things with time (what if cancer was little babies being born?)

long post: some new, some old, some cold to the new paw.


T-B(e)arries

is there a creepier
word than antibody?
no, the answer is
"I don't recall."
Naw. Ghome.
Fleshin' thinkin'
chocolate bars

gray brick & fire
black background + pixelated fire
Forever
share with me
Or else i'll lose my potential for reception

Actually
gonna go.

compared to that,
actually, isn't my sister over
in her mid-twenties
"Mellowski"
Middleski

Str8 Dood
Wiggley legs, I told you not to flex them.

big baby anti bodies
crashing and eating through flesh in a straw
big swinging rig comin' thru
going clamming for the sake of stringing
clambering
crabs crushed strained in cage
ghost crabbing

Now, show the adults how
many you have caught.
Arrow spider heads
underwater on a beach
flying zipping massive
coconut lasso catching
big bodies,
doses
Old keychains dangling
and looking shitty
once in a blue moon

imagine if someone
gave this to us
when we were "like",
thirteen.
The movie,
damn it,
I dunno.

in celebration
in the middle of the day
it's spicy, it's a lazy river
with rapids and
SHIT
that's probably "like",
the ultimate fucking
RIDE
to gang references



the night before is tonight

when you're on the wave
and you can't complain



you can't look at today
when yesterday is tomorrow

you can't start the bed
when the heat is on top

you can't feel the wounds
when you aren't shivering
with bumps on your skin, reminding you

when you're disinterested
memories are like children born to slave families
Days go by and don't come back

then, when you feel a bracelet of fire,
remember that it is an aggregation;
only strong in numbers.



Sue da Feds

There are several reasons to why I've done (what I've done.)

Pain can make you do something
The pain started and I had to take something
Pain can make you do anything
Pain & Pressure, Pressure & Pain

O Jesu,
The pain starts and it's like
one thousand needles in your hand
Nose, and mind
The pain starts and
You can't do anything
You're like an idiot

O Jesu,
Inside and outside
The pain is everywhere and you are debilitated
Watching and feeling people
crumble. Losing mass at an
equal ratio to gain but
feeling robbed. Watching things
get old and fearing for your health.

Pain is real and everything
when everything is beautiful -
Pain is all there is.

Hopefully the pressure will be released
and the pain is over (it might be something else)
It's not necessary to suffer, I'm not a hero
Barometric pressure? The pain is horrible.

Love. Mom.



Untitled

on a bad day,
I like it better after sunset
In a dark room, through a mirror,
I see my face in forgiving version.
I see myself in generous aversion.
Hours later I deny a fill of wisdom in consumption -
I think, moments later:
Maybe one day I'll learn to finish my soup with my bread
Until then, above,
white stars are blueberries covered in milk.
Muesli, oh thank you mama



Rat Powder

Tonight I am a Raven
Wispy voice
Raspy
Ravens are among the most intelligent
B
I
R
D
S



In Between Push, Pull, Heave

When there is phlegm in my chest,
I can
growl
like the devil.
Butt-end, burning
mass
of a cigarette
twisted out:
my escape route.
It billows, widespread
in the wind
and utters no apologies.

It has no container,
no cage, no palms
or tufts of hair to cry in -
it sings, freely as if
for the first time,
not in surrender but in
confirmation of its
wind-drawn, invisible vessel.

It smolders, with its name
and with its past.

No one wept, or judged,
analytically, even, with
great scrutiny. There were
no opaque webs, not a
single shred of doubt,
only currents.
Flying as if precise, whimsical
dotted lines had been drawn
in good spirit by some dreamer
to indicate its gentle path.



Pasteurized (Butterworth)

Hello, I'm pasture
Eyes, disdain
Flying rain
My eyes are a portrait
of pain
Ketched by a lover
Ao
Whoa
Heeeeee
Restitution



Message to Bean

HAY! Miss Bean -
if you ran away,
slammed the door or
left it wide open
I would chase you.
straight to your abode,
and I'd grip ya
tightly
like a mother,
child.
I love you -
and I don't want broken promises.
I won't accept broken promises.
Turning the key with the car on
breaks everything



