hands - Hello Poetry

- know you see me semper dreamy slip-ping on - and - off in the spacey place almost convinced , (was it?) “empire free me , soldiers see me , envious armies are after me because broken me is all they see i patch my self invisibly --” so in retreat i lay my self, an icon to vanity and decay- soon enough i know the soldiers may hunt, may find, may trap, may bind never right - NEVER WRITE , always blind inside my rotten mind , (oh it was) it was not - naught but tongue twists and brain rot easy enough to force, forget the pleasantness of title : Pet - was it, will it, could I build it ? it never will - it never was - a different thought , for beggars sought to free them from their cups and coins - to seek release from their ***** - along the railroad tracks out back we find the air is acrid, black and children polish stones for sale for some enormous, bloated whale that cracks the whip but bears a treat -- I have Orders I must meet .

0

Jun 11, 2016

Jun 11, 2016 at 12:10 AM UTC

I

- know you see me semper dreamy slip-ping on - and - off in the spacey place almost convinced , (was it?) “empire free me , soldiers see me , envious armies are after me because broken me is all they see i patch my self invisibly --” so in retreat i lay my self, an icon to vanity and decay- soon enough i know the soldiers may hunt, may find, may trap, may bind never right - NEVER WRITE , always blind inside my rotten mind , (oh it was) it was not - naught but tongue twists and brain rot easy enough to force, forget the pleasantness of title : Pet - was it, will it, could I build it ? it never will - it never was - a different thought , for beggars sought to free them from their cups and coins - to seek release from their ***** - along the railroad tracks out back we find the air is acrid, black and children polish stones for sale for some enormous, bloated whale that cracks the whip but bears a treat -- I have Orders I must meet .

34

empty buses rolled on down the busy downtown street-- faceless figures flying by that have no time to meet. shifting, swerving, shapeless shadows and a muffled shuffling of feet. I wonder if they ever wonder about intimacy with me. I keep on tracking every bus that passes through the sleet, but angry beeping, noxious fumes and that harsh thumping beat keeps me still and keeps me silent-- motionless in my seat. nervous glances, twitchy fingers and a tippy tap of feet makes me asks myself in silence if I should get something to eat. jagged cracks sound through the air as verbal tacks pin here and there and spoken word and shouting, too all the noises the humans like to do. The high-pitched whining; the deep, low rattling; the stark, empty sighing; the unguided battling all of these condensed into one with more added in for added fun. Disconnect-- the neural wires unlock and retract as vine-like growths along the spine come undone across the back; cure it with wine, cure it with liquor, a tonic make it quicker. smoke a little grass and **** chew a little on a seed, take the stem between your lips and snap it right in two-- Let it stand, a monument to the experiences wrongly cut before completion. a crook in the neck and a creek out back, behind the lines of grass and stately shapes of trees with blades of wild oats and wheat stretching all the way up the knee. the pretty kind of loveliness across the flower's face, the dull, ignored cruelty of symmetry and grace all coalesce in me tonight all pile up bit by bit inside my bones all collect in gasps and sighs and tiny moans all create in me a tiny pile waiting to be set alight give me panic give me terror give me dread and fright and might it might come alive and on fire burning the backs of my soles making me restlessly wired. plugging me in and powering me up they wanted a show so i had to grow they wanted to see my cute little pout and so they sought and shook me out from my voided, unknown cave to have me put upon the collective a hidden ornament on the human race-- I need to leave, to flee, to run and never wonder why if leaving were so important then why didn't I simply fly? fly? fly? no flight for birds of plastic wings and a body made of artificial things: concrete, plaster, bits of brick, glass and the darkest, densest mass rise into the air above as gas clouds they float on up into the darkening sky covered by cowardly clouds too afraid to fly Disconnect-- dial tone sounds and it becomes clear there was never anything to connect

