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Connor Thomas Aug 2013
psychic infantile bopping
play silent drum kits in ear canals.
screeching like whales
in caverns of sea and stalagmites.

servantile shrapnel leaking into abyss:
feeding on skin and bones,
parasitically.
eating through biting cries,
viciously.

gumdrops streaking sidewalk
in musical rhythm stain glass windows
and blurry red eyed sun high in the sky
shines down crystalline tear drops
over your singularly secular shadow.
Jun 2013 · 764
The History of Bite Marks
Connor Thomas Jun 2013
The special subtleness
that you use to bite your lip
is cunning.
And when your white,
soldier teeth,
come looming from between your gums
your subtlety is lost
rashly breaking the surface
so to speak
malevolently, or violently, or rather vehemently,
sexually, and lustfully
aimed down wind,
in my direction.
Connor Thomas Jun 2013
The sun set sadly on the settled window frame
speaking with the new dew soon to form.

the sweet singing voices rose from the garden
where you bathed with your sister
while your mother and father drank cherry flavored wine
on the porch in the melting sun.

when the stars began to rain you felt something new
staring up where the sun is commonplace
you felt little better than you did moments ago.

but when your sister,
hand on your spine,
whispered in your ear,
your hair stood up,
and your mother,
and your father,
waved goodbye to the Hendersons going to Florida for the weekend.
Connor Thomas Mar 2013
I. The moment you rolled out of bed
felt like an eternity
Your stretching arms reached outer space
And you fell into convulsions on the daisy print bed sheets

II. The humming pendulum clock
ticks past midnight
and the only sound you can hear
is the screeching of your neighbors 1999 porsche convertible

III. Your sunday morning television,
News at it’s finest with Kare 11

IV. Whatever time you usually wake up
you probably slept through
but you’re staring at the fan again
and this time I don’t think Rachel is coming.
Connor Thomas Mar 2013
Bright hand touched the door
Easing it slowly around
With the tenderness of a prepubescent girl
Lingering gently about.
Wondering, loudly i might add,
That you really hate these Venetian blinds.

You sit in the fat leather chair,
Which must have belonged to your dad a million years ago.
You sip diet coke like your lost friend brandy,
And you cross your legs in the most ****** way
That my seminal vesicle shifts into overdrive.

Through the tainted windows
I see you raise your winter scarf to your throat
Ceremoniously, or possibly vehemently.
After which you clean your glasses with laser precision
And raise them back into place.
Your crystal gaze lands on the heavy door a few steps away,
They wait in concentrated intensity
As each heavy step’s staccato note is heard form the other side.
Connor Thomas Mar 2013
you quickly quipped cunning comments
in the skinniest jeans west of the mississippi
sighing softly then,
glancing to the left to keep an eye on the spider
scurrying on the wall.

you emerged triumphantly
luminously translucent
like a goddess of the noon sun

your eyes skipped mine in a beat
seconds behind my own
and with the final say from your fist
the walls began to fall

and outside, the small southwestern suburb
watches with fascination as the spider skids away.
Mar 2013 · 1.1k
Splitting Subjunctives
Connor Thomas Mar 2013
Let the rain fall all night
Sitting in puddles on the street
With your ponytail soaking.
Let the May showers come again
With the repetition of Nietzche.

You lie on your back in the cool wet mud
Spitting insults in a million different ways.

You let your golden hair fall
As the leaves might in Autumn
Continuously spitting with fury
Hiding your anguish behind those self centered eyes.

When you fall to your knees like the mortals to gods
You sing, quietly, the song your mother sang
After which, your hair back up, you appear from the shadows
Looking a bit worse for wear.

You let the rain shower down,
Ripe yellow hair turns almost brown at the roots
And as you tear off the drenched silk dress
You find you might like yourself better that way.
Mar 2013 · 679
Mumbling Marriage Song
Connor Thomas Mar 2013
Mumbling, mumbling, intoxication
Ripping your lovely white dress on the front door step
You wonder how long you can keep this up.
Mumbling, mumbling into obliteration.
Closer to the each other, screaming mad.
Seventy watchful eyes on you,
Hopeful, hopeful, incantations.

Lustful brown teared eyes
Fixed on green snake eyes,
Quivering lips touching secretly in the quiet coat room
Famously ending in abrupt awkwardness.

