poetry

sine qua non

[purplemonkeysexgod69]

@purplemonkeysexgod69

[purplemonkeysexgod69]

penis color is not binary, it's a spectrum

@jayarrarr

[purplemonkeysexgod69]

Erwin named the cat Mitch

[cherokeeghostwriter]

decoy

it's pointless to worry over time. we have what we have.

stop keeping your eye on the ball. the ball is a lure- a carrot dangling just ahead, a rabbit for the greyhound, coursing endless circles without prize, or relevance.

life is a beach. time is the tide.

[purplemonkeysexgod69]

I was visited by three ducks

the first said quack

the second said quack quack

the third said sup bro

so I nailed him to a cross

or her

not quite sure how to gender ducks

quack quack said Brutus

so I stabbed him

or was it Judas

or Judith

all I know is that the guacamole

had no jalapeños

due to salmonella

not bitcoin

crypto

sporidium or was it cyclo

spyro perhaps

quack said the wabbit

wus up duck

yabba dabba that's all folks

[purplemonkeysexgod69]

leave no trace

go ahead, leave your mark,

build your legacy.

time is the tide.

[purplemonkeysexgod69]

[purplemonkeysexgod69]

as seen in real life

[purplemonkeysexgod69]

[purplemonkeysexgod69]

USA: A world on fire.

Spain: Un mundo en llamas.

France: Un monde en flammes.

Canada: A world on fire, eh?

[purplemonkeysexgod69]

the spanish magician counted:

uno, dos —

then vanished in a puff of smoke.

he disappeared

without a tres.

[purplemonkeysexgod69]

[purplemonkeysexgod69]

Some sadistic son of a bitch brought a one thousand piece puzzle of a Henri Matisse painting to work.

[purplemonkeysexgod69]

seriously, F this puzzle. damn you, Matisse!

[purplemonkeysexgod69]

Original post was June 3rd. We "completed" the puzzle today, July 21st. It is missing one piece. ONE!!! It's red. Damn you, Henri!

[purplemonkeysexgod69]

silence is the wind, the walls, the walking spider across the ceiling. I hear them, my thoughts, loud. no, I say. stop, I implore. it all falls apart. it all comes together. I turn off the noise: the news, the shows, the music, the people, the mob. the leaves, rustling; the crawling clouds across the deep, blue sky; this is peace.

[purplemonkeysexgod69]

today's sky, brought to you by the color orange

[purplemonkeysexgod69]

[cherokeeghostwriter]

waiting in line

this is where a poem would be. if I had one.

this empty space looks back at me- an eternity observing at a distance, waiting.

i've settled into this three-dimensional space, living out my linear existence- my sentience cast as sculpture, waiting in line.

the silence has acquired a shape. dust rehearses the outline of things i almost meant.

somewhere, language is still becoming itself. birdsong discovers the morning without first consulting a dictionary. the tide arrives having forgotten every name ever given it.

perhaps poems are not written.

perhaps they are excavated- a careful brushing-away of everything that believed it was stone.

if so, i've mistaken the waiting for the work.

i've been polishing the pedestal instead of listening for the first fracture.

this is where a poem would be.

hidden beneath the outline of a man still standing aside, making room for its arrival.