0

Mar 28, 2015

Mar 28, 2015 at 3:39 AM UTC

crook in the neck

empty buses rolled on down the busy downtown street-- faceless figures flying by that have no time to meet. shifting, swerving, shapeless shadows and a muffled shuffling of feet. I wonder if they ever wonder about intimacy with me. I keep on tracking every bus that passes through the sleet, but angry beeping, noxious fumes and that harsh thumping beat keeps me still and keeps me silent-- motionless in my seat. nervous glances, twitchy fingers and a tippy tap of feet makes me asks myself in silence if I should get something to eat. jagged cracks sound through the air as verbal tacks pin here and there and spoken word and shouting, too all the noises the humans like to do. The high-pitched whining; the deep, low rattling; the stark, empty sighing; the unguided battling all of these condensed into one with more added in for added fun. Disconnect-- the neural wires unlock and retract as vine-like growths along the spine come undone across the back; cure it with wine, cure it with liquor, a tonic make it quicker. smoke a little grass and **** chew a little on a seed, take the stem between your lips and snap it right in two-- Let it stand, a monument to the experiences wrongly cut before completion. a crook in the neck and a creek out back, behind the lines of grass and stately shapes of trees with blades of wild oats and wheat stretching all the way up the knee. the pretty kind of loveliness across the flower's face, the dull, ignored cruelty of symmetry and grace all coalesce in me tonight all pile up bit by bit inside my bones all collect in gasps and sighs and tiny moans all create in me a tiny pile waiting to be set alight give me panic give me terror give me dread and fright and might it might come alive and on fire burning the backs of my soles making me restlessly wired. plugging me in and powering me up they wanted a show so i had to grow they wanted to see my cute little pout and so they sought and shook me out from my voided, unknown cave to have me put upon the collective a hidden ornament on the human race-- I need to leave, to flee, to run and never wonder why if leaving were so important then why didn't I simply fly? fly? fly? no flight for birds of plastic wings and a body made of artificial things: concrete, plaster, bits of brick, glass and the darkest, densest mass rise into the air above as gas clouds they float on up into the darkening sky covered by cowardly clouds too afraid to fly Disconnect-- dial tone sounds and it becomes clear there was never anything to connect

86

red you’re flowing red your words came out like an overdose dark gray bags and rags for clothes black and gray and tones morose red you’re flowing red a ravenous cavern has eaten all our time it felt so unkind I lost my mind horrible expectations— lower them everything drains away to the riverbed lower then everything remains hidden until said lower then everything flows out to the oceanic carpet stomach somersault sea green red you’re flowing red gushing down to the gulley you-you sound in a hurry and complexion unsullied wait, please wait for me love isn’t a spectacle feelings cannot be seen looking over the shoulder, eyes narrowed, hips locked in place you call to me with a look of amusement and I can’t help but cringe my spirit jumps out of my skin I hope you like my body I hope you remember my mind I hope you know that I flattened on the floor when you flicked me off your shoulder and looked menacingly at the door here I am a cosmic ant scurrying about with my feelers hanging low shake it all off pretend you aren’t a demon disguised as a simple **** pretend you aren’t a newspaper clipping in the wind a single-day story filler on the news speech in a bottle drifting on the sea a lonely dance hall made for people to shake off empty flesh in flakes of gold and steel and lead what a waste as it falls onto the floor, flowing into the drain directly in the center inch long nails digging in just like we see on TV I have to agree it’s disgusting but we all have to do it sometimes ****** in the car, whorechild three years later and I’m ****** on the floor I’m ****** on the sofa I’m ****** on the futon I’m ****** in a stranger’s bed every night ****** by nameless, faceless specters of masculinity mixed with contempt users and abusers who love to dissect but only when ***** well **** me I’m so tired of being ****** by everyone else I’m ****** on the street I’m ****** on the stairs I’m ****** in the bathroom I’m ****** in the air I hang there a modest bauble on the Christmas tree no fancy lights lingering on my surface only the darkness and me build a house in the middle of the desert and fill it with water open the door and it all gushes out draining in tiny valleys and pathways carved from the silent sand used-up little fool empty vessel for a ghost empty vases filled with dead tulips and a sink filled with ***** water sunlight has long since left it’s so simple to see— only the darkness and me. this is socialization, running to work running to the store running straight home running out of places to run distrust before you disguise the beggar lying in a pavement grave meant to be a home slimy fingers sticking up there— disassociate— break— imagine a world without any ******* imagine a world that is free; I am only filled more with hate each time you penetrate I lose a little more gold a little more water a little more spirit a little more soul each time you **** me all I can see is red, flowing red draining in the stagnant pools of the narrow bed