You raised your glass in high spirits
Pushing, pulling into temptation
Still mumbling, intoxication
Wishing for more than incantations,
Mumbling, mumbling into obliteration
Connor Thomas Mar 2013
You pummel rocks
with a mightier force than most,
you swing your head with a motion unknown to man,
you spit with fury into the starry, night sky,
rocking the sweet earth with your thunderous,
triumphant roar.
Pebbled rocks beneath your rockin’ polished shoes,
And with a handful you launch
like a Meteor striking the earth’s atmosphere at a million miles a second,
but the moment they hit the wall you’re gone.
Mar 2013 · 469
Standing on Wichita Point
Connor Thomas Mar 2013
Moon over in the East, 30 degrees west.
Rise, rise over the meridian line.
Sink below sea level.
Sun on Wichita, Kansas.

Bright red house under the pale clouded sky.
Daffodils on the windows,
Perking when the bees buzz by fluidly.
You let the roses fall between your fingers
Like water dripping from the faucet.
Seven degrees warmer
And we’ll burn in hell.

Lets go to Maine i hear it’s warmer at noon
And the dogs don’t prowl the streets.
Lets move to Iowa where the farms out number people.

You let your hair fall
Like a rock slide down your shoulders.
And you told me you felt a little under the weather.
Connor Thomas Mar 2013
Bare rose colored lips spitting Minnesota slush.
You thrash expertly with an accelerating fury,
Like a volcano spewing molten lava,
Cursing upwardly.

You stared up from the cold rock ground.
Monstrously,
Savagely.
Seventeen steps away from me.
You beat Satan’s rooftop with fists full of anger.

Aggressively,
Ferociously,
Now ten steps apart from me,
The beating orange ball made your fury grow.
With a rising intensity.
Now five steps from me.

Your lavish brown hair finally resting on your shoulder
Cautiously,
Patiently,
One hand away from me.
Mar 2013 · 595
Restless Poem
Connor Thomas Mar 2013
Lying,
Thinking,
Dreaming,
Forever being,
Not really seeing,
Tossing,
Turning,
Smiling,
Seething.

dark stars like pin points in the earth’s celestial shield vacuum air from my window like millions of streaks of light flashing across my eyelids with little to no concerns my personal concerns at the present moment appear much more disconcerting hyperbolized beyond the reach of mind and i’m floating between this world of reality and true-but-not-really scientific laws and theories that no ones ever thought could exist

Restlessly,
Mindfully,
Awake.
Connor Thomas Mar 2013
Starlight on soft clarinet.
Moonlight on jazz solo.
Empty auditorium
Even more empty stomach.
Your black painted nails
In daffodils on the fresh looking lawn,
Beat to the tambourine.
Jazzist smiles his sunglasses smile
And blows his smirk into riffing saxophone
Exploding into blues chords
Floating, like smoke,
Filling our lungs inwardly.
And you look up at me,
Blades of grass in your hair,
And you laugh.
And that's how i know you're still breathing.
Feb 2013 · 499
December 31, 2005
Connor Thomas Feb 2013
Tight faded blue jeans
Sinking below sea level.
Rolled up the ankle
Like a late 80's fad.

Moon rising over drunk New Years Eve.
And footsteps, alarmingly, from the East.
Connor Thomas Feb 2013
Sometimes
When I look at pictures of you
I get jealous of all the people you like.

The moments I thought were special:
When I knelt on your hair,
The moment your pants came off,
The moment mine came off,
The moment you came,
When the blood started to flow,
When your screams reached high-pitched status
When you came the second time,
Your border collie barking from downstairs,
The loud aggressive creaking,
The third time you came,
The several hours of all the above,
Getting progressively more aggressive
And increasingly louder.

When I look at pictures of you
I think about those moments I thought were special
Oct 2012 · 1.3k
Brooklyn can't kill me
Connor Thomas Oct 2012
Our house in Brooklyn
Groaning with the heavy sheeted winds
Car doors and answering machines
A windy, winding tunnel of deep seated hatred
Vaulting towards you and me
Deep down in our tunnel of love
The black ice is slippery
Several more years til this kills me

Sipping cherry coke and *****
Sitting playfully on the carpeted floor
Playing with your fingers while Maury screams on TV
Screaming with some unknown rage in his eyes
A rage that has come from deep psychological problems
The rats in our walls stir again

Dark clouds form overhead
Making shadow puppets in the dark Brooklyn streets
And they boxed in the Avenues of the Brooklyn rain
Triumphant in their arrival
Several more years now
Several more years.

