Iz - Hello Poetry

You look at me, that is all it takes, and temptation tumbles towards me Electrochemical codes stretch themselves thin taught and winding cooing and fluttering in axonal cornices Echoes rush through neuronal chambers, charged and pulsating. My mind in harmony and fully drawn to you synchronized by the network. The messages reach my cortex, aesthetic appraisal follows I know not the meticulous, miraculous mechanics of such a wonderful process but You beauty is magnified now. Touch receptors tell my whole body to tingle Sensory splendor is so scary. The cascades have commissioned the deeper circuitry: Those ancient blueprints of visceral demands from which wicked temptations of man are born, the veteran fossil of primordial impulse, a buried luxury, a relic: My reward system permeated by your kiss. I am dangerously, fearfully humble to the power of pleasure It is awake in the under-structure of neurobiologically institutionalized euphoria, ablaze in the basic backbone of bliss It is stirring in it’s ancient wires. I can say I am somewhat privy to the elusive nature of experience. being a human being alone grants me this being a scientist of the brain only dilates my sense of love’s incomprehensibility. And so I sink into your touch, your presence unresisting.

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Mar 8, 2023

Mar 8, 2023 at 4:33 AM UTC

Iz

Neuroscientist writes Poetry II

You look at me, that is all it takes, and temptation tumbles towards me Electrochemical codes stretch themselves thin taught and winding cooing and fluttering in axonal cornices Echoes rush through neuronal chambers, charged and pulsating. My mind in harmony and fully drawn to you synchronized by the network. The messages reach my cortex, aesthetic appraisal follows I know not the meticulous, miraculous mechanics of such a wonderful process but You beauty is magnified now. Touch receptors tell my whole body to tingle Sensory splendor is so scary. The cascades have commissioned the deeper circuitry: Those ancient blueprints of visceral demands from which wicked temptations of man are born, the veteran fossil of primordial impulse, a buried luxury, a relic: My reward system permeated by your kiss. I am dangerously, fearfully humble to the power of pleasure It is awake in the under-structure of neurobiologically institutionalized euphoria, ablaze in the basic backbone of bliss It is stirring in it’s ancient wires. I can say I am somewhat privy to the elusive nature of experience. being a human being alone grants me this being a scientist of the brain only dilates my sense of love’s incomprehensibility. And so I sink into your touch, your presence unresisting.

28

Everything keeps on flooding into this associative mesh, It all reflects such involved significance I ache to grip the essence, but settle for metaphors pining after describable meaning. Stretch my fingertips far, and further still try to cradle the lattice it escapes me, ever extending Leaves me in a daze, wooly and jumbled. Obscurity is thick and difficult Her true depth shrouded in a coolness The perfect touch of rugged to rouse baseline beauty compelling, titillating Just like the divine bitter edge of dark chocolate —how it aggrandizes the taste, stretches it beyond mere sweetness— she imbues my life with ***** full-bodied awe. dark, deep Terrifying Fantastic. A moment- She steals away my peace comfortless, deserted. Cold and abandoned. Shriveling at sheer confusion Cant seem to understand this whole thing I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to but it’s all a bit much the compulsive need to know plus innate knowledge that I can’t A bit cruel Another-She invites me into warm, multicolored awareness, acceptance Free of cosmic heaviness Forgetting the weight of existence and filled with bliss I’ve got it I’ve just got to do it Just got to Live my life Not try so hard to understand it all. The oscillations make my head spin.

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Mar 7, 2023

Mar 7, 2023 at 12:50 PM UTC

Iz

Obscurity

Everything keeps on flooding into this associative mesh, It all reflects such involved significance I ache to grip the essence, but settle for metaphors pining after describable meaning. Stretch my fingertips far, and further still try to cradle the lattice it escapes me, ever extending Leaves me in a daze, wooly and jumbled. Obscurity is thick and difficult Her true depth shrouded in a coolness The perfect touch of rugged to rouse baseline beauty compelling, titillating Just like the divine bitter edge of dark chocolate —how it aggrandizes the taste, stretches it beyond mere sweetness— she imbues my life with ***** full-bodied awe. dark, deep Terrifying Fantastic. A moment- She steals away my peace comfortless, deserted. Cold and abandoned. Shriveling at sheer confusion Cant seem to understand this whole thing I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to but it’s all a bit much the compulsive need to know plus innate knowledge that I can’t A bit cruel Another-She invites me into warm, multicolored awareness, acceptance Free of cosmic heaviness Forgetting the weight of existence and filled with bliss I’ve got it I’ve just got to do it Just got to Live my life Not try so hard to understand it all. The oscillations make my head spin.

