We took upon ourselves this mighty emblem
Swift, strong, clever, admirable
All the traits we boast
For we admire predators
And will never admit weakness, craving help
As the ultimate enemies of our grandparent's did
When there were no more hunters strong enough for us
We hunted ourselves
And looked to this symbol like wingless conspire
Created a feeble facsimile, a mockery
Both predator and prey fly rebelliously
In secret handshakes and public smiles
We convolutedly devoured ourselves
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 11:07 PM UTC
When your tendons began to disintegrate
from the weaves in the told tales
and the luster of polished facades
trembled at your piercing stare
at the silenced waves retracting back
from your shores to the stone tossed
with the vision a visible indivisible shackles
on a mask of tattered, thinning hairs
sullied by fury, cowed by shunning
torn from the host persona, misrepresenting.
That was when you noticed your bare feet in the moonrise.
And I was just returning from my long walk in them shoes.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 8:28 AM UTC
I suppose this lump of clay is just fine the way it is.
Well, honestly, who am I to try to change it?
I know full well the labor that went into making it
The workforce that mined out the sediments from the soil
The minds that designed that perfect consistency
The psychologists and graphic designers that boggled the package to life
The mouths their incomes feed.
The leftover money spent on beer and records to listen to with friends
Yes, that would be preposterous of me to sully their memory by shifting even a single atom.
I’ll place this lump next to the other lumps limping, exhausted on that dusty shelf.
Their lumpy memories will lump onto me. and I’ll take their non-utilized weight with me wherever I travel.
They are precious. More so than diamonds.
**** it, my niece wants dragons.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 11:32 PM UTC
wordless extended hands
from those months of moments
treasure maps torn and buried
in soft sand scorched of life
seeds wating for soothing rain
to grow and accept exhalations
and return the breathes fuller
what could be said would never explain fully
it must be sung
vibrations of those learned lessons still echoing
returning as unlearned ones
future is past's mirror
and there are still chasms to explore
a warm hearth waiting to be built
an unmade cabin deep and far in the forest
counting your credit score, looking at the green line patiently
throngs of wanderers looking up to the balcony
the conjunction benefiting more than just those present
love without possession
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 11:05 AM UTC
For sustenance we trudge on
Just to sustain
This callus equilibrium of fragile crystals
swaying in the wind, falling constantly
Employing the cleverest techniques of fleeting upward momentum
Short-lived displays of affection bleeding the small offering received at birth
endlessly replayed to our children's eyes
Despondent indentured servants scribbling through skin and tendons
Just to feed their families the rice they can no longer grow
And sending these fairy tales to the rosy-cheeked offspring of their oppressor's store bought dreams
To keep the oppression alive .
To operate at peak efficiency.
To transfer honest muscle through wire mesh.
And fatten.
And enfeeble
Enforce the prerequisites to match the scale's testimony.
Testify! Oh, Lord. We thank you for this meal stolen from our inferiors.
Please Please Please.
We demand pleasure. IT IS REQUIRED.
For if we feel sadness, then we have failed.
And we'll lay down what we don't have space in our engorged bellies for.
It will be placed, with all due honors, to our greatest shrine.
Where we are honest with our real Mother.
Where the proud, twicely worn, footwear of our warrior-spiritless cows rests
Where erections limp as collapsed towers, respected by false jihads, sleep.
Where dream's plastic refusal composts never; nourishing nothing.
Where potential is pure impotence.
The bed we all share.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
I arose from my slumber without sleeping a wink
A twinkle of that dreamstate left over from days of yore
A bore. I must reinsert myself
into the meatgrinder
After lollygagging in that idyllic state
of freedom that doesn't exist
as long as I need money to live, to thrive, to survive
The mountain we slog always
catching the scent of the next tender morsel
of that dream we hardly remember
from the night before
the night before
the last time we awoke
in that place, our best friend held our hand
and took us to that desired land
filled with everything we never had as children
eyes brimming with stars
beyond horizons promised to us in storybooks
detailed tales of heroes who set sails
chasing whales
our own tails
our own tales never matching the patterned struggles
that we could easily overcome
sung and spun
before we were born
by people with common ancestral lines
times required spines now made with increased output
but inferior quality
broken easily in instances easily overcome
or never imagined in the flowing garment of time
ever lengthening to capture these expanding moments
manufactured and sold in greater quantities than before
more bottles to hold the sweat of downtrodden children
and then sold in extreme dilution to people
people who wouldn't seem like people to our grandparents
people who've never earned a single callus
peasants who've never earned a single social faux-pas
and been ostracized from squares masquerading as circles
on halloween only
or maybe other stolen holidays
we are the skeleton holding your obese mass
we are always malnourished, but expected to sustain
we are the marrow creating white blood cells to fight
the new diseases that we gladly pay for
so we can be sick
or just appear so
in our dreams
or was that something I saw on tv?
hard to say sometimes
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 7:01 AM UTC
The only reason I'm alive today.
Is because I fear the afterlife.
Not because it's real.
Not because the prospect of eternal damnation is troublesome.
Not because I disbelieve in eternal bliss either.
But, because what I desire most is nothingness.
Absolute oblivion
No more sensations.
No more lessons.
No more personal perception.
And no one, nothing, can promise this to me.
Atheism is still a belief in this fashion.
Nihilism is vain grasping at disconnectivity
And I am vain in this longing.
That my pain is more unique than anyone else's.
That to share it would only separate me further.
From all of you.
Even that wording is egocentric.
How many of us have built these fortresses around us?
pointed fingers at the mirrors of the world and cried:
OTHERS!
