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16.2k · Sep 2021
Root of All Evil
Carlo C Gomez Sep 2021
Money may not
grow on trees
But far too many people
are willing to go
out on a limb for it
5.9k · Dec 2021
Circuit Breakers
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2021
A fire built within

We come together
we break apart

A wind that blows past
and does not return

Carnival of light
moving colors
in the overcurrent

Where is heaven above?

You'll only hear
the hummingbird
skyward bound

Before finally combusting
somewhere in
the upper atmosphere

The resulting cloud
is probably still up there
— more proof that it pays
to shoot for the stars

Carlo C Gomez May 29
Learning to patch. Learning to mend.
Learning to venture. Learning to comprehend.
Learning to capture and befriend.

Inventing the berry. Inventing the cream.
Inventing sweet slices before bedtime
and the Fragaria colored dream.

Loving new life. Loving each child.
Securing the stem and raising the vine
by loving the wife.

Carlo C Gomez Jan 16
Setting out in the leaf boat.
What can possibly remain?
Fruit of the wild rose?
These little fictions:
petal and stem
—maintenance drugs,
turning strangers into friends
and friends into customers.
The only unforgivable thing:
snow catches on her eyelashes
and bliss is unaware.

Carlo C Gomez Dec 2022
No more room for theory
Rest your head from invention
Talk to me like the sea
And I will surround you
4.3k · Jan 24
Memory# 7
Carlo C Gomez Jan 24
rhapsodic pastoralism
as beguilingly bucolic as tempera gardens,
where nature’s wild beauty
is domesticated and made
into a safe space for dream and play,
reverie and revelry.

with the bright dawn
chatter of birdsong
it seems to reach your ear across distance,
like a girl singing happily to herself
while walking down the road
on the other side of your garden wall.
Carlo C Gomez Jan 2020
Gwyneth Paltrow’s ****** Candle
may be completely sold out,
but it's not the only bizarre product she sells – how about jade eggs that can be inserted into the ****** and “recharged” with the light of a full moon?

All things considered, the candle is pretty much on-brand...
4.1k · Jun 2021
A Kiss is a Conversation
Carlo C Gomez Jun 2021
Lost inside a labyrinth

Tight-lipped tinkerer
open-mouthed cynosure

Pressing matters completing their circuit
all things said, but not spoken

Osculated locution, succinct phrasing
released, but not heard

The human element imparting
seminal spark
—together felt and touched

A tingling syntax
owing to its art
becoming its nucleus

Carlo C Gomez Apr 2021
Ziegfield girls with Gatling guns
in complete synchronization,
decked out in Erté.
Watch your step, soldier,
for what's often considered foreplay.

Much like Peter and the Wolf,
one thing leads to another
on this daisy chain,
and as you know,
Burke's only jealous of Lorainne.

I'll tell you what,
dress warm for the ******* snowstorm,
and there'll be a place alongside
such an ingenue.
But what a terrible let down
it would be to find out
she was always smarter than you.
Erté (pronounced AIR TAY): Romain de Tirtoff's pseudonym; he was a 20th-century artist and designer in an array of fields, including fashion, jewellery, costume and set design for film, theatre, and opera.
3.9k · Jan 19
Chlorine Dream
Carlo C Gomez Jan 19
Don't believe they've met
This family matinee
The kids come with guns
But it's the roll-on wife who's loaded
Beneath the rhythm and sound
There's a sign saying 'POLICE – INCIDENT'
Love may have the right to remain silent
Yet when it ends, it ends badly
Love motionless
At the bottom of
A backyard swimming pool
Now quietly referred to
As the crime scene
Sadly, this is becoming more and more common.
3.8k · Dec 2021
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2021
A no-man's land,
ablaze in scarlet

A no-man's land,
the blood and the bones of men

The more who died,
the more they thrived

A no-man's land,
flowered along the banks
from which the dead drank,
to forget their former existence,
when they were singing
in the lulls

A no-man's land,
offering a touch
of Heaven in Hell

3.7k · Oct 2021
Circulating Light
Carlo C Gomez Oct 2021
at the furthest
                        reach from me,

somewhere on the other side
                        of these lucid hills,

a box of sun has been

cut into manageable

and given to all the young
                        dreaming denizens,

to blow with all
                         they have

inside their strong little
                               ­     up,
into the sky,

circulating light
                          until it dawns as us all.
3.6k · Dec 2019
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2019
You prefer to come
To me in the dark.
"You're more my temperature then,"
You once said.
I'm not much of a thermometer,
But I am the eurythmy
To each syllable you give
In such settled shadow.
A play of murmurs and fingertips,
You once named this.
Always I see a wreath in your hair,
In colors of Persia,
Textures of night,
And the soft blended lines
Of you I know
Vespertine - occurring in the evening.
3.5k · Dec 2021
The New Romantics
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2021
Holding court at the Zanzibar,
they looked on good nights
like Egyptian Queens, like Ancient Babylonians.