0

Nov 13, 2014

Nov 13, 2014 at 4:41 PM UTC

only the darkness and me

red you’re flowing red your words came out like an overdose dark gray bags and rags for clothes black and gray and tones morose red you’re flowing red a ravenous cavern has eaten all our time it felt so unkind I lost my mind horrible expectations— lower them everything drains away to the riverbed lower then everything remains hidden until said lower then everything flows out to the oceanic carpet stomach somersault sea green red you’re flowing red gushing down to the gulley you-you sound in a hurry and complexion unsullied wait, please wait for me love isn’t a spectacle feelings cannot be seen looking over the shoulder, eyes narrowed, hips locked in place you call to me with a look of amusement and I can’t help but cringe my spirit jumps out of my skin I hope you like my body I hope you remember my mind I hope you know that I flattened on the floor when you flicked me off your shoulder and looked menacingly at the door here I am a cosmic ant scurrying about with my feelers hanging low shake it all off pretend you aren’t a demon disguised as a simple **** pretend you aren’t a newspaper clipping in the wind a single-day story filler on the news speech in a bottle drifting on the sea a lonely dance hall made for people to shake off empty flesh in flakes of gold and steel and lead what a waste as it falls onto the floor, flowing into the drain directly in the center inch long nails digging in just like we see on TV I have to agree it’s disgusting but we all have to do it sometimes ****** in the car, whorechild three years later and I’m ****** on the floor I’m ****** on the sofa I’m ****** on the futon I’m ****** in a stranger’s bed every night ****** by nameless, faceless specters of masculinity mixed with contempt users and abusers who love to dissect but only when ***** well **** me I’m so tired of being ****** by everyone else I’m ****** on the street I’m ****** on the stairs I’m ****** in the bathroom I’m ****** in the air I hang there a modest bauble on the Christmas tree no fancy lights lingering on my surface only the darkness and me build a house in the middle of the desert and fill it with water open the door and it all gushes out draining in tiny valleys and pathways carved from the silent sand used-up little fool empty vessel for a ghost empty vases filled with dead tulips and a sink filled with ***** water sunlight has long since left it’s so simple to see— only the darkness and me. this is socialization, running to work running to the store running straight home running out of places to run distrust before you disguise the beggar lying in a pavement grave meant to be a home slimy fingers sticking up there— disassociate— break— imagine a world without any ******* imagine a world that is free; I am only filled more with hate each time you penetrate I lose a little more gold a little more water a little more spirit a little more soul each time you **** me all I can see is red, flowing red draining in the stagnant pools of the narrow bed

104

sitting in my seat all I do is think saving every breath counting every blink thinking fashionably about death I watch their eyes begin to wander up and down each others’ bodies I close stick a hand into my thoracic cavity and pretend it’s a clock to wind backward through time like they do in magazines and in front of well lighted storefronts and downtown mini malls across America. any beauty column will tell you the tricks and what you have to trade, every weight has a balance and every product has a price. hands in your pockets chin in the air eyes on the pavement— almost there, almost there button your buttons string your shoes "I think I can, I think I can” you can’t, of course, but the emptiness of cleared out commercial blocks and brown brick buildings and wide streets that are empty in the night they all call out antagonizing you with imposing angles narrowing density constricting construction walk away from it all hide your naked figure alone and cold in the crippling dark

0

Nov 13, 2014

Nov 13, 2014 at 3:48 PM UTC

I close

sitting in my seat all I do is think saving every breath counting every blink thinking fashionably about death I watch their eyes begin to wander up and down each others’ bodies I close stick a hand into my thoracic cavity and pretend it’s a clock to wind backward through time like they do in magazines and in front of well lighted storefronts and downtown mini malls across America. any beauty column will tell you the tricks and what you have to trade, every weight has a balance and every product has a price. hands in your pockets chin in the air eyes on the pavement— almost there, almost there button your buttons string your shoes "I think I can, I think I can” you can’t, of course, but the emptiness of cleared out commercial blocks and brown brick buildings and wide streets that are empty in the night they all call out antagonizing you with imposing angles narrowing density constricting construction walk away from it all hide your naked figure alone and cold in the crippling dark

37

ya want some love but not for keeps, ya play us well and make the sweeps, we swept right up off the floor, we hurried and broomed on out the door. so take it or go, make it real slow, lemme watch ya and think to myself, "Daddy, baby, my fine **** man, lemme watch ya and think to myself, 'When is he gonna trip onto that fat ****** face? Pale, ignorant race?' Not even a trace, no, no, no." No, no, no, not even a single ****** trace of warmth or love or kindness or recognition of my humanity, the sole thing that makes me a likewise piece of the Earth. I'm gonna sweep away those ships, ****** doggoned grisly wrecks, sweep 'em right over the passing waves and right off the edge of the Earth. Cuz I don't call NOBODY "Daddy," though I call one person "dad," "father," "pops" and it pops I stick my needle through the pulsing air and it pops your **** heart pops. and ya had your fun, your day in the Sun, our little run and now, and now, and now, oh, now, it's done, don't make me get a gun. I know nothin' exists in singularities, nothin' exists on its own, vacuums only are in theory, we are living to our bones and the living state rests right into our **** bones, however, I can hate you for what you have done. I can hate you and I will hate you for every single thing that you have done, "Daddy," "Mommy," too, the systems of patronizing pater familias and all working gears of institutional injustice, hurt, pain, wreck, my ships may be wrecks, now, too, but the wind and the breeze are quick to blow and the direction of the currents are fast and strong. So just sit there ya **** sit and **** into your ***** being just sit there and ya think, "Why ya fingerin' that doorknob when I thought I played ya for keeps?"

