a disconnect from reality is deadly
when thoughts of death don't change
your emotions
when you can't be offended
nothing is that serious...
what is reality
when you don't have the words
to paint its portrait
Jan 26, 2020
Jan 26, 2020 at 9:25 PM UTC
serve your bullet on the platters
along with the silver spoons and
doomed matters. we don't deserve other
than the dust of our creation.
that's what we are, we beget
ourselves and are not patient
we are our creation,
we are not the scrolls in our town
halls but the clay molded by our hands
and the soccer ***** out in the street,
not stopping other than by abrupt
stamping of your cleat.
the cost of cost may be a
long lost generation, when you spew nukes in a foreign invasion-
we bare our friends corpses and
drag them through the nation,
it’s true the wrong place for
skeletons is the basement.
Jul 19, 2019
Jul 19, 2019 at 7:53 AM UTC
it all feels lifeless
soulless
the white tile floors
against the white brick walls,
and the stones with sprinkles of
grey- spread out
like seasoning tossed on meat
this beast is faceless
it doesn’t need to snarl
or show it’s ragged claws
to scare me,
and it doesn’t need to open
it’s jaws, or ensnare me in its
paws to shred my body
to pieces
it can stay still. it can just
remain how it is,
with silent, grey doors
and identical rooms
why does
it curtain the light from each face-
stopping them from being
suns in the sky of interaction
or full moons when the earth
has turned itself from the light
of the sun, when life brings
it to where it will go
Mar 24, 2019
Mar 24, 2019 at 12:22 PM UTC
a little loving verse, for
the sweetest love i know.
you are petite, just like a
grape, or a pinky toe.
my little love, my little
sweet, what shall i do?
i think i found the
sweetest love, i found
it just from you.
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 10:21 PM UTC
the mice haven’t done much,
but the eagle still soars with a strong beak,
i fear for the rodents,
they better live discreet.
god forbid their heads end up
above the leaves,
or sharp talons might tear
shreds from their sheets.
scared-
stay seated in your chairs
my friends.
the eagle holds a picture’s scraps
where heaven holds no end.
that map was shredded along with
your brother’s skin.
oh God forbid, that’s it, rabid, next!
i would say a
goodbye to the rabbits,
but they already left.
Jan 15, 2019
Jan 15, 2019 at 10:17 PM UTC
why do you chew me up,
America?
why do you ask me to stand under
your flag and its stars, when in a clock’s
turning, i move as sheep to pens, going
from stall to stall, all to learn about you,
America?
why do you hold me on your tongue,
America?
why do you let your baby sheep be
slaughtered in their pens, while your
bleating is too loud for anyone to
end the massacre of the babies;
why is there no discussion,
America?
why do you show me off,
America?
why am i on your tongue, like a snow-
flake on a child's, or the straw
on a sheep's; or the dryness on a man’s
when he is done chewing his meat,
America?
why don't you spit me out,
America?
why don't you let me sit in the mud,
by the **** and the bones of the butchered
animals,
America?
why can’t you stop the bleating--
Jan 15, 2019
Jan 15, 2019 at 1:01 PM UTC
in the land of healthcare and
a flag oddly similar to puerto rico
there have been attacks, sly
maneuvers near the embassy.
sonic sounds blasting the ears
of diplomats; eardrums shattering
like walls under the force of cranes;
such drama! an attack so subtle
one could not accuse an island of
it, as it can't even be seen.
but, it might just be crickets,
such drama, such disappointment.
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 10:51 PM UTC
why does love always
feel like a battlefield. a
battlefield. a battlefield.
a friend of a brother once said,
biting his tongue and
chewing his cheek.
hand glued to his mandible
head tilted like a sinking ship
taking in its final breath, huuuuaaaaa
and before it sinks in
a miraculous cacophony;; it
exhales, aaaaaaaahh.
why do we stop, when we can
start, i asked Sartre, who
may have responded in a
tongue i can’t taste.
i’m amazed. love
and swords, such imagery!
and repetition like cupids’
arrows fired from each side
of such silly, important warfare.
i’m glad-
in this battlefield. battlefield
battlefield, i’m not fighting a
battle, or settling a skirmish;
i’ve sat down with the blonde haired
soldiers (though my comrades
shake brown locks), and we’ve
begun to play soccer and drink
in the name of conflict.
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 8:24 AM UTC
my love told me the sonnet i wrote
for her was lovely.
but it only could be that way because
of her(love).
there is no art without a muse, and i
suppose there is no love
ly poetry without a love.
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 7:50 PM UTC
it was like i saw her face
for the first time.
she sat across from me
back straight as a board
even though there were
no nuns around to
pull her ear and tell her
to sit straighter.
im glad she's her.
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 8:02 PM UTC