FrankCavalo - Hello Poetry

>+o It stands lifeless, unplugged until you press a button and suddenly: three blades of a fan, spinning, in synchrony. A symbol begins to peek out its head, up to its nose, breaking the plastic, epipelagic surface. A tempest kicks up, holding movement hostage, and a quietude takes hold of the room. It hums. For a solid minute you can see it— Doppler— a stick figure of a man, the likes of which appears penned by a child atop its countenances, the tri-headed beast, Atropos and her sisters beside her, grafted atop Its nape, taken with slumber and painted three times a fool by the fledgling. Their cry rings out until, It only— I—It hums. The faces begin to blur and turn again, for a curt period of time that seems to never end, everything seeming as It should, then. O— clarity returns a circle— nestled upon the uppermost of the three— blades, synchronously— taken now with tableau— clockwise from there— a cross is stood just as still— betwixt the latter + the former— an arrow facing toward the axel< All of o + <, divided between— all of them— and for Boskovich this is all that remains. hum

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Jan 23

Jan 23, 2026 at 4:09 PM UTC

Mtherfucker

>+o It stands lifeless, unplugged until you press a button and suddenly: three blades of a fan, spinning, in synchrony. A symbol begins to peek out its head, up to its nose, breaking the plastic, epipelagic surface. A tempest kicks up, holding movement hostage, and a quietude takes hold of the room. It hums. For a solid minute you can see it— Doppler— a stick figure of a man, the likes of which appears penned by a child atop its countenances, the tri-headed beast, Atropos and her sisters beside her, grafted atop Its nape, taken with slumber and painted three times a fool by the fledgling. Their cry rings out until, It only— I—It hums. The faces begin to blur and turn again, for a curt period of time that seems to never end, everything seeming as It should, then. O— clarity returns a circle— nestled upon the uppermost of the three— blades, synchronously— taken now with tableau— clockwise from there— a cross is stood just as still— betwixt the latter + the former— an arrow facing toward the axel< All of o + <, divided between— all of them— and for Boskovich this is all that remains. hum

7

Slick-back Knuckles bare and callous Fingertips equally tough From plucking Gut-spun thread Lips chapped Blowdried by merit Of ***** habit Whose stench clings At the pit of my stomach And pulls me to his An intimate tango tinged With notes of oud tucked betwixt A soft bed of sweat and boot-cleaner Smiles stolen from Molly Scattered upon plastic sheets Egyptian cotton, soiled Polyester tees Denim cut offs On loan from Daisy Your bolo tie hanging Tapping at my chin— Eros sting— With each incoming swing: Lute-stringed; hair-pricked, Greased-up pig, Play a tune with my skin And a lethal codetta For you— I’ll sing!

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May 27, 2025

May 27, 2025 at 11:55 AM UTC

Oil Change Duet

Slick-back Knuckles bare and callous Fingertips equally tough From plucking Gut-spun thread Lips chapped Blowdried by merit Of ***** habit Whose stench clings At the pit of my stomach And pulls me to his An intimate tango tinged With notes of oud tucked betwixt A soft bed of sweat and boot-cleaner Smiles stolen from Molly Scattered upon plastic sheets Egyptian cotton, soiled Polyester tees Denim cut offs On loan from Daisy Your bolo tie hanging Tapping at my chin— Eros sting— With each incoming swing: Lute-stringed; hair-pricked, Greased-up pig, Play a tune with my skin And a lethal codetta For you— I’ll sing!

30

O, how fantastic it would be To carry time in my pocket So I could make it right Whenever I wanted I could stretch it long Or cut it short I could skip the hurt Enjoy the pause Would I forget it all If I could revisit Would I close my eyes If I can’t blink and miss it Would I wish it end soon Or never again I think about it often Every now and then.

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Nov 28, 2024

Nov 28, 2024 at 2:39 PM UTC

I Think About It all the Time

O, how fantastic it would be To carry time in my pocket So I could make it right Whenever I wanted I could stretch it long Or cut it short I could skip the hurt Enjoy the pause Would I forget it all If I could revisit Would I close my eyes If I can’t blink and miss it Would I wish it end soon Or never again I think about it often Every now and then.

16

What happens now you aren’t here to tend the tree in your room — Will your light still germinate, will you lay your seed to bloom? Am I to become keeper, gardener of your belonging — To turn your memory into a greenhouse, spilling, overbrimming? Am I to delude myself into believing, that your leaving was too soon? Will you come to me at twilight or can you only be seen at noon — Dappled gently amongst the grove, a frayed bouquet of sunbeam — Will you ride the tops of our river to the source of my stream? Am I relegated to meet you — asleep — in daydream — Or can I spot you on the backs of spoons — at an angle — which you gleam? Is that shine no longer special, has the metal lost its lustre — I beg you, tell me — how much more force of will must I muster? If I close the curtain now, would you call it premature — Or would you be okay with me just not quite closing the door?