On not so good nights,
they resembled Brassaï's Moma Bijou -
"fugitives from Baudelaire's bad dreams",
and even then they looked magnificent.

Identity wasn't something you nailed
yourself into in late adolescence.
It was a trick of the light,
and if you were to avoid
burning yourself out,
then you simply let the flames
lick over you
and turned the ashes into kohl.

3.4k · Jun 25
Career Opportunities #3
Carlo C Gomez Jun 25
First thing I do when
I get to work
is hide

Because a good employee
is hard to find
3.4k · Jan 2021
Girl, 20
Carlo C Gomez Jan 2021
Her and higher education:

Those narrow walls

That building
with too many stares

All the talk about climbing
up the flagpole

Just to see
what goes up

And what comes down

It was so much easier
when they just wanted

To carry her books
Note: The placement of stares, and not stairs, is intentional. It is not a typo.
3.4k · Nov 2022
Modern Ambiguity
Carlo C Gomez Nov 2022
in passing with the clouds,
and their weary structure,
and their idle loneliness,
and their struggle for tomorrow.

You and me and the image of an immense tree; satellites hanging from its branches like minacious ornaments; sending frightful messages to far out places; convincing us television is real but our lives are fake.

in passing with the shadows,
and their elusive silhouette,
and their active aggression,
and their march for tomorrow.

You and me and the image of a school bus sliding down into the ice...
3.3k · Sep 2021
Chapel Holly
Carlo C Gomez Sep 2021
Inundate your love
for this sacred village,
on bended knee,
facing the freshet,
supplicated hands pressed together,
one of grace, one of charity,
lips of sweet euphony,
whispering into the morning sun,
a language deep and pounding
inside your heart's timpani,
abiding like unsheltered waters
that nourish the vine

Capel Celyn was a rural community to the north west of Bala in Gwynedd, Wales, in the Afon Tryweryn valley. The village and other parts of the valley were flooded in 1965 to create a reservoir, Llyn Celyn, in order to supply Liverpool and Wirral with water for industry. Capel is Welsh for chapel, while celyn is Welsh for holly.
3.2k · Dec 2021
River Tam
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2021
No power in the 'verse
can stop her,
her name is a channel
in all directions,
it's just an object,
it doesn't mean what you think.

"Two-by-two, hands of blue."

Simon says safe passage
is such a slender thread,
a watered-down exchange,
it streams into
the substance of things:
objects in space.

"Two-by-two, hands of blue."

A life of Serenity,
it’s not applicable…
cold and naked,
dipping her feet
into a pond of impossibilities
—what she sees is seldom what she gets.

"Two-by-two, hands of blue."
Carlo C Gomez Apr 2020
Lost underneath the hood
she made sure
he stopped to ask for directions
then with map in hand
and strapped to the seismograph
she tremored into the land
of eternal sunshine
3.1k · Jan 2022
Carlo C Gomez Jan 2022
Once at the guillotine

Now an out-of-focus angel

"Crime is shame, not the scaffold!"

She's got a '45 strapped

To each of her thighs

Speaks French with a Martian accent

Wishes she was a siren

When bathed in happy thoughts

Wishes she was the ladybird

When her wings

Confuse amuse transfuse

Into dreams of blood

Lukewarm prisoner

Detained for seven years

Now lies beside her

Asking for a helping hand

She loosens her corset

But tightens her grip
Carlo C Gomez Jun 28
In the mist of late night solitude,
                 from a mislaid plateau,
                 with a suitcase full of sparks

She observes constellations
        reflected as little needy eyes,
                        peering down at her

They could be midnight directives,
       postcards from distant nebula
                            suspended in gaffa

       "Ne t'enfuis pas..." She exhales

Still she wonders:

        will her children grow to love
          their perfect machines more
                                    than they love
                  their imperfect mother?