Cam Ree

mama i see you movin in
rollin' in, around the bend
mama i see you movin, see you groovin'
movin' in for me

you got it, you got my eyes
i see you rollin', see you movin'
to give me a ride

you know i love you
and you return
always, with your engine hummin
baby will learn

for me, rollin' in for sweet baby
come and give me a ride in maternal empathy

see you rollin', see you rollin', aww
see you movin' see you groovin', whooo
choo

choo, choo!
nickanaym
choo, choo!
rollin'!



of water

Dick
Shit
Cunt
Fuck
Piss
Scream into
torn eyes gazing upon
increasing pitches, unrefinsed
Mar-oo Maroo Maroo
Maroom Marooom
Maroo Maroom amamamama
No apologies of babies bloody hands
No tired eyes line with puss
No shivers and goosebumps
waves that sting wounds
scabs and fresh scars
little embers on your shoulders
Worrrrr - adarooo-ooo-ooo-ooo
Whoo-aa-aa-aa-KRRIIII
Paschal Lamb
Waaa-ra-ra-ra-ra-WROOOOOOmamama
i'm your cooked guinea pig
MEDIUM WELL



4.9.10 R.A.T.

I feel rather disconnected.
Perhaps it is the feverish
blanket swimming and curling
up around my ear lobes.
My head - it's emitting heat.
Not up to par, in a room so bare
devoid of decorated walls:
I feel the same.

My pride for others, this evening,
it is all that blooms, this evening,
this chilly April evening.
My chest growls in a way that
animals are familiar with.
When I growl, they know it is an
act of necessity
I am spilling nails and hair,
not anger.

Killers are prepared by rhythm -
especially this April evening murderer -
a rhythm he seems to float upon -
he is creation and his voice is a teardrop
If the room was a paper,
I would not be able to write on it.
My metaphors are lost to others, and,
days later they are lost to me.



contradiction - 3.28.10 - "It's Better than Speaking to Yourself, I believe it now."

conversations created and contained in my head
are realistic and honest.
hopeful is my temperament -
there is a sweet voice in here
it asks me to recite poetry
i reply that i haven't memorized much
so it asks me to read from my notebook
there is not enough selection.
so, please, let's keep talking
i am going to close my eyes
and hear her again - I lied -
with eyes open I can hear her
reading my words as I write them.
if she is someone
that i have met in absolute
why am i thinking of this at all?
I love to read words for no reason
l o v e is a word
& if i had a library
it would be right next to the hardy boys (love)
and the voice of the girl
so warm and honest
would be on reserve. (my account)
i can manipulate this illusion
to battle myself
now that she is angry
she says i should stop writing
it's not so different from having someone, i suppose



Jessica's House that Evening

drunken iconoclast
accidental
accidental
hello, sweet human opposite
sexual arsenal
i like your dental
please put them on display
until we lay in lust long consummated

hello wooden statue of
ascended physical fixation
for you my brain has
tattooed upon itself your name
underwater
broken skin, remains
i swam so close to my brother
i felt the stones that he kicked up
i crooned unto my mother
until her wallet she gave up
now our regrets lay in boxes
and i'm so lazy
fuck

hello wooden pattern
can i hear you sing?
i won't do more than tickle
you with my eyes, I , king
i won't do more than run me
all across your string

what do i bring?
in the years, time is a thing
outside it's cold and
you are a bushy little thing, i bring



Remorse

rushing down the river
i am one with our father
who art not in vain

I catch a glimmer in the eye of an otter
he seems to smile at me in approval
and i continue on my way

ah ah ah ah ah ah.

and the water will
swim with my every hair

Oh, sweet melody of the current
punctuation in every pebble beneath me
they do not fear me, nor penetrate me
We do not war with each other.

tonight, my passage is swift and
subject to change
like the night when the sky has its way with it
like my eyes when my mind has its way with them



Untitled

here in this room
I am all alone
a cloister chewing on
my pearl, shivering.

Please
Don't let my heart explode
If there's anything you can do

I can't bear to think of
how the meeting would formulate
and by what grace of happenstance
the words would be exchanged

Please
Don't let my heart explode
I can feel it aching, ooh

I heard it's unhealthy
to worry about your health
so tell me, I mean give me
sweet words to regulate

My wealth
I'm wealthy
but Please
Don't let my heart explode
Oh, no no no no no no no

I'm beating
Beating nothing
I"m slowing down
Into nothing

not chrono

Do Not Use Too Much Info!

