daydreammachines - Hello Poetry

now my mother at fifty sighs at the dinner table says when we were children this is what we call old and i thought it nostalgia speaking before the sight of my father lenseless in the low light of that diner like a fist to the chest greying man growing heavy eyelids folding up into something like grandpa's he says he is not afraid of dying because when the time comes his flesh will fall apart and in this gilded chrome future of ours the spirit stays pumping cooling fluid through rubber veins and this brain of his will keep spinning away when did he stop growing up and start growing old?

0

Jan 6, 2018

Jan 6, 2018 at 7:59 AM UTC

daydreammachines

all i'm tasting is soap

now my mother at fifty sighs at the dinner table says when we were children this is what we call old and i thought it nostalgia speaking before the sight of my father lenseless in the low light of that diner like a fist to the chest greying man growing heavy eyelids folding up into something like grandpa's he says he is not afraid of dying because when the time comes his flesh will fall apart and in this gilded chrome future of ours the spirit stays pumping cooling fluid through rubber veins and this brain of his will keep spinning away when did he stop growing up and start growing old?

22

here is something that mother told me about god complexes: “everyone believes themselves to be gods among men: even that hideous monster from your half-remembered Hellenistic dreams will retreat back to his craggy hideaway and continue with his hedonistic ways. the poor creature: he will don a halo, iconize himself in caricatures pretending that if for a moment his veins flow ichorous that Icarus may have envied when his wings beat in tandem with the footfalls of the sun chariots’ horses. “the sun shines upon hallowed ground, though Polyphemus will avoid Helios’s scornful gaze. he herds sheep––his only acolytes–– an unabashed king in his realm, like a god plays war, or as a child would play house, humming hallelujah, veins running gold-blooded. when moon rises, he will hang his weary shadow at his door and retreat to his fire-pit. perhaps this will be the closest he will be to the gods, basking in the heat of Hestia’s humble hearth. “in the end,” mother said, “Nobody will end up deified. Icarus may have rained down wax and feathers in godlike fury before tilting his head to Helios once more; Polyphemus waded into the sea, eyes clouded in godlike fury before resigning himself to fate, head bowed.”

0

daydreammachines

Nov 12, 2016

Nov 12, 2016 at 10:22 AM UTC

mathrock

POLYPHEMUS

here is something that mother told me about god complexes: “everyone believes themselves to be gods among men: even that hideous monster from your half-remembered Hellenistic dreams will retreat back to his craggy hideaway and continue with his hedonistic ways. the poor creature: he will don a halo, iconize himself in caricatures pretending that if for a moment his veins flow ichorous that Icarus may have envied when his wings beat in tandem with the footfalls of the sun chariots’ horses. “the sun shines upon hallowed ground, though Polyphemus will avoid Helios’s scornful gaze. he herds sheep––his only acolytes–– an unabashed king in his realm, like a god plays war, or as a child would play house, humming hallelujah, veins running gold-blooded. when moon rises, he will hang his weary shadow at his door and retreat to his fire-pit. perhaps this will be the closest he will be to the gods, basking in the heat of Hestia’s humble hearth. “in the end,” mother said, “Nobody will end up deified. Icarus may have rained down wax and feathers in godlike fury before tilting his head to Helios once more; Polyphemus waded into the sea, eyes clouded in godlike fury before resigning himself to fate, head bowed.”

42

ignore the faceless children pretending they never made the same mistakes while you hover over the edge-- trembling from the weight of guilt like gravity pulling you down

0

May 4, 2016

May 4, 2016 at 10:46 AM UTC

daydreammachines

like war drums or a funeral dirge

ignore the faceless children pretending they never made the same mistakes while you hover over the edge-- trembling from the weight of guilt like gravity pulling you down

3

some days the weight of the world sends us tumbling from our apartment windows too fast for regrets to catch us but the concrete will cradle you and rock your fluttering heart to sleep

0

Apr 23, 2016

Apr 23, 2016 at 1:25 AM UTC

daydreammachines

Untitled

some days the weight of the world sends us tumbling from our apartment windows too fast for regrets to catch us but the concrete will cradle you and rock your fluttering heart to sleep

5

i am a salesman my pockets full of sand i call gold dust standing at the street corner your pipe dreams done up in glitter, chrome, and steel i am a wishing well as empty as my promises bone dry throw your pennies down copper against cobblestones mocking the hint of a sound empty yourselves into me i'm exactly what you wanted me to be

0

Apr 5, 2016

Apr 5, 2016 at 9:09 AM UTC

daydreammachines

i've played a lot of games, but i haven't lost this one yet

i am a salesman my pockets full of sand i call gold dust standing at the street corner your pipe dreams done up in glitter, chrome, and steel i am a wishing well as empty as my promises bone dry throw your pennies down copper against cobblestones mocking the hint of a sound empty yourselves into me i'm exactly what you wanted me to be

14

i want to split this skin and hold my skull in my hands a graveyard souvenir from someone i no longer am

0

Mar 29, 2016

Mar 29, 2016 at 11:25 AM UTC

daydreammachines

like ticket stubs and polaroids

i want to split this skin and hold my skull in my hands a graveyard souvenir from someone i no longer am

4

i'm stalling in these slowly sinking weeks, seeking question-mark validations from the backs turned to me. these are abandoned bridges i wish i had burned; boards that break before i try to walk on them. i hear them creak in your wake when you walk past. maybe i could find my hammer and nails and try again, but you've made sandpaper out of my heart and my throat's scratched raw. don't ask girls who hate paper cuts to build you rome. she'd rather build you gallows to hang herself from. there are aches in the joints of my automaton heart and i cut circuits just to forget about you. she stared me dead in the eye and i tasted acid rain. hate smells like rotten petrichor. i forget my midnights in hopes of sleeping through the sun, but we're haunted by our daylight ghosts. i must smile and say hello before these puppet string frowns pull further down in dread and dreariness.

0

Mar 11, 2016

Mar 11, 2016 at 10:01 AM UTC

daydreammachines

marionette

i'm stalling in these slowly sinking weeks, seeking question-mark validations from the backs turned to me. these are abandoned bridges i wish i had burned; boards that break before i try to walk on them. i hear them creak in your wake when you walk past. maybe i could find my hammer and nails and try again, but you've made sandpaper out of my heart and my throat's scratched raw. don't ask girls who hate paper cuts to build you rome. she'd rather build you gallows to hang herself from. there are aches in the joints of my automaton heart and i cut circuits just to forget about you. she stared me dead in the eye and i tasted acid rain. hate smells like rotten petrichor. i forget my midnights in hopes of sleeping through the sun, but we're haunted by our daylight ghosts. i must smile and say hello before these puppet string frowns pull further down in dread and dreariness.

19

you lost me in the white noise of your voice deafening down my throat and when i choked on your sandpaper soliloquy all you heard was static

0

Mar 9, 2016

Mar 9, 2016 at 10:18 AM UTC