The Empty is filling my Everywhere.
Everyone is Anyone But Him.
My Only is somewhere in my Anywhere But Here.
He is my Always, my Now, and my Then.
Nobody lives as my Also and Too.
This Whisper is louder than Everyone:
My Nothing is everything but You.
I want you to make me feel naked everywhere
saying things that make necks hot, face hot
don't have to be so sexual, don't have to touch
Want to? Do so, though, don't be so mechanical
swim on, flow on, spill on, no pushing
the things said should tear open, pop seams
wonder what's inside, beating
running, ebbing, draining, no inspecting, no prodding
a thorough investigation with eyes, words
make the most difference, words dig the farthest
fill the fastest, reach to ends that previously had
prickly fingers don't tickle hearts with precision.
ventricles delicately strung out
like christmas lights
between these cactus grip fingers.
heaving like a festive bloody accordion,
refusing to behave.
what to expect.
stomach grumbling like a hungry polar bear,
ice clinging like blood to patches of white fur
not feeling sick, just spilled.
like water leaking on a fire.
the most engulfing & cradling flames,
bubbling blue moonlight
cast cozily across a flammable face,
crept acros the bedroom backwards.
on orange cackling shadows,
not crying out loud,
tears like fuel.
slick oil rainbows trickling down cheeks.
tried hard to be happy with the silence.
pink messy catastrophe,
tried not to feel anything.
too raw or digestively significant
religious intestines sprawled across the library floor.
staring at untouched arrowhead wrists.
not feeling sick
just rusty gas tank,
a punctured copper kissed smile,
gurgling between bloody lips.
cold hands don't tickle warm hearts.
just extinguish arteries
& blue bubbling eyes.
too much fuel to keep freezing,
Where did you go?
I thought lifting up
A box searching,
Searching; for time
They said X would mark
Where I could find
Her heart resting
Right next to mine
But mine is me
And me not you
So she and me
Can be the only two
across a vast
horizon of sea foam
blues - no body
can exist within
Gauntlet challenge completed, Mr Lipstadt ...
Copulation of the minds...
as word play
leads innuendos to fornicate
upon the poets tongue...
his fingers give voice to wanton
laying the reader bare
helplessly beneath his hands
with ink stained kisses
words into their mouths
a breathless sigh
resonating his ache to be heard
as he stands naked before them
to their voyeuristic gaze
before taking them upon the sheets
in punctuated passionate
leading them toward the climax
cried out for...
Jesus I'm Good.
I hate the letters that spell your name
And I wish they weren't spilled
On every page of poetry I've written
Since the day we met
I wish your smile wasn't engraved
Into my brain and on my skin
So that I wouldn't see it every damn night
In images I used to call "dreams"
I wish I didn't need to write about
him or you or (your initials)
Because I've always hated pronouns
And I know I'd never be able
To muster up enough courage to tell you
Every secret held by my pen
Kids these days make me sick. Too much time spent on IT. What’s IT you say? Well IT is the only thing that is not. IT is in but really IT is out, like a drunk left in his vomit passed out on the couch. The ultimate cool the epitome of breathtaking, and your left taking this out of proportion. What is so important? I mean really I don’t understand the importance. A synonym for the learned: imperative or even essence. That is the idea of something but your left holding nothing. Not even a burnt out flame like the lack of heat from the passion in your heart. Does it need to start…once more? A muscle unused is abused and left to consume itself. You incite cannibalism! Munching on ourselves to feed our soul lost in this dangerous world. You’re too tough to ask for directions, too stupid to read a map, or too naïve to think you are alone in this? What is THIS? THIS is just IT after THAT. THAT is simply free thought. Yet the brain sits and rots in your cranium. That’s a fancy word for skull. The helmet, not to keep thoughts in, but to let them become mature and flow down into a puddle between my feet. You see this and harmful words escape your mouth and say I pissed myself. I think not; if my head is leaking that means my thoughts cannot be contained. In pain I see the young adults of our time reading line after line of the same crap we are feed everyday of our lives. A lie, a lie I scream from an empty room, a classroom. There are entities inhabiting the same plane, yet in the same they are not here. So far away lost in this digital age. I agree you cyborgs need entertainment all the same; however, the smile I receive from seeing the moon in the middle of the day is the found on your face when someone likes your page. A paper trail untraveled by so many and misplaced in cyberspace. I walk at night to see the darkness, and you see only the lit up text message from your lazy boy recliner chair. I am convinced you’re not all there, but that’s not your fault. I blame it on the generations. I do blame you because you succumb to IT. There is that funny word again that carries no weight, but wait it can mean so much. IT is the idea of reality and your losing touch. Thus, there’s a word I don’t think gets used enough. Thus, reality is known only by how well it is defined on Wikipedia or an online dictionary equipped with spellcheck of course because without that how would we know the right way to spell. Well, well in my lap a newborn child fell. Not crying, not smiling, I’m not sure if it was even breathing. This baby, helpless and fragile, is society. We as an assembly need a babysitter for our whole lives. Why? Why live without experiencing life? Why be content with any answer that was given, not found. You have to search to find and in time life’s chorus line will start and so will the tears. The so perfectly phrased line will place fear in all who understand. How can we understand when all left standing is man? Man a fragile thing like a mansion on the beach. Sand sucking up the existence of all the living. I want to introduce a new word: WHEN. WHEN will we not take the so-called facts as face value and attempt to discredit them with logical thinking. WHEN will we move the rudder instead of waiting for the tides to change? WHEN will we place IT on it’s own head and explain something we know to someone else. Learning is gained not by blindly memorizing facts, like my mac, but by forming an attack on the disbeliefs. Hopefully to hone an opinion and be ready to defend IT, and I mean in every sense of the word. IT is the idea of reality and your catching on. Leave the bottle of forward thinking, and begin to chew on the backwards and sideward food your not use to. Open the mind and heart to be restarted by learning. Thought is the jumper cables to this world’s battery dead from leaving it’s lights on all night, and now late to work for it wouldn’t start. Roughly 6 billion, 775 million, 235 thousand, and 741 people on this earth and we still don’t feel part of IT. Have we lost IT, have we tossed IT overboard? The only savior to the sickness and now it is sinking to the bottom of the sea to be discovered like a lost treasure. A gold doubloon used to measure the currency of our time. The state of our States is left to us to state whether we hate or don’t care about the shape we’re in, a sphere, a bubble, a circle with no beginning or end. Nowhere to start just have to keep moving in the same general direction or be swept away by the undercurrent. Drop your anchor and disturb the flow, stop the overused pattern. Turn the cycle of a circle into the turning of a wheel and use that to drive. Finally to take a destination of you’re own and truly think of the cosmos. To place you’re cognitive mind into motion and here the notion that there is more to THIS then IT.
Path of destruction and rebuild,
Traffic crazy, in the car ahead,
Face yelling at a speaker phone,
Zig-zag path like the road owner,
3:05 late so a five o'clock date,
And a seagull sits right on the line,
Patient Mockery so sublime,
The seagull "walks the line"
Waiting can be a hating game,
That would be a vacation shame,
So now the seagull is not alone on the line.