I am all things
By and by
(being something)
I occupy the spaces
of each extreme in life
in each extreme of life

Genuine, itty, and femininity
A sound, decisive mind
Spite and secondary intentions
A gear at the grind
A gear in a grind

lekcha & letcha skribbels (thinking, spotty)

Big Responsibility - Sleeping

There is no end to my writing.
I haven't lost my mind yet because I'm not dead yet.
I keep flashin' life my gold card,
it's wearing thin on the magnetic strip,
and I'd rather not step out of the vehicle,
but blank zeroes open up, spill their cups,
get home safely
and inhale silver flashing ash
until their testicles burn
and their eyes look like
cut open tomatoes ejaculated into

Death breathes cold ash, dirty ass smells
Death really does
Do it

Destroy Destroy Destroy (with tiny flowers)



Angles, Cross Sections

opened up a cloud
threw its scars inside
behind bars that she welded
that made lines in her face

money is all that's necessary

Filled & Impressed

with multiple aprons
complex wilting flower
fed the soil,
nurtured the soil.
the soil broke;
it was so dry.
but the seamstress
tied it together, so long,
that one day
it reached the sky



Untitled

i can't sit still, i've got a lot of things on my mind but
my thoughts are impaled by a stick on the ground that i stepped
on and cracked, alerting the predation now creeping on my back
people's voices sound dumb, and so does mind, my head is bound
to swell up and this thought is bound to fly

when the swell's too high
i make a mountain
and watch the birds fly by
hoping the won't see me on my peak

when i get too high
and can not have fun
you should tickle my brain
i'll come back to you again

and the air's so dry
around my head
fill it up, fill it up
with moisture instead

i said the air's too dry
around my head
make it rain, make it rain
talk circles, don't blow away (bound up, )

bound up
tight by the white stripes on the walls
alternating with blue, they do not remind me of you
down up, tea cup
coarse sofa and all the time in the world
i'm wasting it



Lightbulb Forest High Point

fallen, barren, trees in a fragment
of forest that used to be
invasives flooding into my brain
too much of them lately
coping mechanisms not in place
for a presence yet unknown
alert the colony
looks like we're going under.



Side Note (1) - Aoorehension Line Line

my words from pens
and pencils
are vandalism
i'm afraid, to do things
what's graffiti
but writing when
it's not okay
and i'd paint it on
the walls, if i
could
with the skill of
an artist
and my mind
like i should (do)



Girls

I knew some girls, they smiled at me
I had sexual relations, with one or two or three
I had thoughts and feelings, but they did not have me

----------^v^v^v-\/v^----N
S---m----v^v--------/-\--n

and that don't sum it all up,
and - i see it all regretfully
vividly, as are memories with me

----/Swoosh/***8---///-_-/\---

and nowadays, there's this girl i see
don't get me wrong, that's intermittently
and don't twist my words, she's not much to me
but a reoccurring dream,
wake up and go back to sleep



aspect - direction that mtn faces

Pray in the morning
With the back of my head against a pillow
Tell myself that I will, tomorrow,
That I must get out of bed
I want to and need to succeed
My efforts disappoint the source
of my information
Something is bleeding behind the curtains
They don't know because I'm crying quietly,
but out loud with every movement.
Scratching my back, I am
and I'll scratch yours

pat's furry roommates

For Everyone

[Bella],
  I stole your pencil
  because it had your name on it,
  and because I love you.

Hearts flutter and come to an end,
  like bookends,
  like butterflies

Hearts are decorated felines,
  they pounce, they play,
  they sniff for curiousity,
  they glow in their beautiful eyes, like gemstones, when illuminated,
  they tumble and fall and roll,
  their paws are soft and
  their whole bodies long to be touched,
  to utter a purr when gripped and danced upon.

They dance, oh darling, O love! they
  float like petals and strings
     in warm summer breeze.
Warm, like a blanket,
like sleeping quarters laid with concern,
  with history and with empathy.

Hearts stare with interest
gaze thoughtfully like dreamers,
  studying,
  listening with concern, with history, with
  sweet empathy for dreamers.

Don't fear why they glisten
 sing and tenderly lay to rest

(sweetly, singing into the night that is soft)

7am scrabz

I told John: (outside, hours ago now)
That if you make a mark, everyone can see it.
Make an impact, though,
and it blends right in.

I then proceeded to stay up all night. Once I
had taken my fill,
eyes weary and head like a drum
in the (a) premature stage(s) of repair

I took to my glass of water in a hurry
and swallowed Antarctica.