"Ne t'enfuis pas" is a French phrase which means "don't run away"
3.0k · Nov 2022
The Whipgraft Delusion
Carlo C Gomez Nov 2022
I see you looking back at me,
but I have no memory of you,
no name or event to link us
as kindred soul.

There's a sun playing
expressionless games
about to fall from the shelf,
my feet may burn, but never my heart.

My mirror is a broken window,
the broken window, a city,
and a man and woman
are crossing into it,
—crossing my mind,
fused together.

Their laughter like
claps of thunder,
bursting forth in a sky
devoid of any signs of me...
2.9k · Jan 4
I know your glow
it moves on tracks
of never-ending light

illumine, my dear glimmer

an ornament of love
spiraling along
flightpaths to each other

one maybe a failure in flickers

yet another a successful sparkle
drifted down gently as snow
about the tactile lanterns
of your hands and face

2.8k · Mar 2022
Dreams of Ice Cream
Carlo C Gomez Mar 2022
a taste of frozen snow
how about pistachio
chocolate fountain
or vanilla chateau
could be strawberry fields
maybe mixed
with honey and wine
or collected from
the lower slopes of
confection perfection

call it what you like:
Cornets with Cream,
perhaps like Agnes,
Queen of Ices,
wading deeper
into blissful sugar,
back and forth
in endless
flavored dreams
I wonder how many calories are in this poem?
2.8k · Jun 2021
Person of Interest
Carlo C Gomez Jun 2021
his hobbies include
                          invisible girls
                     bubble wrapped
              shielding their eyes from the sun
                        up the side of his mountain
holding fast to the cable
                                  and the eventual terror of drawing
                     paper moons
                         framed a bit too
                         these out of sightlines
                                    opaque and cobwebbed
                               screening off
                       his ***** little secrets
2.8k · Apr 2021
Carlo C Gomez Apr 2021
In her sulking-place
alone and naked

framed in soft sepia
—the vintage, harlequin hue

at this supposed faded hour
she sits looking back on memory

she sits and stares
into the boudoir mirror

at herself
at her embonpoint

yes, at these *******
—at their landscape

how they fall
(like Niagara)

where they point
(like a compass)

what they tell (so fondly)
when pressed together

about their time
—their work and play

towers on the precipice
of judgment

both callous and

if the mirror
truly be her reflection

her vision is turned around
as illusion

—a study of tonality and tolerance
for one's own flesh

the room
an invitation

or perhaps
a lockaway

where she even keeps secrets
from herself

avenoir - n. the desire that memory could flow backward
2.8k · Sep 2021
It Tolls for Thee
Carlo C Gomez Sep 2021
Not to string you along, my dear

but we cannot simply cut ties with the past

even the inconsequential have its consequences

You might outlive regret, but that doesn't mean all is forgiven
2.8k · Mar 2021
First Round Draft Pick
Carlo C Gomez Mar 2021
Star soldier with the rocket arm,
you bleed silver, gold,
and product placement.

Smile big for the camera,
the media will sell its soul
for a new bankable face.

Party hardy, Heisman candidate,
******* your semi-steady's
sorority sister,
then ask to see her again
sometime after the **** kit.

It's quite alright,
so long as you have talent
beyond this hemisphere.
Why even the fatherland, ESPN,
will gladly call you "son."
2.7k · May 2021
Heedless Moths
Carlo C Gomez May 2021
atop the Manhattan skyline
her similitude descends as rain
we see her wonderwork
we see her water-standing
her very abandonment of draperies
unassuming and artless
where the heedless moths settle
with bodies of mystic warmth
colored with rose and a dash of flame

– for Audrey Munson
Audrey Marie Munson (June 8, 1891 – February 20, 1996) was an American artist's model and film actress, today considered "America's First Supermodel." In her time, she was variously known as "Miss Manhattan", the "Panama–Pacific Girl", the "Exposition Girl" and "American Venus." She was the model or inspiration for more than twelve statues in New York City, and many others elsewhere.
2.6k · Jun 2022
We Can Build You
Carlo C Gomez Jun 2022
The future is drawn and threading.

The future is sold and factory-sealed.

Just cold enough to be artificial, just feeling enough to be alive.
2.6k · May 2021
Quarter Boy
Carlo C Gomez May 2021
The disruptor,
whether digital or analog,
strikes the bell,

bioengineered automaton
—a manufactured life form
given little agency or dimension,

mnemonic to the finitude of life,
and subtle muddling of humankind's
supposed moral transcendence.

