nemo - Hello Poetry

I want to knock out all your teeth with airborne nuggets of wisdom. I want your empty gums to bleed with pain and hatred and progress. I want you to cut your hair off, collect the locks, and throw them at the trees in the afternoon, for sanity's sake, and I want the clouds sunk into your head to spell out like an airshow, "I am Real, Valid, and going to die." Sometimes sitting straight up in bed has its purpose, pulling the blanket to the floor and humming all those songs without words, it's like therapy, like rest, like wood. The Lord will find his face formed in your gnarls, and he will cry. He will say he loved you since the beginning, since you pierced your nose, and that it doesn't matter that you look down more often than ahead, and that your sighs grow flowers at your feet.

0

Aug 29, 2014

Aug 29, 2014 at 11:30 AM UTC

nemo

pretty world

I want to knock out all your teeth with airborne nuggets of wisdom. I want your empty gums to bleed with pain and hatred and progress. I want you to cut your hair off, collect the locks, and throw them at the trees in the afternoon, for sanity's sake, and I want the clouds sunk into your head to spell out like an airshow, "I am Real, Valid, and going to die." Sometimes sitting straight up in bed has its purpose, pulling the blanket to the floor and humming all those songs without words, it's like therapy, like rest, like wood. The Lord will find his face formed in your gnarls, and he will cry. He will say he loved you since the beginning, since you pierced your nose, and that it doesn't matter that you look down more often than ahead, and that your sighs grow flowers at your feet.

30

We put our mattresses on the roof and sneezed into each others' hands; murmuring, "I'm sorry and I love you, I'm sorry and I love you." They slid off in the morning while we slept on them--the mattresses--and we crashed into the garbage bins a story down. They were right, we were trash all along. We woke up as splinters and fragments, next to splinters and fragments, with only splinters and fragments to say. The lid slammed shut over us and I traced it with my fingers, and told her how I feel better in the dark anyway. We both felt better in the dark anyway.

0

Aug 5, 2014

Aug 5, 2014 at 11:40 PM UTC

nemo

a night alone, with someone else.

We put our mattresses on the roof and sneezed into each others' hands; murmuring, "I'm sorry and I love you, I'm sorry and I love you." They slid off in the morning while we slept on them--the mattresses--and we crashed into the garbage bins a story down. They were right, we were trash all along. We woke up as splinters and fragments, next to splinters and fragments, with only splinters and fragments to say. The lid slammed shut over us and I traced it with my fingers, and told her how I feel better in the dark anyway. We both felt better in the dark anyway.

1

The up side to living in a place so empty is if there is no one playing music, you learn how to listen to the trees. If there is no art, you learn to see the beauty in the trash cans, the plastic bags, the blurred faces. If there is no one telling you they love you, you silently question yourself into spirals, or find it in the dirt. My fingernails are clotted. My head: fluid. My face lighted by friction of grinding teeth. I will knock myself over when I'm ready, and trees will grow from my dust long after they've thrown me away.

0

Apr 24, 2014

Apr 24, 2014 at 1:01 PM UTC

nemo

we are the roots of this campus, we are the nutrient self.

The up side to living in a place so empty is if there is no one playing music, you learn how to listen to the trees. If there is no art, you learn to see the beauty in the trash cans, the plastic bags, the blurred faces. If there is no one telling you they love you, you silently question yourself into spirals, or find it in the dirt. My fingernails are clotted. My head: fluid. My face lighted by friction of grinding teeth. I will knock myself over when I'm ready, and trees will grow from my dust long after they've thrown me away.

1

People don't take kindly to wanting everything to be free. Elephant tears in latin skin drip quickly from their leather faces while they scream "This is America, you have to pay for what you believe". No one has ever applied land of the free so literally. Golden prosperity jingling. Stick with the concrete, and fall through winter folds.

0

Apr 9, 2014

Apr 9, 2014 at 3:47 PM UTC

nemo

am. lit

People don't take kindly to wanting everything to be free. Elephant tears in latin skin drip quickly from their leather faces while they scream "This is America, you have to pay for what you believe". No one has ever applied land of the free so literally. Golden prosperity jingling. Stick with the concrete, and fall through winter folds.

3

Don't second guess the heart of holy ghosts. Don't recommend the books that seek your skin and heathen bones. Don't fall guilty of happiness and fraud or life or experience or jargon, or unlucky fines of brute crest mammals herding north. It's all in my head, tell me again. Pointed knuckles seek the throne, seek help. Empty plastic bags bland the glit of coming phosphors, heat the shining thumbs of forty men. It's all in my head! I didn't see them work themselves to death, fall out hurtless among the chips ahoy box, resting empty on my carpet! Eat the herbs, taste the body, sing through nostrils geometrically still. Stare at your future, a grey dust bit, breezing circles on the window sill.

