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Eli Sep 24
Life imitates God's plan
God imitates a wise man
I imitate sagacity
All that is breathing imitates me

If numbered is what makes our days
And art is our escape
How could it want to imitate
The people it creates?
Just a thought
Eli Sep 22
Cooking is
The mastery of intuition
It is knowing, smelling, tasting perfection
Before the simmering soup completes its wearisome journey
It’s love
Happy Mabon
Eli Aug 26
Shell-shocked, broken ***
Cannot fix with gold
Silver linings turn to ash
Burned by lightning's scold

Murdered martyr lily
Crimson drops on blotter
Scared to death by amaryllis
Shriveled in the water

Shorting copper circuits
Shocked by every thought
Hardware fears destroy my gears
My precious metal rots
So basically I have an anxiety disorder and it is not fun
Eli Feb 20
No picket fences. No hunting license. He has no culture
To his name. No children nor partner to carry; he’ll love
The forest floor just the same. Chickadees chattered as he muttered his marriage
Vows to the land between his toes. Rich in all but money,
He aims to accomplish what his forefathers could not: Forgive
Himself for human’s toll on nature. Their roads of death.  

For hickory trees and zipping flies only understand death
As biological drivers of fear. He has seen the culture.
Slash and burn, Gnash and chop, mine and take, forgive
And forget the consequences. They manufacture love
On a rainy day to deceive people into funding destruction with the money
From the nature they claim to protect. A push-and-pull marriage.

He set aside his business coat as he set foot into the forest, divorcing the marriage
Of care and corporation. His only hope is that the rabbit cannot smell death
Still leaking from his pores like toxic radiation nor the stench of money
Recklessly thrown to culling the land mere miles away. More culture
Here than in thousands of skylines. More compassion among animals than any “love”
A vest-and-tie, bright-eyed smile grants in marketing. Corporate does not forgive.

He climbs atop the highest canopy and calms his quaking arms. If no one can forgive
His erratic exercise routine, the breeze can. All is still. The marriage
Has begun to provide. The priest above will join them in the morning; he’ll prove his love.
Tomorrow, the men with machines and sticks of death
Will come barreling through the sanctuary, claiming from destruction comes culture
And resources, but behind their faces of concern is always money, money, money.

From the first rabbit he slaughtered to the devastating loss of money
He incurred for not staying silent, the corruption he witnessed set a fire he would not forgive
His heart for feeding. The disillusionment he kept spread faster than a bacterial culture
Under perfect conditions. The merriment in progress was null, the marriage
Bands thrown into polluted rivers. He would slow the unnatural cycle of death,
One by one rooted tree. Though he does not believe it is enough, it is love.

His back aches. His eyes open with a start. His air tastes acrid. His love
Has died and fear wrests his heart. Trees around him scream for aid. All the money
In the world could not replace the thousands of years of peace they spoil with death.
He yells from his tower. A straggler rabbit screws its head to see him. Maybe it saw to forgive
Him after all this time. Rivers from his eyes and gold buried deep inside, the marriage
Between man and Mother Nature could exist. Human’s ruination isn’t nature. It is culture.

They ask him for the love of God, what is he doing up there. He smiles. I can forgive
The contractor for his need of money, but not those whose wants require a marriage
Between negligence and my planet’s death. He pleads. They stare. As is the culture.
This one was for AP English Comp class :)
Eli Jun 2019
You tasted like butterscotch
Pure and sweet against my lips
Your touch felt like cotton candy
Soft and spindly on my hips
Of that syrupy scotch
Buzzing bees would make a balm
For nights when I taste less sugar
Then comes saccharine calm

You look like the early sun
Dewdrops set much too soon
Your eyes betray the midnight glow
In favor of later noon
When I wake from the dream
With morning numbness too
Feeling nothing but your hand
I see naught but you
Feeling ultra gay last night so I wrote something for a certain someone
Eli Apr 2019
It's been one of those days

When the leaves fall from trees
The birds sing out of key
Flowers shoot up crooked
And I lay in my bed

Slightly discontented
Chipping away at every imperfect cell
Slightly angry
No sound's close enough to tell
Slightly furious
Until the fireplace resembles my Hell

On these days, the clock arrives seconds too early
Everyone's schedule tightens until dark
The air is moist enough to burrow under my skin
Words just painful enough to leave a mark

Wednesday feels like a Thursday
And we're all standing still
A little too long
With no apparent will

You feel the need to sit and right
But that takes far too long
Instead of enduring minutes of awful
You chose a lifetime of wrong

Wrong as betting on the second-best horse
Wrong as the eggshell-shaded wedding dress
Wrong as crying at your pet firefly's funeral
Wrong as the next house's over address

Perhaps if you lie in the sand
Let the nuisances wash over you
The rhythms will start to make sense
Greens forming shades of blue

Oh, take care not to drown
We only hold so much air
If you get lost on your way down
You're only halfway there
I'm feeling pretty good nowadays
Eli Mar 2019
Let me start from the beginning

It is an awful feeling to have to plug your ears and drown out the ocean of noises choking you to have a good meal.

When I say that I can't stand it when I hear you eat
What I really mean is that when you drink
I imagine slugs slopping their way down your gullet
And the sigh of refreshment means the acid has successfully shriveled them to death

The sound of carrots being pulzerized is akin to bones
Every time it is a cacaphony of dinner knives screeching against ribs
It may sound silly but when the saliva transfers with the gum you insist on smacking
Every ounce of fluid in my body wishes it could jump through my skin to the floor

I can't ask you to quit swallowing food
Though every drop that doesn't make it down
Is a reminder that humans are animals
Consuming flesh and constructed chemicals

No, I know you won't take me seriously
But spoons and knives are toys of the glutton
And poison to the one that shed tears
When they hear the dinner bell ring
I just ate dinner and I hate this so much
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