Carlo C Gomez Jan 30
Mermaid in a manhole
suffering hibernation sickness
she drinks in every sob like wine
her oceanic call reverberates
whilst speaking dead languages
into the receiver
but slipping off melancholy
and blown a wish
by hide-and-seek lips
she chooses an unfamiliar light

****** with scissors
throbs of undamaged energy
from her vernal equinox
but in love with a bad idea
and beyond the minimum safe distance
she no longer plays at fragile volumes
and careful times
hands playing butterfly
pinch nippled skin
she chooses an unfamiliar light

2.5k · Jul 2021
The Church of Nicotine
Carlo C Gomez Jul 2021
Holy smoke!

This is a drag.

I've come to depend upon it.

Carlo C Gomez Apr 2021
Welcome to Misadventure, you're drawn to it in some berserk way, maybe due to it's atomic habits or technological urges,

sometimes there are cool, but irrational gun-totting robots who speak in foam, their presence detected by iron filings or teeth fillings or both or neither,

I just know there are tire tracks on your wife's new dress, the smell of gasoline coming from the guest bedroom, and a half-eaten Stouffers lasagna rotating on the record turntable,

and here a replicated version of your wife dances to the Italian Song, her ******* like lodestones, upturned and pressed together,

drawing you to them in some berserk way,
and they give such life and merriment to your brain's parcel of needles, that they prance and sway as if the devil were in them.
An absolutely drug-free inspired/written poem...Lol!
2.5k · Mar 28
Paper Gods
Carlo C Gomez Mar 28
a desire to erase,
to stay away forever.

an opportunity to transfigure,
to sit on the floor and wait for storms.

a line to cross, a lion at dusk,
a catastrophist.

a pen filled with acid,
a book of theories full of holes.

once this begins, there are only endings.
Carlo C Gomez Feb 2022
Another green world
reels them in


they yearn
to be hydro-electric

cascading over
emerald and stone

floating along
with the water hyacinth

where they evaporate
but do not falter

in the naked spring
of continuously November

jumping off
a bridge above ecosystem

a new frontier
under their nose

as souvenir:
pioneers to the fall

and yet all they really
need to remember is

this is where they
first made love

2.5k · Feb 2022
Creux du Van
Carlo C Gomez Feb 2022

time free
to sight see


in a garden
of angels
with pine cones
at the border of
void and Vaud

of meltwater cirque
les petites Fauconnières
the inner basin
of my outer reaches

I am
I am

for snow
and polar cap
where things
are still run by the natural elements
instrumental dreamer
not by algorithms
not by advancement
2.5k · Dec 2022
Queen of the Surface Streets
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2022
Lipstick to void. She is a race against time. The beveled past a disruption in her lines of influence.

Travel is dangerous, and tonight it darkens the highway of blood vessels coursing through her extremities. She wants to be luminous and under the skin.

While Dorothy dreams of tornadoes in Kansas, she dreams of remote climbs in lesser Glasgow, of party drugs in Tokyo. How many lights does she see?

In her hair are sixty circuits. But she waits, religiously inclined on the hotel bed. She drove through ghosts to get here wearing nothing but Las Vegas.

So strange at this hour, in a city full of sleepwalkers for the taking, she now dreams she's a bulldozer, she now dreams she's alone in an empty field.

2.5k · Feb 26
Winter of Artifice
Carlo C Gomez Feb 26
alone and an imposter,
deep in syndrome.

she absorbs the frost of seasonal ghosts
and hopeless feelings
of death and darkness.

she only shows one side of her every time.
she calls a random number
from a bar in the middle of the night,
seeking to confess
or find solace in the voice of a stranger.

but any stranger might just happen to be
a lie detector.

still she lays bare all the duplicity
and fragmentation of self:

prescription bottles with two different names,
elaborate façades in Los Angeles
and in New York,
so complicated she creates
something she calls the lie box.

inside her purse there's a collection
of file cards. "I tell so many lies," she says.
"I have to write them down and keep them
in a box so I can keep them straight."

alone she waits for either
sweet apricity or identikit:
each a memento of her faces.

2.4k · Sep 2021
Whale Bones
Carlo C Gomez Sep 2021
He knocks.
Time, it's time,
the Kuroi Jukai within me.

Finding an unordinary
drifting off to sleep point,
a hollowed-out spot,
where I can let
God dream for me.