The rain streaks the windows
Water drops form vertical lines
They race.
The dogs barking again and I can’t control this situation
The sirens are singing again and they won’t quit
Every year this house stays up
We waste it on gin and cheap TV
Watching the cable from the house two blocks down
They watch the ******* stuff.

The Brooklyn smog hangs in the air
Dismal and clear.
The sirens won’t quit
But the dogs have given up
Their sheltered under the porch
Whining, whining.

The cable cuts out
The static on the radio is clear
And then the dogs howl.
Connor Thomas Oct 2012
The rats in the walls are chewing our cable lines
The channels that work on the TV are as follows
11 - where we watch the news
29 - where we sometimes watch shows on Thursdays
4 - That’s where we watch sports on Sundays when the Vikings lose again

Wicked September winds are killer in the morning
And all throughout the day
October is relentless,
She pierces like a *****
And our wooden walls can’t stand up to her.

When we watched the Lusitania go down
On that warm May evening
Our hearts sank deeper than its hull
The war was just beginning
The war was just beginning
And when we watched the sailors go up in flames
Screaming for his mothers warm embrace
Sinking with the ship and his captain
Floundering in the warm bay of Ireland
I knew you were dying inside
When you saw the war begin
And I saw it ignite in your eyes
The war was just beginning
The war was just beginning

September mornings seem to get us still
It’s cold in the rafters where the snow owl has chosen to live
At least he keeps the mice away
We can thank him for that later.
Sep 2012 · 844
How To Be A Poet
Connor Thomas Sep 2012
In the name of understanding, a preface:
Lecture hall’s crowded
Half a mile away
Poet reads poems
Poet say’s
“We all have poems inside us
Raw material”
Poet continues
“Here is a list of tools to use
To think about
For your raw material”

How To Write Poetry:
1. Be egotistical.
2. Always positive. No violence.
3. Short poems of time.
4. Time is everything.
5. Nouns
6. Scotland is inspirational.
7. More nouns
8. She said faith.
9. More nouns
10. Lament yourself
11. The Cello In The Corner
12. Lists
13. Questions.
Sep 2012 · 881
Home again
Connor Thomas Sep 2012
Anger swelled up
Like a huge bruise
All black and blue.
Fear ran the length of my arms
Pulsing, pulsing.
Swimming in desperate despair
Or more like drowning.

Rain falling,
Cool clear blue
Droplets dropping in the midday sun
Hot with an air of cool in it.
Nighttime fell on our small home
In Winchester.
Rain splattered the windows
Like Jackson *******.

Sleep was unobtainable
The couch uncomfortable
Another year in this place could **** me.
With the syringes and scapegoats
The dry spells and witchcraft.
Someone here wants me dead.
Another year in this place will **** me.

Your best friend moved to town last week
We met at the local bar
And drank a few shots
And rummaged through your stuff
Laughing and laughing
Until you got home

Another year and I’ll be dead.
What’s this place you call home.
Connor Thomas Sep 2012
I. Dark tree hanging above us in the night
Casting out shadows that try and steal babies in the silence
These creatures sway with the wind singing out tunes of old
Scratching at one another, fighting for superiority.
We watch as their shadows **** each other off one by one
The dark moon shining above gives us no warning of what’s to come
Sitting up there watching out over us, like an old man.
Grandpa sits in his chair and observes his children
Whistling into the night sky, joined by a chorus of stars
Each wrinkle, with a crater of its own, screaming out to us
Screaming about what was to come.

A dark rider pulls up in front of us
His bony fingers crack as he motions for you
As in a trance you are hypnotized by his gaze.
His dark cloak shining in the fire that blazes behind him
I can see dust resting on his shoulders, but you remain transfixed.
You’re eyes begin to darken and you grow dimmer.
Flickering as each second passes, flickering
Like a candle running out of time.
Flickering like a flame being choked out.
His dark eyes look deeply into your equally dark heart
Ringing out to him in a bass-like tone, that only the evil can hear.
Ringing, singing, tearing away from me, from our life together
Here on the top of this dark hill, above this dark town, in an even darker world.

The dark cloaked man rides off into the east as the morning sun rises
The only source of light, making its way up the ladder
As its dark counterpart retreats in the opposite direction.
I’m looking up at him as he warms my face
Father is home and has taken his rightful place on the throne
A light smile creeps up on my face as I look back at you
All I see is the empty look that your dark eyes return.