0

Mar 17, 2014

Mar 17, 2014 at 12:45 AM UTC

nobody Daddy

ya want some love but not for keeps, ya play us well and make the sweeps, we swept right up off the floor, we hurried and broomed on out the door. so take it or go, make it real slow, lemme watch ya and think to myself, "Daddy, baby, my fine **** man, lemme watch ya and think to myself, 'When is he gonna trip onto that fat ****** face? Pale, ignorant race?' Not even a trace, no, no, no." No, no, no, not even a single ****** trace of warmth or love or kindness or recognition of my humanity, the sole thing that makes me a likewise piece of the Earth. I'm gonna sweep away those ships, ****** doggoned grisly wrecks, sweep 'em right over the passing waves and right off the edge of the Earth. Cuz I don't call NOBODY "Daddy," though I call one person "dad," "father," "pops" and it pops I stick my needle through the pulsing air and it pops your **** heart pops. and ya had your fun, your day in the Sun, our little run and now, and now, and now, oh, now, it's done, don't make me get a gun. I know nothin' exists in singularities, nothin' exists on its own, vacuums only are in theory, we are living to our bones and the living state rests right into our **** bones, however, I can hate you for what you have done. I can hate you and I will hate you for every single thing that you have done, "Daddy," "Mommy," too, the systems of patronizing pater familias and all working gears of institutional injustice, hurt, pain, wreck, my ships may be wrecks, now, too, but the wind and the breeze are quick to blow and the direction of the currents are fast and strong. So just sit there ya **** sit and **** into your ***** being just sit there and ya think, "Why ya fingerin' that doorknob when I thought I played ya for keeps?"

63

and I gotta tell you all now when your skin isn't pure like satin clean like silk it ain't so easy walkin on that street of yours or to go and greet on those feet of yours I don't wanna go out, today, mama I don't want to deal with the world today, mama, mama, where you been, mama, I only feel raindrops, anger, teardrops and irony I am made of needles and sticks and chopped up bits I am a demon made to destroy from within I am a half breed **** who don't have no wits-- no use, old thing, better give it up and let them hit and hit how they hit but it's the bit that gets when you're layin in your bed and your mama ain't here no more and there ain't no baby baby baby ****** CRYBABY CRYBABY YOU'RE A GOD ****** SHITSMACKIN CRYBABY YOU GET KICKED BY TWO MEN ON THE STREET YOU THINK YOU TOO DARK TO GET BEAT? you think you too dark to get beat? we meet they hit i fall the concrete ain't white neither

0

Mar 16, 2014

Mar 16, 2014 at 3:54 AM UTC

that concrete ain't white neither

and I gotta tell you all now when your skin isn't pure like satin clean like silk it ain't so easy walkin on that street of yours or to go and greet on those feet of yours I don't wanna go out, today, mama I don't want to deal with the world today, mama, mama, where you been, mama, I only feel raindrops, anger, teardrops and irony I am made of needles and sticks and chopped up bits I am a demon made to destroy from within I am a half breed **** who don't have no wits-- no use, old thing, better give it up and let them hit and hit how they hit but it's the bit that gets when you're layin in your bed and your mama ain't here no more and there ain't no baby baby baby ****** CRYBABY CRYBABY YOU'RE A GOD ****** SHITSMACKIN CRYBABY YOU GET KICKED BY TWO MEN ON THE STREET YOU THINK YOU TOO DARK TO GET BEAT? you think you too dark to get beat? we meet they hit i fall the concrete ain't white neither

40

my grandmother washed her skin in olive oil and ate whole cloves of garlic and let me play with her good china and had Rodgers and Hammerstein fill the room with music for play time every day as my tiny lungs filled with her air and my tiny heart filled with my blood

0

Mar 16, 2014

Mar 16, 2014 at 3:45 AM UTC

filled the room with

my grandmother washed her skin in olive oil and ate whole cloves of garlic and let me play with her good china and had Rodgers and Hammerstein fill the room with music for play time every day as my tiny lungs filled with her air and my tiny heart filled with my blood

