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I opened a letter addressed to no one
And found a wet map of my own grin.
The postmark said “Somewhere Between”
And the ink ran like a guilty priest.

The ceiling hummed its usual sermon:
  “You are a question your mirror asks gently.”
I nodded, chewing on glass-handled scissors,
Waiting for the floor to finish deciding its shape.

A horse walked in, dressed as my therapist.
She whined,
  “Your trauma wears a wedding dress.”
I asked for a refund
  And received a gun filled with sleep.

Behind the curtain:
  Someone’s mother melting into a fax machine,
  My ex spelling “forgiveness” with her teeth,
  A child screaming “I’m your future, father!”
  While drawing on a body bag.

I stood there,
  Drenched in six contradictory versions of myself,
Clutching a plunger and a birth certificate.

Someone whispered,
  “Your voice is a privilege.”

And all my response to that was:
  “Shut up louder.”
A poem in my usual ****** surrealistic/stream-of-consciousness style. Inspired by Not Stanley.
If you have a coin
Call me by your name
I’ll steal it from you
This is a pun. Or something?
Elo Jun 5
Narowid slippeurie obstaraway! Begost, begoft, farewords and well-bes’! Jackal jackeloping jumpers jonwards… Hey hoy! Hey hoy! Jouhuujugnelohjointeljoinelepip-pip-pip-pip-pip, ajumbley gonble gost the jaoibies.
Sina wawa allops alonge, the jaoibies nomble and nimble skipperie skops awaye. Ajum abum alump, alump, alump, also known as thunp, aloomph, aloule, or abumpb, jimble tint to the shrishy and shrolliery seedsseekery, dried all alife goe the parseslie. Lie moku goe the sowali sowelus! The jucklejumps jaoibies nomble earthmunch mokieu, the dunstpie shwishy liftashosh, sprising the parseslie bunst a flour.
do tell me what you perceive!
Gesellschap May 28
Mr. Roger’s chasing stars,
I poked holes in the drapes,
Breaking the sun into shards,
Remaking Adam and Eve in different shapes,

Tyson used Saturn as a vinyl record,
I run tapes like Nile’s sidewalks,
Sound spits like a momma bird,
Bachs piano teeth eating rocks

An Astro colonoscopy,
Shakespeare creating geometry,
Dominos fall down the pit,
With an ace taped over its scream,

Aurelius slit his wrists,
Mars is a **** star,
Making me resist
Breaking aliens hearts

Louis Armstrong did the moon walk,
Fitting his glove,
He then talked,
It has been shoved


Oppenheimer implemented the bomb,
My heart stops,
Pushing the cancer,
******* atomic clocks
I really enjoyed writing this
neth jones May 20
sprawling in the wet dregs                                          
                 ­                                   i fumble who you are
threatening        me        with        animal
"you jag  you jag  you jag-you-are-you-are-you-are"
laughing like unpleasantry  laughing with obscene
calling on the meat of madness                
              (absurdity of this scene )
to the tune of ******* by Wet Leg
Manx May 18
If electric bicycles
Are not technically vehicles;
Then they are subject
To the same rules, protections, and treatments
As that of pedestrians & traditional cyclists.

If electric bicycles
Are technically vehicles;
Then they are subject
To the same laws, accommodations, and treatments
As that of operators & traditional motorists.

You can have elements of either
Without the full embrace of one,
But this creates confusion.
Not only on the part of the individual,
But legislatively & judicially.
Ay, good thing we tore up all our canals and were rid of all our trolleys. At least, mostly.
Daria Apr 27
the kettle down is calling Beth
he's almost out of cigarettes
but where is Beth? or who is Beth?
it's you? it's me? or him instead?

the chair upstairs is yelling out
someone just stole his underground!
so where is chair? it's falling down!
or left? or right? or turns around?

the upper shelf is in the mood.
the kettle down has drunk his soup!
or was it chair? or maybe Beth?
who knows? you know? you don't, i bet!

the table round is sleeping well.
he's not aware of spots of gel.
but are they blue? or maybe red?
the kettle's! out! of cigarettes!

the Beth is rushing to the door.
the chair is laying on the floor.
but where's the key? you saw the key?
upstairs? downstairs? where they could be?

the Beth is almost out of breath.
she found the soup for upper shelf.
but is it soup? or maybe stew?
go taste! yes, you! that soup is for four.

the kettle down is counting well:
the Beth, the chair, the upper shelf...
but table's here? or maybe not?
he's ran away to cure his spot!

so what is all this have to do
with little house with crooked roof?
it's made by Beth! or maybe not!
who knows? you know? I swear, I don't!
K E Cummins Apr 10
Time is a story we tell
To order the absurd.
I see nonsensical injury:
The handprint on her cheekbone,
Bruises yellowing like dandelions.

Why? There is no reason.
All love mingles with grief.
Maelstorm cycles repeat into madness.
What can we do about it?
I do not know.

I look to the river.
Willows grow soft in spring,
And the ice melts again
Under ineffable blue sky.
Such it is;
Such it will be.

One day the river will flood.
One day dandelions will break the sidewalk,
But not today.
Today, we hope.
Today, we mend the bruise.
Maria Apr 4
There was a time when I didn't know you.
It seems absurd to me now, really.
When I didn't smell your almond hair at dawn,
When I didn't look into your chocolate eyes nearly.

There was a time when I lived without you.
When I tore myself to pieces with no mean.
When I was alone at all and didn't imagined
That you're my fate, my part. You're foreseen.

I tried to cheat my fate more than once,
I teased her much. I was rude to her very.
And she saved me tenderly every time.
She awaited the while I was stubborned daringly.

There was a time when I didn't know you.
Maybe it was in my past life.
And now you're here, you're nearby.
And all my past disappeared without any strife.
Perhaps it's a little indelicate, but I want to talk about my love a lot...
Thank you for your attention! 💖
To see it, defines what it cannot,
It brings itself for what is not.
It has knotted its way from futility.
Now it is reality.
From henceforth, you know not,
To see it defies its knot.
I pondered on how the mundane can create absurdity. So, the goal of this poem was to show the existence from the mundane can create absurdity. Though subtle, it is such an anomaly to see, as it is reality.
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