Whistles in the wind,
in lullaby the sky and sea
seem to trade places,
bending around me
as vertical blanketed surges.

My carcass is a colonization (of bones)
for my dearly departed ones,
forbearers of migration,
seeking endless sea,
until like them,
I settle upon
their ancestral shore.

Kuroi Jukai (Japanese, translated as Black Sea of Trees)
2.4k · May 2021
Carlo C Gomez May 2021
If I am treason,
it’s you I kiss.

If I am desertion,
it’s you I blame.

If I am persuasion,
it’s you I rob.

And when we kiss dutifully,
smile in simile,
just whose road of promise
will it be?

If I am steep,
it’s your future I will not climb.

If I am winter sky,
it’s your way out beclouding.

If I am compromise,
it’s your eyes that hold no conviction.

And when we drift apart in apathy,
evade with euphemisms,
just whose road of decline
will it be?

If I am consternation,
it’s your dream driven away.

If I am turbulent sea,
it’s your ship high upon waves of doubt.

If I am fruition,
it’s your tomorrow that is sunk.

And when we drink to this tragedy,
get drunk on alliterations,
just whose road of surrender
will it be?

Written March 27, 1996
2.4k · Oct 2021
Little Girl in Hypersleep
Carlo C Gomez Oct 2021
Sheltered within her cryochamber, the offspring of Armageddon dreams of play. She swims in an algal bloom that no longer stings like jellyfish. She floats on the surface of content, far removed from the synthetic sea and its plastic isles. She dwells in a bubble, but her mind hangs free as a halo, soaring with clouds. But these are not the skies that sense their own act of vandalism. This is the space and ceiling of a child's mind, in her capacity to absorb disturbance and rest her tiny, fragile hope in pretended, unclaimed worlds.
2.4k · Aug 2021
Carlo C Gomez Aug 2021
Mother of many waters
the manner with which she ascends
is sympathetically informed
we are a running spring
from her womb
flowing along the magical line
of peaks and summits
to cascading fiery birthright

and the rain fell
and the snow settled
and the ice theologized
to remind us
the outside world still worships
her eruptive embers

2.4k · May 2021
Arctic Fields
Carlo C Gomez May 2021
Bitter moon

Cold harvest

The fruits of your labor
never to ripen

2.4k · Jul 2020
Remains of the Day
Carlo C Gomez Jul 2020
Exiled to dusk,
Fractions of the sun
Begin to lift away,
In concealment
We shudder,
Casting our reels
Into a pond of uncertainty,
Clock hands bend
With advancing shadow,
And speak of time
Only in past tense.

I so want everything
I ever felt for you
Preserved for posterity,
Even should forever
Be far less than
We imagined.
2.4k · Jul 2022
Dead Letter
Carlo C Gomez Jul 2022
Dear sweet filthy world,

Photographs can lie,
so put away forbidden playthings,
that's how you got killed before.

Why, oh why,
can't an ordinary stand up
with the nefarious gods
on the second floor?

For the other end of the telescope
is leaning toward science fiction,
and this love from a cold land,
this sad burlesque,
is a bottle of smoke
on the deep dead blue,
one watt above darkness.
2.4k · Nov 2021
Club Disappear
Carlo C Gomez Nov 2021
The quest for invisibility
Leads them here

Your ***** little secrets
Venture out at night
To drink and dance
Into thin air

Your snow melts
Your stars flicker out

But they're not
Beyond detection
When the party's
Not over yet

Carlo C Gomez Apr 2022
What comes after 'Z'
cannot be expressed
by letters or words.
I'm afraid, it's a bit of

For they have their say
in our struggles and fears,
in our laughter and tears,
in our sighs and moans,
to deep within our bones.

They're in our very own
heartbeats, great and small,
in that place within us
where some rain must inevitably fall.

Where they came from is no mystery,
but we each tend to use them
in the secret hours
of our private history,

like a trail of breadcrumbs,
like a bridge we jump from,
never mindful,
never loyal,
always on the tip of our tongue,
and there it toils...
Carlo C Gomez Sep 2021
The arithmetic of murky waters
Is not so clear

Neither are my chances of survival

Here is me
Face down in urgent sea

My wave
My grave
My gateway, perhaps

Whatever the consequence
Suffering is the new salvation

It all adds up
Sum how?
Sum way?

And if I was your ship
Destined to flounder
In the wide open drink

You'd re-enter the equation
And find a way to pull me through

Just so we could once more
Make the hurting count

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