldn't ever iterate to much
War and corruption lie together in bed
Growing good crops gets communities fed.



©Joe Wilson - In mortal pain...2014