II. Train engines roaring in the background
Chugga chugga chugga chugga
Smoke rising ahead of him as he thunders on,
Through your thick eyeglasses you’re watching closely
We’re sitting in your room, an empty bottle of gin in your hands
Window open and the cool evening breeze blows in
Blowing your hair back like a model
The diseased air catches fire in your face.
As in a fitful rage you scream out like bells ringing in my ears.
The sun is smiling in making his appearance short as he retreats west.

Your dizzy eyes look into mine singing out to me
“Chugga chugga chugga chugga”
You say to me laying on your back in a drunken haze.
Your locked door groans under your father’s fists,
And he comes raging in like a train steaming down the tracks.
Kicking and throwing himself around, lashing his eyes at you and me,
Wreaking havoc on your room, the wild creature rears up to fight
And scared I run out the window, escaping the hell that you’re stuck in
Like a fly trapped in the web of a spider at lunch time.
I hear the faint
“Chugga chugga chugga chugga”
In the background under the noise of my feet on the concrete.

III. Your engine roars in the early morning air
Raising hell underneath it, and fire in its past.
Roaring like a lion on its prey
The tires screeching like the prey itself
As you come to a halt in front of my house honking the horn
Screaming for me to come out.
I already know what’s in store,
Why you’re here,
And here I am stuck in this place
Like a prison and you’re my jailor.
If you think I’ll develop a Stockholm syndrome you are sadly mistaken
Your mouth running wild with the horses in the fields
Like a sailor on a ship
Raising war with every sentence that you speak
Singing in the rain of hatred in your eyes
As you look me down with your laser vision
Eyeing me up like a hawk swooping on a field mouse.
Sharp talons sharpened daily
You raise fear with your body,
A shiver flows through my veins deep down in the soul
I feel cold with you staring at me like you do.
Hovering in the thick air above my lonely prison cell.
Looking only at me.
Sep 2012 · 1.2k
Satirical Love Song
Connor Thomas Sep 2012
Your bright blue eyes look deep into my soul
Looking deeply into your own I see you there.
Bright pools of light looking directly into each other
Sparks in the background begin to fly
Like a star up in the sky you belong to me
And I to you
Our hearts intertwined together
Like the branches of an old tree
Like two hands holding one another.

Our love is like twenty years of bad news
With good news on the coming winds
We can see it in the distance coming after us
Shouting for us to slow down so it can catch up
But we don’t

Our love is like the months we’ve spent wondering
Wondering what we’re doing here
With no answers and more questions
A sweet scent in the air brings your face to mine
And mine to yours.

Our love is like an eternal flame lighting our path
Like no one else knows who we are
I can feel your heart beat in my ear
Like rocks shattering glass

Our love is like a bomb about to explode
An explosion of light from deep down in our hearts
Loving in the years of death and destruction
Holding strong and never breaking for anyone.

I love you.
You love me.
It’s like we’re meant to be.
Sep 2012 · 774
September 12, 2:01
Connor Thomas Sep 2012
Ripped silk scarf rests on your shoulders
Messy brown hair clumped in dirt
Bright crystal eyes stare blankly
Slender fingers play with slender fingers.

Knuckles knock on the wooden door

Your **** legs cross
And your arms too, defiantly
Your blank eyes focus

Knock knock
Sep 2012 · 2.2k
Untitled
Connor Thomas Sep 2012
I. Summer pictures litter her walls
Glitter infestations
Second grade yearbook
And a signed portrait of that one indie celebrity.
What’s his name?
Jimi Hendrix?
Or Rob the Bone Crusher?
Was it that guy from New England?
With the Iced Tea, and the apartment?
You know that really, really big condo.

II. in 1995 you were all hot and heavy
******* and bumping in the clubs
Sinking your teeth into whatever
Or whoever you could find
Like ****** and some of that crystal ****
You said you liked the way it felt
When it ran down your veins

III. I remember the nights you cried
You said you’d feel this way forever
And I said well…probably.

IV. 7 AM, you’re still out clubbing.
Out on the streets like a little hoodlum
Looking for your fix in the alleys
Of a suburb of your suburb of Minneapolis.
Anything you can shoot, smoke, snort or swallow
You’re down.
Sep 2012 · 2.0k
In Some Far Off Fairy Tale
Connor Thomas Sep 2012
White, calloused hands
Gripping white soft belly
Bushy white hair
Rubbing clean white face

Unfurling smoke rising
Rising like the tide on a full moon
Into blue sky
Blue as the ocean itself

Lakes north of the Twin Cities
Life living liberally under rocks
Death staring darkly from the depths
Moon glowing brightly above

