she’s everything i am,
and everything i could be
she gets tired and lonesome,
and she’s suffered for me

she’s strong and capable,
and someone i look up to
her unconditional love is powerful,
and she’s lessened every pain i’ve gone through

time after time again,
she’s forgiven my selfish ways
because she has always been a part of me,
and she’s always here to stay

Our instinct in life
Is to have
A commodity we may rely on
for as long as we need it
A proper way to do things
That for years could be repeated

I think...
you believe in me






more than I do

Bare
The neurons
are always there
Chemical changes
Structural changes
Functional changes
Automated changes
Full range
Neurons generated
Electrical current affiliated

© 2024 Dr Diviney

a lyric from Plaisir D’Amour (1),
these singed edged memories,
the grievous tingling tinge of
lost love,
last a  lifetime,
can reappear symptomatically,
with crystalline purity,
for longer then any ejaculatory
momentary spasmodic instant
joyous vibes of a hallelujah salutation

Grief, Why It Even Can:

erode away the smooth
s skin casing of years of
effective affection,
a long term construction project
of a million individual additions

why then
is pain so long lived,
grief never brief,
but deep rooted,
and pleasing data
so easily
overlooked, pushed away by the
“sharp edge of a short knife?”

why
does the low, slow beat of a sad song
bear down,
demands endless woeful
exhalation&repetition,
and
reversus,
the celebration tuning of a happier we,
an us, a too~together,
always hummable but not
overly memorable?

I posit no solution
but whenever I think of
human
it is of the soft tissues outlining
our long bruised wounds of suffering,

that rises up
and boils over
and floods the plains
of our senses colliding
and collectively

do you have an answer?

confess do not know
but believe now
it is a
seasoned characteristic
that is genetic,
the sum of thousands of years of
struggling

If it takes a zillion years
I would do it for a zillion beers
It would be brilliant to drink
That amount would be a feat
I don't know if anyone could beat
One zillion beers to drink

you will hear me when you play the smiths,
taste me when you throw back Jim Beam
you will feel me when you swim in the river,
see me when you close your eyes to sleep  

you will drink until you can’t stand,
aching for my love
and then you will remember what you did
left the baby layin in blood

I am tangled to you with the fragile strings of trust that have been ripped too many times,
and still,
you are slowly tearing them appart without knowing it.

all i can see is just a pink
in day that we already link
thats all that i want to think
just like a cake that i want to lick
we spend the day just like a week
is the most sweet thing that i can think

expertise irrelevant, a knowing
recognition where & when & why,
venn diagram inflection points
intersect, and also confine

the nirvana nexus on a line of dots in a
movingly motion connected by a formula that
has an equal 🟰 in its muddly middle the man’s best sole instructions to her only

solve! me

when in an moveable interaction
the power of rushing baking cake & it’s filling
is akin to trying to hold back a bucking stream that cannot both be ****** or dammed

running words, making
you obsessed to remember
every detail, but commas only,
never a period interrupting continuity no
essential points of exit and entry

and yet…

you cold stop to breathe
wondering how came you
to be a container intertwining
motifs and motives, desires contradictory,
control contrives to be a
controversy pressured pressed
together, and you want to stop, go,
turnings to touch,
she be tablet and he the pen,
and you wrack to remember each
detail, the poem complete or will
confusions reign supreme
and all the fantastical
schemes are shot to
hell, ink spilled,
house doused

and she good naturedly laughs at you,
cause she knows poet better than himself
and forgives him his inspirational
dazes and gazes of confusion
because it is hard to give when
giving birth to
a dream’s obsessive demands
to love one more
than the other

each deserves no rival, just a final fini,
she wants the same, but the heart
is where he keeps hid, exactly
what she needs, so forgives a
little, because loving a crazy
man after all these years
is taking the excesses
costly cause that be
an insanity desired,
what she loves,
the dusky duo
inside him
a constant
battle re
fusing
resolving
the man’s contradictories,
that she cherishes him for
more, his mired mind, more and
laughs at mores, cause it is never ending;

his more is feature why she loves him very best, she showers and laughs, he rushes in
puzzlement featured on his face, so invites him in and as he falls to his knees in a watery
embrace, while grasping her hips, she
states with a finality: “‘
*”let us discuss the importance of proper endings”

Chairs in the room
Vacant
Because
Alone
Requires
Emptiness

On the table
Papers
Requiring attention
Strewn to the side
And left
Alone

Fire in the hearth
No one
To watch it

Empty room
Amply furnished
Ticking clocks
No one
To listen

<>
the wee little ones cry out loudest
fearful of being dying unnoticed
for they're not the stoutest
or profoundest

“we’re always among the forgot,
for we come so quick, oft left to rot,
as you street walk in the early morn
composing on and on and on

and our
sweet little rhymes, smaller than a dime,
oft arrive as twins or even triplets,
so fast and so furious,
they go unwitnessed
so we can’t be recalled,
stillbirthed, unborn,

therefore
we’ve decided to take you hostage,
treatied with your leggings,
no home return permitting
!
until we are recorded,
and given up for adoption”

P. S.
how do ya like them shorties now?