0

Apr 8, 2014

Apr 8, 2014 at 1:11 AM UTC

nemo

window sill

Don't second guess the heart of holy ghosts. Don't recommend the books that seek your skin and heathen bones. Don't fall guilty of happiness and fraud or life or experience or jargon, or unlucky fines of brute crest mammals herding north. It's all in my head, tell me again. Pointed knuckles seek the throne, seek help. Empty plastic bags bland the glit of coming phosphors, heat the shining thumbs of forty men. It's all in my head! I didn't see them work themselves to death, fall out hurtless among the chips ahoy box, resting empty on my carpet! Eat the herbs, taste the body, sing through nostrils geometrically still. Stare at your future, a grey dust bit, breezing circles on the window sill.

2

Tile lines. Short quieckass. Don't letons.

0

Mar 30, 2014

Mar 30, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC

nemo

Tile lines leading

Tile lines. Short quieckass. Don't letons.

3

fake wood grain pressed conscious desk pushing up on elbows, and armpits, and eyelids headache computer screen sinks between teeth and gum slavery is dead, only very much alive not in the same sense.. not in the same sense.. machines collect dust lives go numb and wages are spent on daily bread.

0

Mar 26, 2014

Mar 26, 2014 at 12:45 PM UTC

nemo

circumstantial enigma of hapless intent.

fake wood grain pressed conscious desk pushing up on elbows, and armpits, and eyelids headache computer screen sinks between teeth and gum slavery is dead, only very much alive not in the same sense.. not in the same sense.. machines collect dust lives go numb and wages are spent on daily bread.

11

Bitter grot, daily grey hemlock pulp wavy lays and apple flesh at lull. Brain floating static, the kind that builds in shoulder muscle pushing through an image mostly null and void-- a happiness inherent in South Korean absence beaten to death by self & blood & head-- a black that follows everything in late class hurried laundry pickings red and blue striped glass of smoke & life & pine. Needles ***** the sides of aether sighs Halving forests by signing American english bible verses to the sky. The path is inside beside the others. Content ears hear nothing new.

0

Mar 18, 2014

Mar 18, 2014 at 12:55 AM UTC

nemo

content with grot & static.

Bitter grot, daily grey hemlock pulp wavy lays and apple flesh at lull. Brain floating static, the kind that builds in shoulder muscle pushing through an image mostly null and void-- a happiness inherent in South Korean absence beaten to death by self & blood & head-- a black that follows everything in late class hurried laundry pickings red and blue striped glass of smoke & life & pine. Needles ***** the sides of aether sighs Halving forests by signing American english bible verses to the sky. The path is inside beside the others. Content ears hear nothing new.

26

The cord is caught between my desk and my foot my thoughts and my tongue my fingertips and everything else **** life from willow and scream at television screens that project images into vectors eating steel through cotton table cloths every Sunday. Seated, watching the time restraining thoughts of getting there when there hasn't yet been defined. Uselessness and vigor will pour through my pores at 1919 ft worth and settle, **** It's never going to settle.

0

Mar 16, 2014

Mar 16, 2014 at 6:26 PM UTC

nemo

Untitled

The cord is caught between my desk and my foot my thoughts and my tongue my fingertips and everything else **** life from willow and scream at television screens that project images into vectors eating steel through cotton table cloths every Sunday. Seated, watching the time restraining thoughts of getting there when there hasn't yet been defined. Uselessness and vigor will pour through my pores at 1919 ft worth and settle, **** It's never going to settle.

17

Strings of life thread form beneath your collar bone, only when you aren't looking. And every distracting thought is a tally mark onto the stone board between soft edges of obsidian cliffs. Mint green elbows pry the heart from ten commandments and stitch spirit into twig houses by the highway. Cardboard ghosts reach forth cream knuckles and seated stares from scintillating pavement and disillusion. Morning coffee candles burn, tasteless, vague, daisy-chained and flooded, and man seems absolutely unnecessary.

0

Mar 7, 2014

Mar 7, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC

nemo

rather unreasonable in a large view of things.

Strings of life thread form beneath your collar bone, only when you aren't looking. And every distracting thought is a tally mark onto the stone board between soft edges of obsidian cliffs. Mint green elbows pry the heart from ten commandments and stitch spirit into twig houses by the highway. Cardboard ghosts reach forth cream knuckles and seated stares from scintillating pavement and disillusion. Morning coffee candles burn, tasteless, vague, daisy-chained and flooded, and man seems absolutely unnecessary.

18