Paralyxzations of the worn spandex, still early
Pizza and beer on a comfy couch
And the crunchy old leaves
That decorate the walls of my house
Glimpses of nature in an urban world.
I think a bit, I feel my quads
As they burn with lactic acid pain
That never leaves an athlete in season.
The greasy cheeseboard and brown dried leaves
Reflect the feelings of sweat and drained
Emotions and motivations, sleep is near.
The night is young, but sleep is near.
Parties call to me with voices loud
Over my tired and disabled carcass
The incessant fight between body and mind begins
Why should I venture out into the world?
What is fun if it can come
Only through grinding my *** in someone’s crotch?
Shall I not find the comfort in my bed,
The warmth of blankets that smell like me, or else
The shared cup of tea with roommates and friends
Not the bedroom tussle with muscled men
I am whole within myself.
Climbing trees or dreaming of oceans
Running up hills and conquering waters
All are my fun; my life is full remembering
The past adventures with inebriation and indiscretions
It is now time for soul and body to heal.
Men in the bars had their inhuman strength
To down the pitchers and pints of beer
Loud mouth ******** who seem so compelling
Move as kings among the tittering ******
Magnificent in their swarthy confidence
Until their blood alcohol level reaches a new high
Creating a beast without inhibitions
Till no doesn’t mean no, but an invitation to come
Shall my voice fail? Or shall it come to be
The voice of a victim? And shall my quads
Have the strength to run, or the foresight to
Begin in a place much friendlier than now
A part of the brain and a part of the heart
And next is the knowledge of things to come
Not the dulled senses of an exhausted drunk.
I say, “But Saturday is my only night
When morning practice is not imminent”
Parties are the basis for college fun; hence my wish
Together with people and dancing and drink
Shall I finally reach the effervescent image.
Although sleep is upon my weary bones,
The path of fun is clearly wrought with dangers, and love.
The triumph of conquest blows the ringing horns
Until my sparkled dress comes down from the hanger
And uggs are rejected for heels of blue
I cause boys to pile orders for beer and ***** tonics
On their max-out cards. I taste the metallic twang
Of future mistakes and regrets.
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 12:37 AM UTC
So many minds
have filled this space
thinking of math and physics
Vectors and integrals,
derivatives and valence
mean little to us-
except the rolling assonance
of the repeated vees
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 12:10 AM UTC
Death should come at the end
when the muscles have given their all
and the only movement left
is driven by the trained soul
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 12:05 AM UTC
This is the way my world will end:
When your stepped body lies astride mine
Exploring the crevasses, the caverns narrow
Probing with instruments deft- again and again
how inquisitive is your study!
Stopping at nothing till that moment of crises.
The french call it, "la petite mort"- the little death
for this is the way my world ends:
not with a whimper but a bang
Apr 21, 2012
Apr 21, 2012 at 11:59 PM UTC
Even your abrupt gesticulations
the sudden motions that should destroy serenity
enforce the curvature of your fingers
the delicacy of great strength contained;
Not even Adam, in reaching for his creator, can compare
Apr 21, 2012
Apr 21, 2012 at 11:54 PM UTC