Publix
Publix is beyond Amazing, from the moment you walk in you're greeted by pleasant fragrances and smiling faces.
A store that is so well kept, From the Parking lot, to the restrooms, along with the produce, Not even their customers feel neglect.
The aisles are like a perfect Labyrinth you could never get lost, Even if a slight chance arose to where you couldn't find something, before you have a chance to look for help a voice utters from behind you hello can I help you? You seem a little lost.
Publix oh Publix you simply are the best of the best, Flawless customer service I thank you for a perfect shopping experience.
By Shawn Munoz
it is cold and the ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ are dying
becoming withered memories
leaves are drifting and ¦¦¦¦ is falling
and the river flows like a stream of glass
the ¦¦¦¦¦ is fading
and birds are flying ¦¦¦¦
and the forest is taking on a sombre hue
and storms ¦¦¦¦¦ the ocean of my sleep
where my hair is soft as a spider web
and my filmy dress a paling ¦¦¦¦¦
and I stand ¦¦¦¦¦ in this decay as a tree
with ¦¦¦ arms outstretched to the sky
oh, the fine thread of summer is ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ thought
yet, there is a ¦¦¦¦ beauty all around me
and within the crumbling ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ leaves soar
oh, the splendor of the ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ burnt orange
and red leaves ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
like weeping blood red raindrops
oh, listen to the ¦¦¦¦¦ chiming
of falling leaves
that I will hold ¦¦¦¦ a blanket of memory
while the wind utters ¦¦¦ wails like a hundred violins
and ¦¦¦¦¦¦ birds sing
a ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ symphony just for me
The machine awakens as a coin slithers in the slot,
a smoky voice whorls through the satin curtains.
Zoltar waggles his head,
hand hanging on the crystal ball.
His grave voice utters a mysterious prophecy -
“You look for the future, but it’s within you”.
Ensnared in a perennial aura of velvet and neon,
his eyes are fixed on a point of fused time.
His pallid hands hover over the crystal,
weaving a quiet mesh out of our despondency.
Zoltar speaks,
we believe the cosmos is stilled to answer
the riddle of fortune scripted for us
that resonates the intonation of destiny,
condensing into a display of prediction
getting access to something deep and profound,
stimulating the eternal human desire
to know the mystique future.
Of its nuances in a delightfully dramatic manner
Zoltar speaks.
Amazing buildup of affection,
She is an iconic vigour,
Fights with society
To affirm her existence
In this bitter world.
Owns the wings of courage,
Aspires to touch the horizon,
Smashes stereotypes,
Eludes the cage of suffocation.
Compiling memoirs of ordeals,
Blazes her woes away,
Reflects a gracious smile,
And utters words in appraisal.
Illustrates a glorious extent,
Prompting decisive impulses,
Attempts to fortify her pals
Towards their prospects.
every word she utters maligns, defames and shames
she slurs, slips, and slanders
an expert, she tears down and villainizes
people she knows and people she has never met
no one wants to sit next to her at dinner parties
no worries
she is no longer invited
It began as an error— not pain, but a thought folding the wrong way and refusing correction.
Belief turned inward. Memory learned to bite. Silence bruised.
Inside me, a cancer studied devotion: it memorized prayer only to empty it. It pressed against the idea of God until doubt bled.
I asked—without ceremony— why give a heart the intelligence to erase itself. Why grant meaning and make it perishable.
Night answered by water.
A ship opens in the Pacific. Metal yields. The ocean does not rage; it receives.
I am what remains. The body afloat. The mind releasing its names. Stars above— a tribunal already decided.
Grief speaks then. It breathes through scorched lungs, utters words sealed with embers. Each sinks faster than the last. Faith is no longer belief but reflex.
Sunday arrives. Bells ring for a God who may exist or may be the last idea we refuse to bury.
At the edge of annihilation, light appears— not as answer, but as instruction: continue.
The cancer fails because it cannot erase the question. Even ruined, the soul still inclines toward meaning.
This is not victory. It is resistance.
Utters noumenal alone
Apophatic high source throne
Voice posits primal sole rite
Shadow negates all dim sight
Entering tathata zone
Haecceity beyond far throne
Pleroma seals all true dome
Silence enthrones cold vast home
In savage streets it’s hand to hand
once shrapnel rips the air that’s damned,
no sin of ego in this land.
Baptismal bloodshed echoes
through rust and rebar ghettoes.
There’s bullet swarms and rocket rain
but infantry must hit terrain,
forget I’m sane and rupture veins
with melee-trench-knife flashing,
the bane of peace doves, slashing.
I wear their red of death and drive
my blade abuzz in hellish hive
to stay alive! Yes stay alive!