32

Now, there is the contour of her upturned forehead nosetip kissed by the moonlight and shadows frame the shape of her eyes soft wrinkles at their tapered corners And my god, the color of them I stare, squint A misty night, but they are distinct even in the dark: bronze beads nestled into slight furrows gossamer, reflecting starlight. The sweep across the peppered sky that we stand beneath Chestnut disks floating in milky spheres unmistakably hers full and round, soaking in curiosity handsome mahogany irises bound by the gold tracing their edges. The way the light makes those disks look glassy Semitransparent in the moon’s glow How they shed their boundaries shifting, swimming layers on the eyelid horizon They shimmer, and stir. And now, they rest their gaze on me. I inhale dare to step closer The bustle in the back of my brain— A hum, and the purr of pleasure at her beatitude.

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Mar 7, 2023

Mar 7, 2023 at 10:16 AM UTC

Iz

She Was So Beautiful

Now, there is the contour of her upturned forehead nosetip kissed by the moonlight and shadows frame the shape of her eyes soft wrinkles at their tapered corners And my god, the color of them I stare, squint A misty night, but they are distinct even in the dark: bronze beads nestled into slight furrows gossamer, reflecting starlight. The sweep across the peppered sky that we stand beneath Chestnut disks floating in milky spheres unmistakably hers full and round, soaking in curiosity handsome mahogany irises bound by the gold tracing their edges. The way the light makes those disks look glassy Semitransparent in the moon’s glow How they shed their boundaries shifting, swimming layers on the eyelid horizon They shimmer, and stir. And now, they rest their gaze on me. I inhale dare to step closer The bustle in the back of my brain— A hum, and the purr of pleasure at her beatitude.

27

Shut, open once more Mortal eyes to welcome the light: The modest ushering in of photons who tiptoe towards the photoreceptors dancing, gingerly between their fingertips whispering their electrochemical messages— tens of millions of data-bits— bundled and strung up in between synapses Sent to a distant place in the back of my head Segregated, sorted rearranged until the details emerge.

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Mar 7, 2023

Mar 7, 2023 at 10:08 AM UTC

Iz

Neuroscientist writes Poetry

Shut, open once more Mortal eyes to welcome the light: The modest ushering in of photons who tiptoe towards the photoreceptors dancing, gingerly between their fingertips whispering their electrochemical messages— tens of millions of data-bits— bundled and strung up in between synapses Sent to a distant place in the back of my head Segregated, sorted rearranged until the details emerge.

11

In the morning I’ll be better Surely a brighter day will come and a darker one still. In the evening I’ll love you again Swear it’s the last time and come crawling back tomorrow. The days are crashing into one another heavy and swift Leave me bleeding at the end. I spin words into pretty phrases to make it stop and it works for a while. Take another breath swallow the entire nighttime hold it in my lungs Nothing left for when the sun comes up.

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Mar 2, 2023

Mar 2, 2023 at 7:56 PM UTC

Iz

I Have Been Awake for Four Days

In the morning I’ll be better Surely a brighter day will come and a darker one still. In the evening I’ll love you again Swear it’s the last time and come crawling back tomorrow. The days are crashing into one another heavy and swift Leave me bleeding at the end. I spin words into pretty phrases to make it stop and it works for a while. Take another breath swallow the entire nighttime hold it in my lungs Nothing left for when the sun comes up.

11

I suppose that contemplation of things is the true prerequisite of Art Then Let feathers of winged creatures hold my gaze in their layered order Let the vegetation’s whispers creep into my ears and plant gardens in my mind: Let willows whisk my weightiness away Soft, dangling leaves brushing kisses across my shoulders Let the tips of my fingers grasp pieces of the sky and pull them closer to my eyes Let me examine them like shards of glass Let rain feel like thunder and lightning look like cloudbursts The personality of a storm inherited in its natural phenomena: elemental manipulations My eyes upturned, My lips soaked in sky water I taste the cyclone Let me breathe in the mist hovering amidst canopic leaves Let negative space become positive: purple shadows ascending from the bleakness of their Definition Objects themselves bowing, and stepping backstage: Let the Shadows Shine for a moment And let me see it Let the mysteries of nature hold my mind’s gaze and Let me paint them

