drench
the whole ******* wooden bench
french fried tongue
must clogged lung
of the wine soaked skin
of a tanned muscled back
awww mmmm mmmm
the sheer power crushes my civilized programmed mind
into a thick primal lump
of coal
consisting of countless animals and plants
under pressure for millions of years
now able to combust
burning continuously
for hours.
days.
years.
ages.
unaltered.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 6:28 PM UTC
the wind hisses
insistently it pulls at the storm windows
the metal door handles unlatch
clattering around the old farmhouse
the trees bend as my mind churns
upon the green painted floorboards
my back aches
from prior heaving and lurching with another
human animal
i feel so solemn today.
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 9:01 PM UTC
Will i
Forever ride this sweet meat roller coaster
Continually tumbling on floors and furniture
Of owners whose secrets I will never be trusted to keep
Will i
continually touch, but not feel
To prevent myself from real loneliness
Or ever feeling had?
It is not attainable.
Because I say its so.
I won’t.
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 11:56 AM UTC
You would be an orchid.
A lovely solitary silken thing
Uncommon and hidden
From most eyes
Enjoyed only by those who wander
deeply enough into the woods
or those just lucky enough
To happen upon you-
You in your deep green clothes,
Your petals of white, of pink.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 2:56 PM UTC
i envision putrid fruits entangled in delight
i see their flesh oozing with heat and age
in a hand,
tanned and soft.
i see brown eyes alight.
i see nothing that is reality-
just my fears obscured in a non sense phrase
but it IS real.
the pain in my sternum,
my anger.
i hear words echoed in my memory,
i smell the unmistakable scent of a man.
SHRIIIKKKK!- i unsheathe my long sword.
LEAVE.
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 7:28 PM UTC
it can strangle the ******
it can imbibe the fetus
with putrid roots of carrots
old rotten things
that stick.
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 7:08 PM UTC
I knew I would be leaving soon.
Religiously I felt out the contours of the land
Tracing my fingers up and down the ridges of the mountains
Grasping at strong stone
Trying my hardest to map out
My home in my mind.
I knew I would be leaving soon
So I tried my hardest
To ingrain the velvet moss of your skin
Into the memory caches of my fingertips.
Sometimes I can remember
Still warm in my mind
The packed path made worn by my bare feet.
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 6:37 PM UTC