Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
refresh mesh Mar 2018
nobody likes the full name.
the class is known simply as "Cell."
stephen king is just as lazy with his titles.
that fool fears blood.

i was listening to rain washing out the gutters
when our teacher called on me,
asking me to explain in my own words:
"How is molecular transportation so highly organized?"
i posited that organelles are not organized.
they are only civilized:
self-governed by apoptosis and a blueprint of proximal culture,
their manuals inefficient, but honed for cooperation through trial and error.
"I'm predisposed to disagree," he said with a tangible glee.
knowing we all adore his berating honesty.
his question stuck with me.
perhaps because i was working
for the office of sustainability
becoming regularly incapacitated
by the shame and exhaustion of preaching.
leading an uprising through the power of teaching.
i decided the only organized transportation
is an axial conduit to the electorate's war,
always social and hierarchal
because that's what culture is for.
at 19 i was loaded up with a sticky elixir
to be protected from being called a *****.
i will never forget how I spotted lightly for three days
-stopped for one week-
and then for two straight months, it was a downpour.

we are only tearing apart the bitty ants
and there is still blood on our hands.

i believe blood looks best on our hands.
but we were taught to meticulously detach
and to prepare our matching bargains
beneath the atmosphere's volatile dance.
poison is in the body and the air
ready to be bottled and batched.
even when i find my friends
whole and happy in France,
my key stays clotted in the latch.
birth control, women's health, world war
refresh mesh Feb 2018
Kiss The Officer

Good luck. Duty calls
for which she is paid
in lone righteousness,

I'm afraid. Patrol
clean towns with sidewalks
Not To Be Slept On

while more sweet piglets
snort through the mundane,
saving for Swine Week.

North High wrestler:
baby molester.
All those wasted prayers.

Courage emerges
among the new ash
of my burning brain.
refresh mesh Feb 2018
dreamed that Current studio hired me
to design
a walkthrough of a ceiling-high,
openly grinning,  paper mache pig's head:
the stable's entrance to tiny pens
packed with caged (paid)
human children
who passed out tiny buttons
enscribed with varying notes:

Please Help
They Did Not Ask Me
I Don't Want To Die
Can You Find My Mom?
I Can Do Math In My Head
Eat More Monkeys
Please Save Us
I Don't Want To Die


But it was an unpopular exhibit
The Oklahoman would not report it
The Gazette managed a story on page 9
Yet advertised Cane's Chicken on page 5

Rattlesnake Roundup is just a few weeks
away
And I have no clue how I could possibly
convey
The value of wild
life.
The degree of their
strife.
refresh mesh Feb 2018
Lead me to the classroom globe
That will help me disapparate
Into the hot air, where
I'll float like a ribosome
Trash has no way to dissipate

Notice tension, finality approaches
Accept your need to **** and breathe and be
Inhale the hot air, where
We are indebted to those crimson coaches
God pushes the sky down on you and me

I must fly out of the tussel & be grateful
But I pay Her in ****** taxes
Inside the hot air, where
I must dry out all my muscles & be helpful
But I'm stuck on this flooded axis
refresh mesh Jan 2018
The softest voice dripped on me tonight
having noticed I always seem to be
heavy, alone, sopping wet, and alright
The nearest place to where I could flee
was the putrid crab shack of insight
where I insist nothing has happened to me
The cool tidal depth of twilight
tows me up a mulberry tree
it strings my spine quite upright
The silent correspondent lost somewhere at sea
I'm still waiting, rapt, for her postcard, despite
knowing we'll never again be three
refresh mesh Dec 2017
What's your mirror think?
Does it watch you disappear?
Does it watch you blink?

Safe beverages
8 decades to puppeteer
Love your blemishes

Dating makes us sad
Auto-ionize our fear
Acting ironclad

Romance; the great farce
We just wanna climb up here
To indulge the hearts

Earth grips my poor eyes
Her key to the stratosphere
Locked up compromise

Dying for mudpools
Mountaineers might make things clear
Hope ya like blood-stools.

Send me a cartoon
Send a silver chandelier
Send me poems soon
refresh mesh Oct 2017
(I think we're close enough)
smellin your breath from behind the latched door

(I wanna lock in your love)
bleedin all over the ******* floor

(Now I've got you in my space)
wishin you wouldn't carry a weapon anymore

(I won't let go of you)
needin a meaty man to shield me from downpour
sam smith is obviously Nonbinary ya ******* dweeb
Next page