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Jan 14, 2020

Jan 14, 2020 at 10:20 PM UTC

Iz

The Artist’s Dilemma

I suppose that contemplation of things is the true prerequisite of Art Then Let feathers of winged creatures hold my gaze in their layered order Let the vegetation’s whispers creep into my ears and plant gardens in my mind: Let willows whisk my weightiness away Soft, dangling leaves brushing kisses across my shoulders Let the tips of my fingers grasp pieces of the sky and pull them closer to my eyes Let me examine them like shards of glass Let rain feel like thunder and lightning look like cloudbursts The personality of a storm inherited in its natural phenomena: elemental manipulations My eyes upturned, My lips soaked in sky water I taste the cyclone Let me breathe in the mist hovering amidst canopic leaves Let negative space become positive: purple shadows ascending from the bleakness of their Definition Objects themselves bowing, and stepping backstage: Let the Shadows Shine for a moment And let me see it Let the mysteries of nature hold my mind’s gaze and Let me paint them

25

my mind will finally be hollow when explosive entities of its existential warfare finally self destruct. until then, Recondite rifles are ruthlessly reloaded with unanswerable questions regarding the purpose of seemingly non purposeful things; lack of resolve wrecks me. Unanswered ammunition degrades cerebral cells, intercepting normal neural connections: I cannot think properly in the midst of pellets of panic until then, Selfless soldiers employed by future uncertainty battle against selfish soldiers of MY physical being, employed by my diminishing desire for sanity. They engage in trench warfare: digging desolate ditches, hammering holes, all of which eventually collapse and contribute to the constant compression of my cortex. But Compliments and Hope fracture into particles of sand that are ****** into the openings in my pupils by amorphous wind which is structureless anyway these particles are vacuumed down my optic nerves and pile into pillars of petrifying plant-based picket fences that try to guard against the existential warfare plaguing my mind But more explosive entities enter through my ears and reproduce in my temples waiting to self destruct until then, Forces convolute: existential warfare compresses my cortex into inevitable flat nothingness, while pitiful pillars of disillusioning dust collapse because the wind that whisked them inside NEVER EXISTED ANYWAY Eventually i will implode Until then, numbness gnaws at my heart to balance the bullets waiting to implode until then, Existential Warfare bombards my brain with bullets of black metal

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Feb 4, 2018

Feb 4, 2018 at 4:55 PM UTC

Iz

Here is What I Mean

my mind will finally be hollow when explosive entities of its existential warfare finally self destruct. until then, Recondite rifles are ruthlessly reloaded with unanswerable questions regarding the purpose of seemingly non purposeful things; lack of resolve wrecks me. Unanswered ammunition degrades cerebral cells, intercepting normal neural connections: I cannot think properly in the midst of pellets of panic until then, Selfless soldiers employed by future uncertainty battle against selfish soldiers of MY physical being, employed by my diminishing desire for sanity. They engage in trench warfare: digging desolate ditches, hammering holes, all of which eventually collapse and contribute to the constant compression of my cortex. But Compliments and Hope fracture into particles of sand that are ****** into the openings in my pupils by amorphous wind which is structureless anyway these particles are vacuumed down my optic nerves and pile into pillars of petrifying plant-based picket fences that try to guard against the existential warfare plaguing my mind But more explosive entities enter through my ears and reproduce in my temples waiting to self destruct until then, Forces convolute: existential warfare compresses my cortex into inevitable flat nothingness, while pitiful pillars of disillusioning dust collapse because the wind that whisked them inside NEVER EXISTED ANYWAY Eventually i will implode Until then, numbness gnaws at my heart to balance the bullets waiting to implode until then, Existential Warfare bombards my brain with bullets of black metal

20

I do not write my poems, My poems write me these boundaries of my body these fingertip extremities are not quills and this liquid velvet this lifeless blood is not raven-colored ink, rather my skin is pages and pages of palpable pulp, deacrinated tentacle tree branches and fiberless roots convulse and my metal mind seizes sadness and manufactures paper out of the trees growing inside of me Titanium oxide is extracted from my black eyes while wax drips off of my eyelashes into liquid pools of ebony My mistake of a mind imprisons abjection and mass-produces ink out of the elements of my soul’s curtain-drawn windows words and words and words and words fill the spaces between the pores where my hair follicles protrude Diction dilemmas dip their quills into my eyelids and peirce my forehead until I am scarred by POETRY Asphyxiating abnormalities write themselves into existence and reproduce in my skull, the fissures of my brain are their nests Seven hundred million two dimensional letters float into my blood and disperse and and feed on these crimson channels and converge to form three dimensional words to form still increasingly multidimensional sentences and stanzas and POEMS until I am a library of impossible holes in existence, an impossible amount of existence. I do not write my poems into existence My poems are my existence.