Everything looks brighter now,
under the strange wheel of sleep deprivation.
Dead Bugs wait for my slumbered ears, ha!

I went on a trip;
for some days I was gone.
It hurt to be there, to be where I was at.
It hurt to rip myself away from
soft skin, crippled conversation
and sincere tears wiped with dirty rags.
When I returned:
Home was lonely and the floor boards
needed to be unstuck.
They cracked like joints
under the heavy weight of my heart.
in my absence, the
Alarm clock in my bedroom
must have cried each day.
It screamed for me yet I was not present
to push the right buttons
that would put it at peace.
After hours of crying, I think,
alarm clocks probably give up.

in some short, sweet moments from now
I will be in comfy sleep.
I've always like the word comfy.
(Michael once asked me if I was comfy
When we had sleepovers years ago,
those years long past now...
I remember sleeping under his desk,
Saying, "Yes, and I like that word.")
"Always" is just what you make of it.

pohm scratched minutes ago

A Definition - Call me This (Please)

Whitney Houston and Steve Perry are dead to me
They were never alive to me.
I have no physical features that can be distinguished;
when I am a vibrating box;
I am a penetrating gulf coast
A sweating zebra
A trembling cock,
juxtaposed awkwardly upon a
pin-up board that is
your field of vision.

Clear your head,
I beg,
So that I may find heartbeat.

Scratch your eyes out,
Please,
I do not need them.

I am not a microphone cable,
I am not a cluster of tones,
I am not a thread to hang upon
(your neck cracked and eyes empty),
I am not a song that you heard
when you were a child.

They all tremble for me, vibrate for me,
vibrate inside, outside, in the air,
smaller than I can visualize, they vibrate.
They drive me to your heart -
and they will drive me to extinction.

I was ignored at age 11,
when the hall smelled like green peppers,
disgusting, green peppers,
like some janitor who I didn't give a shit about
at the time had left a trail of WaWa condiments
all over the vinyl tiles.
I cried at my desk with my juice box
and my yogurt,
I couldn't eat my fucking yogurt.

11 years old - completely absorbed
in my own imminent death -
yes, death ached that day;
and the dying of others,
stunk like green peppers.

I was sick for a week.

I was sad at age 13 -
one baby blue and white spackled wall day,
Reading Fleming pepper hallways consumed me,
this time, fear gripped my prepubescent testicles.
I threw up what food I had eaten that day.

My fingers write this because I am a machine.
It all amounts to nothing except that clear,
trembling, elusive vibration;
not trembling like the aforementioned cock,
or chord or box,
trembling like appreciation and passion.

Finally: I'm acculturation of chords
and the culmination of vibration,
where I swallow smoke and saliva.

first update in awhile, followed by my apologies, followed by 1 poem written 2nite, followed soon after with many more 2b posted in the next few days.

A Dove is a Glove That I Borrowed to Wear on my Heart

A subject that is broken has been freed -
unleashed:
bones, once stiff and
with a fixed purpose
are now fluid, amphibious.
Free and flowing with
something to prove
like a spore, or
like gleaming star-pollen.
A healed star is
 bursting
forever winking rays,
progressive and honest.
A wrist once mercurial (((OOo
gaunt with structure
can cry;
it has a ghost, a
predator to run from,
eternally. It has a scent,
and can be hunted, traced...
chewed upon, its flesh savored.
It falters inevitably,
and tantalizes tears.
It can tickle every·little·one...
Then, in private introspection,
it cracks - suddenly nostalgic,
remembering cold, iron chains and
painless rotations of blissful youth.
  A once broken subject dances
dances...!
 like grass, tall grass -
 like fingers, like memories -
 like funerals and open ears -
 it screams in grace,
  movement.
At times, it is hollow (( · · ) ) )
holy and empty,
a crystal glass of dirty water
painted by stained glass that
tell stories of a good man -
a troubled man -
a sad and contented ghossst;
certain death and sunken
flesh followed him like an
angry crowd...
like a dog drooling with rapacious
hunger, closing in
on its
trembling apparition.

  And I
 I am a light emitting diode.
  I glow like the sun,
   sing like the wind,
    like love and magic and cry
    cry like love and magic
  I soar and am nothing,
   often, just a seed floating
    on broken wings, over
  lush landscapes and
aching smiles - I fly.