8

there ain’t no ground for me to play on and there ain’t no music to play, anyway, just another day another life another scythe ringing in the distant fields and that little thing you thought so fine she was just some cheap cherry wine and I thought myself fine sauvignon though I did fail French a few times but at least I didn’t get left in the distant field to be harvested by the farmer to be sold at the market to be broken apart and maimed beyond measure. those lips eating though, they sure feel nice against ya, they sure do someone justice when they’re kissing all over and massaging your broken body but there’s no music down in the gullet there ain’t no sound but the deep and soulful murmurings of the stomach, the intestine, the **** that will birth me once more and again I’ll be in the water and mix with the ocean and become the rain and rise oh la la la la la la la la rise I’ll rise above it all and rain down your body and my body and all these broken, mutilated grain-bodies and pour it all down on you and the fields and that little thing you left lying in the middle of seas of wheat she’s screaming to the sky roaring to the rain that falls telling me all she knew all she loved none about you all of it runs all of it resounds making music on the ground and singing all in the air

0

Mar 16, 2014

Mar 16, 2014 at 3:40 AM UTC

ain't no ground for me to play on

there ain’t no ground for me to play on and there ain’t no music to play, anyway, just another day another life another scythe ringing in the distant fields and that little thing you thought so fine she was just some cheap cherry wine and I thought myself fine sauvignon though I did fail French a few times but at least I didn’t get left in the distant field to be harvested by the farmer to be sold at the market to be broken apart and maimed beyond measure. those lips eating though, they sure feel nice against ya, they sure do someone justice when they’re kissing all over and massaging your broken body but there’s no music down in the gullet there ain’t no sound but the deep and soulful murmurings of the stomach, the intestine, the **** that will birth me once more and again I’ll be in the water and mix with the ocean and become the rain and rise oh la la la la la la la la rise I’ll rise above it all and rain down your body and my body and all these broken, mutilated grain-bodies and pour it all down on you and the fields and that little thing you left lying in the middle of seas of wheat she’s screaming to the sky roaring to the rain that falls telling me all she knew all she loved none about you all of it runs all of it resounds making music on the ground and singing all in the air

48

'Like' this though you don't actually "like" what you see before your eyes, much too clear and much too crystal far too sharp far too cutting. the scent of blood as it scrapes into your flesh intoxicates you in its iron enriched headiness, 'how ironic,' truly 'how ******* ironic' as it all goes hazy and you numbly click 'Like' on a screen made up of tiny little images of tiny little people feeling just as big of emotions as you. 'Like' this poem if you've ever been betrayed by yourself.

0

Nov 5, 2013

Nov 5, 2013 at 4:47 AM UTC

'Like'

'Like' this though you don't actually "like" what you see before your eyes, much too clear and much too crystal far too sharp far too cutting. the scent of blood as it scrapes into your flesh intoxicates you in its iron enriched headiness, 'how ironic,' truly 'how ******* ironic' as it all goes hazy and you numbly click 'Like' on a screen made up of tiny little images of tiny little people feeling just as big of emotions as you. 'Like' this poem if you've ever been betrayed by yourself.

20

the bird lay helplessly on the soft cement, its eye sockets were empty and its feathers were torn up. dreaming a little dream that consisted of empty space, the contents of its mind both literal and figurative. the rot had set on swiftly, the skin was putrid smelling, the pustules were brimming with the **** of death made swelling. framed on the ground by ants crawling all around its flesh, they slid in and out they played within the body's ruins. the bones were now made of rope, the feathers petrified, the bird lay so still, dreaming a sleep about a sky full of nothing speckled red and brown and green and blue and somehow reminding me of myself in relation to you and you and you and all of you to all of me to every last ****** bit of you, I give you a dead, departed, decaying corpse who will never fly again. I will never fly again. I will never fly again. just let me lay and rot upon the cement, I will never fly again.

0

Oct 14, 2013

Oct 14, 2013 at 7:41 PM UTC

we keep it all in cages

the bird lay helplessly on the soft cement, its eye sockets were empty and its feathers were torn up. dreaming a little dream that consisted of empty space, the contents of its mind both literal and figurative. the rot had set on swiftly, the skin was putrid smelling, the pustules were brimming with the **** of death made swelling. framed on the ground by ants crawling all around its flesh, they slid in and out they played within the body's ruins. the bones were now made of rope, the feathers petrified, the bird lay so still, dreaming a sleep about a sky full of nothing speckled red and brown and green and blue and somehow reminding me of myself in relation to you and you and you and all of you to all of me to every last ****** bit of you, I give you a dead, departed, decaying corpse who will never fly again. I will never fly again. I will never fly again. just let me lay and rot upon the cement, I will never fly again.

33