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Dec 6, 2017

Dec 6, 2017 at 9:10 PM UTC

Iz

Poetry on my Skin, Poetry in my Body

I do not write my poems, My poems write me these boundaries of my body these fingertip extremities are not quills and this liquid velvet this lifeless blood is not raven-colored ink, rather my skin is pages and pages of palpable pulp, deacrinated tentacle tree branches and fiberless roots convulse and my metal mind seizes sadness and manufactures paper out of the trees growing inside of me Titanium oxide is extracted from my black eyes while wax drips off of my eyelashes into liquid pools of ebony My mistake of a mind imprisons abjection and mass-produces ink out of the elements of my soul’s curtain-drawn windows words and words and words and words fill the spaces between the pores where my hair follicles protrude Diction dilemmas dip their quills into my eyelids and peirce my forehead until I am scarred by POETRY Asphyxiating abnormalities write themselves into existence and reproduce in my skull, the fissures of my brain are their nests Seven hundred million two dimensional letters float into my blood and disperse and and feed on these crimson channels and converge to form three dimensional words to form still increasingly multidimensional sentences and stanzas and POEMS until I am a library of impossible holes in existence, an impossible amount of existence. I do not write my poems into existence My poems are my existence.

12

There are beautiful things that live in my house they tend to occupy the fractured crevices inside of my walls, adumbrating a kind of obscure phenomenon: shadowy luminescence they tend to sink into the spaces between the ceiling and the roof, immersed in chocolately darkness and dust, eating termites for supper they tend to isolate themselves in the acidic liquid of my kitchen sink, bathing in rotting rye and leftover cherry wine, finding peace in polarization, a prize in the priceless, a perfection in the pitfall There are beautiful things that live in my mind they tend to whisper to me because they know I can discriminate between their desperately voluminous silk and the vortex of thickening threads that cages my cognition in demonic demands There are lots and lots of beautiful things but beautiful things don’t ask for attention they tend to slink in the shadows.

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Nov 19, 2017

Nov 19, 2017 at 3:02 PM UTC

Iz

Beautiful Things

There are beautiful things that live in my house they tend to occupy the fractured crevices inside of my walls, adumbrating a kind of obscure phenomenon: shadowy luminescence they tend to sink into the spaces between the ceiling and the roof, immersed in chocolately darkness and dust, eating termites for supper they tend to isolate themselves in the acidic liquid of my kitchen sink, bathing in rotting rye and leftover cherry wine, finding peace in polarization, a prize in the priceless, a perfection in the pitfall There are beautiful things that live in my mind they tend to whisper to me because they know I can discriminate between their desperately voluminous silk and the vortex of thickening threads that cages my cognition in demonic demands There are lots and lots of beautiful things but beautiful things don’t ask for attention they tend to slink in the shadows.

9

Echos expand the ice crystals in my mind Coronas of galactic dust feed into my pupils My eyes are moons leaking white fire My heart explodes into a supernova for it cannot bear the things I did to you The guilt kills the sun inside my chest The guilt is Jupiter and my vision is a slave, for auspicious moons have not gravity to compete with astronomical planets Here my limbs are constellations that drift from one another Here my fingers bend into uncomprehendable wavelengths Here I float, empty, into space. When I saw what could have been what would have been and what is now I became an Earthen Absense.

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Oct 29, 2017

Oct 29, 2017 at 6:25 PM UTC

Iz

Earthen Absence

Echos expand the ice crystals in my mind Coronas of galactic dust feed into my pupils My eyes are moons leaking white fire My heart explodes into a supernova for it cannot bear the things I did to you The guilt kills the sun inside my chest The guilt is Jupiter and my vision is a slave, for auspicious moons have not gravity to compete with astronomical planets Here my limbs are constellations that drift from one another Here my fingers bend into uncomprehendable wavelengths Here I float, empty, into space. When I saw what could have been what would have been and what is now I became an Earthen Absense.

13