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Nov 28, 2024

Nov 28, 2024 at 9:25 AM UTC

I Miss You Most at Night

What happens now you aren’t here to tend the tree in your room — Will your light still germinate, will you lay your seed to bloom? Am I to become keeper, gardener of your belonging — To turn your memory into a greenhouse, spilling, overbrimming? Am I to delude myself into believing, that your leaving was too soon? Will you come to me at twilight or can you only be seen at noon — Dappled gently amongst the grove, a frayed bouquet of sunbeam — Will you ride the tops of our river to the source of my stream? Am I relegated to meet you — asleep — in daydream — Or can I spot you on the backs of spoons — at an angle — which you gleam? Is that shine no longer special, has the metal lost its lustre — I beg you, tell me — how much more force of will must I muster? If I close the curtain now, would you call it premature — Or would you be okay with me just not quite closing the door?

14

I am a Wasp in the glass Though I long to be the Bee Buzzing low above the grass Courting Flower to bear seed Bash my skull toward the light To form a crack before me Yearning to touch — despite Being O, so prickly Will I learn to pollinate The Garden — beckons me, sweet Look for a petiole, to ******* Make intoxicant — Honey! May you savour me from afar — I hear distance puts you at ease — See me shooting past — a Star To make a wish upon thee I fear what holds me back A cunning clarity unseen For even foresight I lack Though the crystal is plenty clean No speck of dust, or food, or warmth Only wings. Waxen; fatigued I beg to be held. To be swarmed Just not like this, trapped beaneath Now I can only soar, so tall Before smoke beckons me, to sleep I fear the stumble before the fall Deceptive Summers that precede I dream of a hive, abundant Brimming with ***** and bodies Of those alike and less repugnant The kind you love to set free.

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Nov 28, 2024

Nov 28, 2024 at 8:23 AM UTC

The Wasp Lies In My Bonnet

I am a Wasp in the glass Though I long to be the Bee Buzzing low above the grass Courting Flower to bear seed Bash my skull toward the light To form a crack before me Yearning to touch — despite Being O, so prickly Will I learn to pollinate The Garden — beckons me, sweet Look for a petiole, to ******* Make intoxicant — Honey! May you savour me from afar — I hear distance puts you at ease — See me shooting past — a Star To make a wish upon thee I fear what holds me back A cunning clarity unseen For even foresight I lack Though the crystal is plenty clean No speck of dust, or food, or warmth Only wings. Waxen; fatigued I beg to be held. To be swarmed Just not like this, trapped beaneath Now I can only soar, so tall Before smoke beckons me, to sleep I fear the stumble before the fall Deceptive Summers that precede I dream of a hive, abundant Brimming with ***** and bodies Of those alike and less repugnant The kind you love to set free.

32

How long will this stinging take To wholly set in and metabolise Search amongst muddy waters Pursue a clearer compromise I reach for you - Sulphur - Find myself the gilded Fool Iron makes a likely weapon; Pyrite a lousy tool. Yet you appear so indifferent Or perhaps alike, otherwise I wouldn’t hold my breath Believe in worthwhile sacrifice You may find me in the bush Aflame before the Prophet Plunge your poker in - spread thin - My heart if you wish to stop it Strike a match, test my metal Will our souls still catalyse Was his prediction correct What the Alchemist surmised Or has our time ran out Have we reached our constant yet How dastardly - equilibrium - Were we pernicious when we met? Is there any merit in looking Back on methods - revised Is there any hope now that The chill has metastasised? I would contact the Smith If he could solder back - connection - But our glow has dwindled now, Without it there’s no resurrection. Though I’m overcome - ravenous - Your appetite dissatisfies My belly runs on empty Without you, comes my demise Nears a cold stove And the Chef, grown tired. Farewell, my loving Sulphur. Yours Truly, a fading Fire…

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Nov 26, 2024

Nov 26, 2024 at 3:13 AM UTC

Dear Brimstone,

How long will this stinging take To wholly set in and metabolise Search amongst muddy waters Pursue a clearer compromise I reach for you - Sulphur - Find myself the gilded Fool Iron makes a likely weapon; Pyrite a lousy tool. Yet you appear so indifferent Or perhaps alike, otherwise I wouldn’t hold my breath Believe in worthwhile sacrifice You may find me in the bush Aflame before the Prophet Plunge your poker in - spread thin - My heart if you wish to stop it Strike a match, test my metal Will our souls still catalyse Was his prediction correct What the Alchemist surmised Or has our time ran out Have we reached our constant yet How dastardly - equilibrium - Were we pernicious when we met? Is there any merit in looking Back on methods - revised Is there any hope now that The chill has metastasised? I would contact the Smith If he could solder back - connection - But our glow has dwindled now, Without it there’s no resurrection. Though I’m overcome - ravenous - Your appetite dissatisfies My belly runs on empty Without you, comes my demise Nears a cold stove And the Chef, grown tired. Farewell, my loving Sulphur. Yours Truly, a fading Fire…

