timothy-zero - Hello Poetry

Snow thinks it's sound go on and fill the woods with me, spread me evenly. My harness is burdensome Without it though, I no longer see for miles I fall into the darkest sleep dreaming of nuclear flakes that take my vitality. His mistake is the village, the burning frame of the farmhouse. The harness drowned in the bones of the old horse. I drank it all too easily. Little years go by and back to the woods where I am evened up by miles. Spread thin... The darkest sleep dreaming still even though I am not here. triple helix and extra isotopes taint the touch. Stop this and know how deep it goes. The little bell that lays on the ground, it tolls. He is his. Snow thinks it's sound. It's, its. How deep before we watch? How many fathoms before I dream? Before I disappear? Only the shake of the bell will keep it's promise.

0

Nov 30, 2021

Nov 30, 2021 at 10:09 PM UTC

timothy-zero

Further stripped of my Sinicism

Snow thinks it's sound go on and fill the woods with me, spread me evenly. My harness is burdensome Without it though, I no longer see for miles I fall into the darkest sleep dreaming of nuclear flakes that take my vitality. His mistake is the village, the burning frame of the farmhouse. The harness drowned in the bones of the old horse. I drank it all too easily. Little years go by and back to the woods where I am evened up by miles. Spread thin... The darkest sleep dreaming still even though I am not here. triple helix and extra isotopes taint the touch. Stop this and know how deep it goes. The little bell that lays on the ground, it tolls. He is his. Snow thinks it's sound. It's, its. How deep before we watch? How many fathoms before I dream? Before I disappear? Only the shake of the bell will keep it's promise.

21

Activate prior knowledge, like a tumor that resembles a painting of Churchill, circumlocution more like an echolocution… or is it echolocation, perhaps electrocution? The sigils of universal coincidences have finally revealed themselves. They’re aligning for you right this very second. A hair from your head laying in the bathtub that reminds you of a letter from a long forgotten language. A random pattern of a scratch on your arm from a outstretched coat hanger in a department store. An odd configuration of blood on your arm after you dispense a pesky mosquito. A rorschached blob of a condiment on your favorite shirt. It’s out there trying to tell you something very important. There. In those things lies the truth. As much as you don’t want to believe in it… As much as you want to deny it. It will not live up to your memory of it later on.

0

Jul 10, 2014

Jul 10, 2014 at 5:50 PM UTC

timothy-zero

Sygils

Activate prior knowledge, like a tumor that resembles a painting of Churchill, circumlocution more like an echolocution… or is it echolocation, perhaps electrocution? The sigils of universal coincidences have finally revealed themselves. They’re aligning for you right this very second. A hair from your head laying in the bathtub that reminds you of a letter from a long forgotten language. A random pattern of a scratch on your arm from a outstretched coat hanger in a department store. An odd configuration of blood on your arm after you dispense a pesky mosquito. A rorschached blob of a condiment on your favorite shirt. It’s out there trying to tell you something very important. There. In those things lies the truth. As much as you don’t want to believe in it… As much as you want to deny it. It will not live up to your memory of it later on.

37

In the bowels of the old post office The printing press, like a large rusted spider makes a bed out of ***** yellow paper and rotted cloth of postal bags. It bides it’s time pondering On how it was formed and listening to the coyotes at the moon’s apex over a long stretch of prairie. Resting in the post office on a grassed plateau are black iron machines that walk, crawl and scurry but shouldn’t. They spend their days building nests and staring into stagnant pools at their own reflection. Waiting for someone to use them.

0

Apr 29, 2014

Apr 29, 2014 at 3:28 PM UTC

timothy-zero

Mechanical machinations

In the bowels of the old post office The printing press, like a large rusted spider makes a bed out of ***** yellow paper and rotted cloth of postal bags. It bides it’s time pondering On how it was formed and listening to the coyotes at the moon’s apex over a long stretch of prairie. Resting in the post office on a grassed plateau are black iron machines that walk, crawl and scurry but shouldn’t. They spend their days building nests and staring into stagnant pools at their own reflection. Waiting for someone to use them.

21

You believe that men will give your life meaning, so you spend all your time chasing them, when all they do is chew you completely up and leave your for dead, over and over and over. You so desperately want a man in your life to pick up your broken corpse and breathe life into it. If you wonder to close to me, I’ll show you the grave that I dug and pitch you into it. Your life is horrible and meaningless and the only time you have a small moment of self worth is when there is a warm body next to you. Handing over your body to me will not give you control. I know how bad you loath yourself. I know that the names of the men that you’ve bedded down have left you, and that’s a very troubling thing for you. You sleep with any man you meet, looking for that familiar feeling, even if it’s just a fleeting moment. You don’t care, you try and keep this life secret from me, but then tell everyone else. I suppose you believe it will make your self worth rise up the ladder of debauchery . I know why you won’t tell me. It’s because you are ashamed of what you do. You are ashamed of what you let yourself get away with. I know how hard you cry at night. And I know how much you want that one perfect man to change your life. You are a pathetic creature. And me telling you any of this wouldn't break some new ground, it wouldn’t open your eyes to what you really are. It would only make you cover it up with more lies . I’ve heard men whisper your name in hallways , bathrooms and locker rooms. It’s not much of a conquest when all you have to do to get in your pants is to give you some attention. Something your mother and father never gave you. It’s sad that you’ve never experienced real love and probably will never know what is.

0

Apr 29, 2014

Apr 29, 2014 at 3:14 PM UTC

timothy-zero

Harlot

You believe that men will give your life meaning, so you spend all your time chasing them, when all they do is chew you completely up and leave your for dead, over and over and over. You so desperately want a man in your life to pick up your broken corpse and breathe life into it. If you wonder to close to me, I’ll show you the grave that I dug and pitch you into it. Your life is horrible and meaningless and the only time you have a small moment of self worth is when there is a warm body next to you. Handing over your body to me will not give you control. I know how bad you loath yourself. I know that the names of the men that you’ve bedded down have left you, and that’s a very troubling thing for you. You sleep with any man you meet, looking for that familiar feeling, even if it’s just a fleeting moment. You don’t care, you try and keep this life secret from me, but then tell everyone else. I suppose you believe it will make your self worth rise up the ladder of debauchery . I know why you won’t tell me. It’s because you are ashamed of what you do. You are ashamed of what you let yourself get away with. I know how hard you cry at night. And I know how much you want that one perfect man to change your life. You are a pathetic creature. And me telling you any of this wouldn't break some new ground, it wouldn’t open your eyes to what you really are. It would only make you cover it up with more lies . I’ve heard men whisper your name in hallways , bathrooms and locker rooms. It’s not much of a conquest when all you have to do to get in your pants is to give you some attention. Something your mother and father never gave you. It’s sad that you’ve never experienced real love and probably will never know what is.

8