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liz Feb 2014
have i become so dependent
that i cling to the microfibers that form in your dryer
and stick on your sweater

because for six months
seven months ago
i tasted italy and salvador
and corn tortillas
and teeth
and missed ***** mexico

and for three weeks
about two months ago
i spun around the washing machine
until my fibers were stuck and someone detached me
and i lay there soppy
and i lay there wet

and i blame the machine
its sheer power and ability to wipe clean the stains of engine oil and uv blue you drank in the garage

and i have lost dependency
because of its lack of sustainability
i miss my baby
all my babies
every baby
and if you need me
ill be collecting the microfibers
that form in your dryer
and stick on your sweater
Robert Scherer Jan 2010
Like old
mean beetles,
like old
men in battle,  
like egos: solid anvils,
like families: lethal weapons,
like these: them,
begotten sons
who begat daughters
of a land, of a bordered plot
on the globe, the dirt,
the house, the property
which begot
them
both,
these two
bitter enemies
from two
separate places,
furiously blaze,
as the time
for darkness,
is far
from arrived.

And the sun
quakes,
in its heat
rippling sights
and
knocking particles,
which deter the next
knocked,
and which enforce
the continued sensation of
warmth
continued,
of aversion
continued,
rising,
screened,
for its impeccable quality,
against
nobody in
general or
specific
to announce, or to gain
against
consequences, which are
soothsaid
in time,
nullified.
Partners afflicted will be less opportunistic
and more egalitarian,
but are sworn,
like the sun,
against the monotony,
of repetition,
of indistinct days;
like these:
them,
the enemies,
they
are
engaged,
aged,
unteachable
and
spoiled.
They are always
immersed
in
vexed
states,
always in competition.
Hope
is
the
souls
united
never again
as much
as the static,
single dimension,
alone,
impeccable,
impossible,
for its possibility
is drawn by He
who
spews forth
lumens
next to card sharks and Amazons, knowing these
will have to suffice, having no escape
from the projected
source
of energy.
The metal heads
of garden rakes,
weapons
thrown
at devils
in the sweltering heat
of hell,
the Inferno
that holds a
first-person
point of view,
a dream, alongside
superheroes, allied,
but who are,
nevertheless,
without their unique
and exceptional powers,
pros and willing deviants
from the celibacy,
the weight,
the unoriginal paint
that collides
in
each
stroke,
making what
appears
null,
and the array
but one,
and supposed,
so that then
are the weary
and soulful mergers
which corrupt
and meander throughout,
polluting,
as
it
were,
the tranquility,
the wrenched service,
of the destined
machine,
of a million
trajectories,
homespun threads,
woven
into
a
million
miserable
microfibers,
unanswered
q­ueries
that were
held back
in
fear,
and
were
never
asked,
and remain
even
now
sorry.
CMD Feb 2015
Sinking peach pit of a stomach.
Sour to sweet it moves through
desire like an untamed wild
child raised by wolves inside
a silk house.

Slowly ripping fabric,
as teeth clench.
Microfibers of strength
unseen by the body,
treated like an issue.
Everything an issue.

Everything contained
into roles,
like stale bread
given to the birds...
Lara M Sep 2013
You make up my anatomy
You're the specks of color in the iris of my eyes
They remember the way your smile looked
Little microscopic pieces of you flow in my blood from when you were there before
You're the bruises I used to find in a quick glance that I didn't know were there.

Your scent is sewn in my brain and frequently makes spontaneous trips to my nose and causes me to grimace in nostalgia
But mostly pain;
You're the taste of blood in my mouth when I try to kiss someone else
You tasted that way when we last kissed.

You put your dagger in my heart when we were together and when you left
You took it with you, leaving the gaping hole that is always hurting
It's all that's left

I wish the tiny microfibers would grow and repear the tear to how it was before you
But it's too deep and still fresh even after two years,
And my antibodies aren't strong enough to rid you out of my system.
Feeling Real Dec 2015
I've got the microfibers by a thread
Just keep unraveling-raveling
Maybe I'll wind up dead
Just got the mad old man by his finger
Three of mine wrapped around his bigger one
He's got the best idea, eyes wide in fear

I think he is the one

But he's not real, he's just a rake
There's no siren spell
He just sits and waits
And that awful lap is big enough for two

I never ask because he would want to

Why so rotten, my baby tooth
Wiggles around and leaves me
Sugar, sweet, a 200 dollar treat
Take me to the store sometime

He'll take me out to play sometimes

I never find - There's no one else
Who watches me like I'm something else
Ethereal, flaming, god-like wanting
I am something special

*I am something else
filaments and filigrees
the forms from which we disagree
like stochastic children
we assemble
and then return to our solitary ways
waters flow and release waves
our hearts are safe
ten million creatures teach us wisdom
our answers are the words of vision
if we are misled will we be held accountable
and if we are dead will be held responsible
its simple really
all these tricks are for our own good
spoon fed and redundant she bled like a walrus
our elements are rusted like compliments and comets
mutations abound
since only sound
can drown out this suffering
i am impossible
and try to keep it bottled like lightning
kingdoms toppled and empires are overthrown
still the disassociation shows
in small towns and movie theaters
the life of those who live there
for once put yourself in my shoes
what is the wishing bone to do
it must break and be torn or it will be sworn at
keep calm and let it all deteriorate
what is the essence of the mission
keep calm under all conditions
with wet hair and a coat
with microfibers that don’t float
with puncture wounds in our souls
with diamonds on our thrones
music is meaning
its bleeding
its keeping you company
its a rope
its a boat and an anchor
its food and shelter
its blessed health and favor
the flavors of love
grief is among them
stems from childhood abandonment
settlements form and we are drawn
to our own entanglements
smart phones are dumb
and sam’s club is for yuppy ****
lick these roads with your tongue
smack the floor with your feet
greet the earth like its cheap
we preen and pry
for the prim and proper
but still the water runs dry
never happy enough to cry
smudge the essence
of love from the wall
demand the feelings of space to call you
next time we will run
with drums pounding
i am unsure of myself
can i withstand this pain
why must i remain impassive
fragile like elastics that have been stretched beyond
i am burning in my skin
turning inward and becoming thin
smite the eyes that invade
depend on nothing and no one
sometimes we are safe
other times i am afraid
what a way to exist in this prison
realism scares me
takes me away from the realm of fantasy
bores me with details and causality
sadness is everywhere
have you ever cared
for yourself
or another
surrender and become like butter
a tiny offering
a musical dream
simply whispered to keep you clean
his agony is her pain and suffering
what a mess is all this tumbling
humans digress and become unnecessary
i am sediments from long ago
the tired road has no shadow
the smirk on your face is a waste of time
so remove the lines from underneath your eyes
besides why are we here
is it only to be in fear
I try to steer clear of neighbors with knives
suburban cannibals and housewives

— The End —