41

Mistook your niceness, for kindness Couldn’t draw a line between the two For my pencil had become too blunt And my paper - too thick - to tear through My eraser too pliable and worn Kneaded down to a waning pulp I tried shaping into a kind of moon But instead made a waxing fault That grows wider between the sternum Carves me down the middle - twofold Fleshy mounds of ****** grief Unable to bridge back the whole Pictures now lie placid, dormant Stacked neatly, one atop the last Withering - light-fast - fading From memory, it’ll pass.

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Nov 26, 2024

Nov 26, 2024 at 3:07 AM UTC

Erasing the Muse

Mistook your niceness, for kindness Couldn’t draw a line between the two For my pencil had become too blunt And my paper - too thick - to tear through My eraser too pliable and worn Kneaded down to a waning pulp I tried shaping into a kind of moon But instead made a waxing fault That grows wider between the sternum Carves me down the middle - twofold Fleshy mounds of ****** grief Unable to bridge back the whole Pictures now lie placid, dormant Stacked neatly, one atop the last Withering - light-fast - fading From memory, it’ll pass.

16

I don’t like people at my feet So, I could never be an emperor, or a king Though I believe myself capable Of just about anything But loving – that’s a tricky one. How does one go beyond – I wonder – to be overcome With wonderment of another Find salt – beneath a fingernail – Of the Earth’s splendour Licking them clean, one by one, Until there are none left to surrender To me, it is beautiful but immodest To bear one’s soul so unabashedly So bare-naked, weak and honest That you throw off one’s shoes Trade them for an embrace and warm breath Old vestments, at the foot of the bed And at mine, just you.

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Nov 24, 2024

Nov 24, 2024 at 2:33 PM UTC

My New Clothes

I don’t like people at my feet So, I could never be an emperor, or a king Though I believe myself capable Of just about anything But loving – that’s a tricky one. How does one go beyond – I wonder – to be overcome With wonderment of another Find salt – beneath a fingernail – Of the Earth’s splendour Licking them clean, one by one, Until there are none left to surrender To me, it is beautiful but immodest To bear one’s soul so unabashedly So bare-naked, weak and honest That you throw off one’s shoes Trade them for an embrace and warm breath Old vestments, at the foot of the bed And at mine, just you.

19

I am a bundle of thread I am a thorn I am unspooling I am shorn I am a needle I am the haystack I am off-beaten I am the path I am a carriage I am a horse I am the outcome I am the cause I am the future I am the past I am the now I am what lasts I am a soldier I am a fool I am the Weapon I am a Tool I am rusted I am unhinging I am broken but I am glinting I am fractured I am golden I am beauty In eyes beholden.

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Nov 24, 2024

Nov 24, 2024 at 6:26 AM UTC

I am Lost on you

I am a bundle of thread I am a thorn I am unspooling I am shorn I am a needle I am the haystack I am off-beaten I am the path I am a carriage I am a horse I am the outcome I am the cause I am the future I am the past I am the now I am what lasts I am a soldier I am a fool I am the Weapon I am a Tool I am rusted I am unhinging I am broken but I am glinting I am fractured I am golden I am beauty In eyes beholden.

28

O, Prescient Ewe That knows where to stand Avoids ambivalent hand That bore this world Of life’s command To bear its high demand O, Precocious Hen Knows when not to lay A life down in the hay A babe unborn, Uncracked, unraised Unknown to her dismay O, Prodigal Mare Beware not to sprain Or you will bear the strain Though not for long You’ll be for this plain Where retired mounts are lain O, Impassioned Pig Whose fattening Welcomes a fatter thing Wash away The amber glaze Chase not the dangling O, Prescient Ewe Return to me What is it you see? Be sure it is What’s to come Not what you wish it be.

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Nov 24, 2024

Nov 24, 2024 at 6:24 AM UTC

Ode to the Flock

O, Prescient Ewe That knows where to stand Avoids ambivalent hand That bore this world Of life’s command To bear its high demand O, Precocious Hen Knows when not to lay A life down in the hay A babe unborn, Uncracked, unraised Unknown to her dismay O, Prodigal Mare Beware not to sprain Or you will bear the strain Though not for long You’ll be for this plain Where retired mounts are lain O, Impassioned Pig Whose fattening Welcomes a fatter thing Wash away The amber glaze Chase not the dangling O, Prescient Ewe Return to me What is it you see? Be sure it is What’s to come Not what you wish it be.

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