Train brakes screech
The passengers rustle a bit
Black as the night
Hard as a rock

Rampant youths file into the alley
Raging inside
Ranting out
Rigid bones cease

The drug addicts plead mercilessly
With their alter ego
More more more
**** **** ****

The businessmen do their fast walk
And the women do their little sway
Walking dogs and walking strollers
Clinically insane they repeat

Dark blond hair
Ripped jeans
Tighter than skin
Gay shoes

Beautiful brunette
Big *** ****
Smirking smile
She knows she’s hot

Random dudes street talking
Random chicks street banging
Random kids street dealing
Random guys finish the job

Men in work clothes
Buy love symbols for their niece
And rock shows for their nephew
But nothing for their sons

Watching the sunset
Watching the moon rise
Watching the tides roll
Watching you fake it all

Justine took all the pills
She’s passed out on the futon
This basement gives me chills
I think I heard someone call 9-1-1

Someone in uptown died tonight
Shot
On the street
Blood rained like rain

Red towels from the hotel
Stolen again
Marriot’s free swimming pool
Cost me 800 dollars

*** and drugs combined
Rugs and thugs
And enemy teams
Gunshots, gun fights
Sep 2012 · 8.8k
Untitled
Connor Thomas Sep 2012
I come from New Orleans where the swingers hook up with the singers, and the boxes have a person inside who speak to you through a thick horizontal slot in the door. You come from Minnesota where the most aggressive sentence is “Hi, how are you” and you’ve attended church every Sunday of your life, even though you don’t really believe in god.

We came to the West to skate with the surfer junkies. But then the harbors got bombed and we moved out East to see the hipsters and the artists beggin on the streets. We went to the South with the racists and bigots were dying for a good show. We moved up North to escape from the 70s, and with the 80s on the rise we figured we’d best stay away.

The 70s were rockin’ with **** and LSD in parks and concerts, and on benches on the streets. The smoke in the air was everywhere, from the slums in Wisconsin to the cities of Dallas. Even the poor were lost in the haze.

When the 80s arrived with Rock ‘n’ Roll and techno beats from windowsills upstairs. The music was groovin’ and the ladies were fine. We saw billboards of our names in neon orange lights. The *** was replaced by coke, and the LSD with ****** singing and swinging with delight in our eyes.
When the AIDS broke out we were sick in our beds listening to Pink Floyd and Elton John, and still we were singing. The 70s got us high while the 80s made us die

We lived through wars in Vietnam, and Korea; we fought back the communists with red ink on our hands. We broke down the door into China and got them to arrive in the present and join the world. Although their chairman sits on a chair of lies he leads them with an angry fist in the air pumping “three cheers for Mao”. “Three cheers for Mao”.

When the Soviets launched themselves to the moon we responded with our money and flashed our shiny new machinery in their faces. We marked our territory and claimed triumphantly that “We’re the best”. And we launched our war nukes and pinned them into intimidation. Then the Cubans sought revenge for the death of the Pigs on their Bay. With rifles in hand we stormed the beach and unearthed Castro and his regime.

With our beds soaked in blood, and our dreams covered with fog, hand in hand we lay. We recalled the dances in the backs of old Cafes where the passwords were as simple as three quick knocks and two slow ones. We remembered the guns that pierced the heavenly chorus for the negros in the south. And we thought about the music of the 70s and the death in the 80s and I thought about you for a minute more.
Connor Thomas Sep 2012
Took the 17 down nicollet
Passed the City Center
Passing time
Passing men on the streets with an open guitar case
Passed the kids with their skateboards
Passed the guys covered in ink playing fight night on the street

Fifth street
Yellow cord
Brake peddle
Bus stop
Sidewalk

The sharks fight the jets
Romeo goes to Juliet
Old men with canes talk on their cell phones
Nicollet and 4th feels a little heavy tonight
11:47 comes my bus

Down 4th ave
Passing time
Passing the former home of the Twins
Passed the cops with their lights on
Passed some kids in their visors

Red light
Doswell street
Yellow cord
Brake peddle
Bus stop
Sidewalk

Out on the street
Street lamps glow fluorescent
New moon fixed in the stars
Tilted, slightly

The tweakers stay in the shack down the block
They’ve got the rocks in their socks
And they’re sleeping on the carpet
Welcome mat turned over
Shades drawn tight
And an icy cold feeling runs in their veins
And they roll back into a dream

Apartment building
Stairwell
Door 10
Living room.

— The End —