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 12:55 AM UTC
Do other people ever look at me and see poetry?
Some bystander on a corner
young or old
loner or lord
and wonder about my comings and goings?
Have they created scenarios for me in their heads?
Mazes that the fictional me must traverse
Have they speculated on my love life?
"Oh, that man has been hurt. you can see it in the way he walks."
Do they listen to my order at the coffee shop?
They must think I lack imagination.
Plain coffee, plain clothes.
I hardly make a peacock of myself
Do they envision my morning routine?
He psyches himself up in the mirror first.
Today he asks that girl out.
This is the day his nephew becomes a man
Would I take the young lad to a ********** or a church?
How can you even tell someone's character?
Are there people who dress and act so they can't be read?
Are there people with magic eyes that cut through my disguise?
Are there people who want to save me, or be saved by me?
That guy would make a good protagonist in my novel.
How many layers of reality have I unwittingly dived down just by being observed?
Do people think about things like this?
Doesn't it get in the way of their lives?
Because I sure don't.
And it defintely doesn't.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
Never.
Notta once
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 5:44 PM UTC
The rapid Pulses increase as air finally fuels the fire
It came to combust. to spark the flint to the fullest
To centralize all that could be, a widespread social desire
forgoing logic in the name of being
the shattering of illusion is, you guessed it, a figment fractured formally from the rock
obsidian reflecting afterimages. motions of forced feigned reaction
a wordless line of thought, speechless in it's pure refracted intent.
to beam these ideas to that manifestation, not to dance around fumbling a thesaurus
admiration follows the music and turns the dial accordingly. fucking scenesters
it humbles to and fro, perpetually ignoring the perfect fine tune
If being is becoming, then what was it?
I could say the words, whisper into lulls, look down the full extent of the great Y in the sky
Would the divine feminine find it's way down those dark channels and see before the divide?
and become the she that should be with me
Am I the He that should be with She?
These concepts sometimes seem a superstitious pogrom, only in place for the sake of continuity
THE HUBRIS!!!!
geese Louise, If only we had counters for practically meaningless revelations and a tic-tac for each one.
Man-Oh-Man, would my breath be too fresh for primetime.
The loaves rise as the yeast fornicate in the manner of Hottentots
gotta butter that bread, son
Too many fuzzies are broken by too many Lennys
too many sparks are extinguished in the name of normality
Too many mountains erode to grains of sand in the name of eventuality
but now they're stoically perfected and ready to be shaped into castles
so much of creation is for destruction, forcing impermanence so repeat customers can sully their honey
words...um... sentences.. and. thaaattt. oh yeah, cognitive thought
People should not fear conversations. No premise nor opinion should be overlooked due to emotions
You can't fake Lockjaw, I know you're just chewing that sugar daddy to buy some time
Look not to the answers you find, but to the questions you ask. The real truth is there.
yeah, It's kinda the inverse of the norm and it usually feels weird when you feed your ***
But it's nowhere near as painful as the **** that comes out your mouth sometimes
I'm scared too
And this stupid Scar on my knee!! AAAAHHH!!! never ever ever take your knees for granted!!
Smile when you see a friend
Smile when you see a frown
Frown when you're upside down
But try not too rhyme too much, it's corny
I write for those I've admired, in the name of the will to create
something far beyond the corporeal, adjacent to the surreal... I mean alabama
stop yourself when you inch to a serious concluding gorge
You know, my father was a bridgemaker, *****
You can't solve all your problems with fire. I'd like to think that Prometheus said that before lending us his lighter
hmmm. this Zippo's almost out of fluid... pif whatever, we can just monkeyfuck each other until someone figures out a better way
Laugh and don't get too taken up by the rhythm. Don't polish your stones, no one else can see your pretty face in them anyway.
A persons ease of words on the fly can sometimes be related to their ease of telling lies.
Where's all this coming from?
I'm not sure, but I hope it finds who it's going to.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 2:26 AM UTC
splendid anticipation twisting sapling towards skyroots again
porous attrocities absorb all happenstance toward equilibrium
prance in trance, dance enhance
the words are subtle still and vague
privy to thoughts portrayed by strays, mainstays frayed by microwaves
this cancer causing communication, new information trending towards midlifestations
I still see the spark, still taste the quark. yet improvisations on the fly are hindered
loquaciousness is all a hoax, jokes and folks hold this shaky oak
some still breathe for the trees
most still wish only to seize
but the smiles ring through all these trials all the whiles no reconciles
flies are gathering on this **** and still my feeling wont equit
where is the man from the sky? the one who wont shell our eyes?
was it a woman within the weaves, the stars unfolding
remolding us as lumps of clay and changing the meaning of the word geigh
sleighride with me onto the seas, now frozen by your cold wilting weeze
rhymes and verses traverse like hearses picking up where my thoughts stop short
clicking and twisting, familiar sorts sing songs of us between retorts
it all points to that familiar end, when i cower away and wont defend
the points of light in pupils stares
between this line nothing impairs
tear away the peeling, reeling and the chewey center within
its not a sin to mend the seams and come forthright
steal from my mind just one last kiss, an idle embrace you've never held, grasping
at least that's what the clouds are hissing, evaporating what ive been missing
mix it all in one big *** stewing all the things that i am not
you label me a fool in vain, for i have danced between the rain
impossible sorts of things i've felt, callussed noses refused to've smelt
whisper all the words in pairs, double the potency of stares
climb up the rungs one by one and suddenly the songs i've sung
will bellow in through the wind and you'll wonder if there's time
to find the reason within this rhyme
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 2:19 AM UTC