The apathy of killing,
and twisting morals willing.
My heartbeat kept, a victory,
it pounds just like artillery
but prized, despite the misery.
A witness to destruction
and holy soul’s corruption
and christened by the selfishness
of presidents with negligence,
we soldiers march with evilness.
The narcissistic leaders,
the preachers and the breeders
of rhythmic spates in drumbeat hate
unfurl their nation flags and fate
in bloodlust war… while heads of state
stay combat clean in bunkers.
I witness gurgling utters
your last and bloody gasp for “mama”.
I grasp with greed my breath in chest.
Thought ricochets inside my skull;
I’m still alive! I'm still alive! I'm still alive . . .
The body: a scripture, self-written, self-published.
The camera: a mirror turned outward, the reflection pays the rent.
Onlyfans: an unapologetic cathedral of skin and sin where veil is sold off by the inch.
In the comments, worshippers pay to kneel.
Pilgrims find a momentary god; a god who answers back, who utters their name like it matters.
Not charity, but the oldest bargain: attention sold by the minute.
I create. You desire. We trade.
No pretence of purity.
Capitalism stripped naked.
Raw commerce.
Do the lonely, horny souls visit this cathedral to seek salvation?
What they find is leverage.
Onlyfans: a lever long enough to move the world.
With this day a love has grown from the night before
Jesus has come and without further ado He's knocking at the door
The stage is set for one last stand all looking at one another in surprise
What have we done, what will we do with Christ gone from our eyes
Out of place a soothing voice utters "Look over here it is quite clear
This Bridge will be our path to Heaven above" I say with a cheer
The angels applaud, and we laud for another soul is saved
Damned hypocrites, men's diorism shows when they feel kind of pious
As God looks on His anger must rage, "Why can't they get it right?!"
Severed from His majesty until He returns from the beyond
By and by must suffice while to and fro Satan trods
As sudden as God spoke Creation's words, the trumpet begins to sound
With His royal cavalry His promises resounds
Written in this candlelight by antiquity's scribes
As promised in His billet doux, a love letter to all alive
The first weakening of night
picks out telephone lines,
black against sky.
The eyelid of a garage door
lurches laboriously up.
A car coughs blue breath.
With aerosols and plastic scrapers
clandestine delights of frostwebs
are raked to chemical sludge.
Starter motors whine.
Windshields cloud with pain.
Gears grind teeth.
An electric train
gingerly
utters inarticulate from the sheds,
groaning over cold joints.
Thinking grimly
of tunnels ahead,
it flares with ill-humor
crossing the points.
On unworked land beside the track,
a fox is heading home.
Gliding through
beneath the "keep out" sign,
he grins at the engine,
which just judders along,
headlights trained
on parallel lines
which glint ahead,
reflecting lurid signal red,
extending out, but never meeting,
towards the vanishing point.
One telling thing.. The mind that conceives
The mouth that utters, the ears that recieve
The hands that type..The keyboards that cede'
The hurts that happen, the many that will die
All the above that will pass, thats the way it lies.' They will not remain..They'll be swept
Aside for way beyond.! moves eternitys tide.' God
Will dissolve' God will remove, all such realitys
Yet when will this happen.? Only God can choose.!
I sure have learned my lesson
You thought I would by now
To keep my big mouth shut
So the utters won't have a cow
I've learned that most opinions
Are just a lot of bull
When they are done with one
They give my other leg a pull
I think I'll stay here quiet, this is my firm decision
It's not that I've been bullied, or suffered a good licken'
But, If the fight is worth fighten'
I'll be first to start the Kickin'
Then they will find out
who's the chicken
I've learned that most opinions
Are just a lot of bull
So, let me get the sack out
So they can fill it till it's full
When you see me out to pasture
And I'm sure you would agree
There's really no use pickin'
It's just best to let me be
Amongst spruce oblivious of the way,
As I admire the wonder all abound.
Birds fly above dancing their own ballet
All spruce trees spread their fragrance all around.
The compact wood is hushed before night fall,
Arrive at a bridge shocked at what I see
The chances of crossing are very small.
Trying anything is indeed no key.
The bridge is thin, its boards are worn and weak,
Yet still I stride with steps so bold and free,
A goodly warden approaches to speak,
I stop so afraid and wanted to flee.
Fear grips the warden, he utters a call,
"That's not safe! So beware, lest you should fall."
Place 3
beauty all around
crumbling fragile leaves soaring
oh, the splendor of whirling
burnt orange
and red leaves spin
like weeping blood red raindrops
oh, listen to the sweet sound
of falling leaves
while the wind utters low wails
like a hundred violins
and hidden birds sing
a beautiful symphony
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