DP Younginger

DP Younginger Oct 2013

Here, I loaf,
Coffee in my left, a second wisdom in my right,
Shredding years off of "the plan" to pay the dues, society bills,
Thousands on thousands pile up in pre-season games,
Fingernails digesting in the stomach, slashing through the stream like a cross-saw paper-cut,
Here, my feet bounce,
Behind generationally equal minds, I peak over dandruff and hear nothing but dry lips,
Avoiding the eye, I dip into the ocean,
I wade, I pause, I sink,
My joints crunch and fingertips tap dance,
Here, the static fleshes out,
Every thought a raft, casted away, I play Tom Hanks,
Chalkboards accumulate fine powder, the particles tickle the sneeze,
Outside, the rain is still, falling through the ice,
Inside, my brain is still, falling to the vice,
Here, I watch those watching,
The wrapping on the box, present inside, today we learn tomorrow,
I sit on the bow,
Distraction by means of technology, we are all second-hand smoke detectors,
Together, we learn to strap our seat-belts on correctly,
Here, the window is foggy.

DP Younginger Oct 2013

Rules

Tonight,
I slept on the floor,
Make me a slave, I feel criminal,
Every stitch in my hoodie plays the pillow,
Tell me a story, lecture my unknowing- I shall bow-
Outside, the children laugh; I watch them to feed my innocence,
Gardening my eyes, the rose pierces the finger and leaks into the old soil,
Red rain to flourish the undead...souls like zombies as the veins pump within,
Oh, so now there are more man-made commandments? Humor me with your ideals,
Weigh the opinionated options, use equality to be better than me, the uniform is uniform,
Use every hole in the wall to spy on those whom seem little, like ants, they march on, single file,
Push me down these stairs, allow me bounce off of every comma to reach a point of ending, I begin.

DP Younginger Oct 2013

Thought Bubble

Take me away to the smell of morning, a fresh brewed stretch as stitches in the shoulders slightly begin to tear,
Take me away to the taste of late night TV, where censorship stares darkly at the ***** daylight,

With this glass of Piraat, I cheers to the bubble- You've kept me trapped and captive-
-no ransom-

Take me away to my youthful fortress- king of the world- bunk beds budding dreams-
Cast me away to wrinkled newspapers, a tinted fade from pre-decade wood-
-I reminisce-

With this wincing wink, I say hello to my old pal,
Look how big you've grown, you are transparent in thought.
A quick juke in the right pathway sends me off to the races, no body in front of me but dusty footsteps,
This sequence seems separate from repetition but i'll find the looking glass,
-a letter to myself with simple calligraphy-
I'm lost- I'm discovered- I'm tied- I'm bound-

Oh fragile bubble,
Forever caged off the ground, I swing...

DP Younginger Oct 2013

Space Staring

Eyes out of focus, ears echoing with a hint of reverb,

Pupils alternating on perfect loop, a period to a black hole,

Hair becomes like static, a sound that goes unnoticed ,

Fingers numb, fingertips like nubs, bitten to the core like a rotting apple,

Nerves in the kneecap relay a rhythm to freezer burnt toes,

Bouncing a heel - a nervous and impatient tick -

The words in front are smudged by internal noise, binding brain activity,

Reality renders room for a romantic razor to ready the troops,

Slicing and dicing the fruit - on the cutting board - falling seeds like a hailstorm in July,

To be stuck forever, a coma with a comma to separate answers to commence,

Answers bladed sharp and split open by the distracted mind,

An attention disorder that lives in the people,

The people take drugs, die faster, and hide away from the natural,

The unexplored realm where one can truly find a companion,

Holding hands with Caulfield, innocence is immobilized for eternity,

The shuttle returns - all words loitering become visible, feasible, and manageable once again.

DP Younginger Oct 2013

Plugs

Choose your satirical weapon of choice,
Draw a three-dimensional box and conceal the hidden within a two-dimensional sphere,
Needle-point holes squeeze tightly, a misty spray like that of a busted soda-pop can,
The knowledge leaks consistently into the universe, morphing tear droplets into The Great Lakes,
These ten toes hover and glance over the edge, zoning prints like words in a descending motion,
A touch of the shoulder from a folded palm gently comforting and confirming life above this Earth,
A speedy squeeze of all five joints, now on my knees, the gravel latches onto my scabs, pushing and pounding through the pain,
Molars grind, tongue-dried, salty saliva salvaged, yet sitting silently on a secretive cold-sore,
The knowledge is flooding the dam gates, burying ankles in piercing hot grains of sand, diving into a castle's moat, a rush like traffic on a Friday evening,
The world seeps into the depths of my transparent drain,
The seepage creeps slowly downwards into a mental shaft constructed purposely for psychological phenomenon,
I worry there may be excessive overspill of rescued reality,
An unopened present, the anticipation and expectation as a child dreams,
As the gaps and cracks expand, I am able to touch base with memories as they pour outwards like a dog's busted territorial marker, a firefighter's ammunition,
Extinguish the forrest fire,
Paint the canvas gently with a spin of the color wheel,
Play the part of a lonely plumber,
Plug every hole.

DP Younginger Oct 2013

Flat Lines

It's a dark shadow, not knowing how to tug your path through the oceans waves,

It's a blinding sunrise, understanding what you hold internally for all those whom seek the bluest river,

It's a rubix cube of thought, feeling unaware of set solutions like the procrastination of a premeditated checkmate,

Why do these toes enjoy hanging over the cliff?

Why do I taste bitter aspects of living and then bark at them with the snarling grin of of a man less fortunate?

I am who I am supposed to reflect,

The water invites me to wade but I would rather think about the clouds and drift,

Far far away, I dream of white puff with many hunchbacks and a baby's grasp of the finger, warm like a winter's hug,

I am now and forever, yet those are impossible actions to reach out for,

I am faded in my cage and forgotten in my youth, yet she provides me with balance and clarity,

We will die and from death we will count numbers in our slumber, until the curtain bleeds through the white dress, a stain that will linger no more,

We will become our dreams and live on for a soul purpose,

Just Imagine.

DP Younginger May 2013

Insomnia

At night, my sleep- it ponders.
At day, my sleep- it wanders.
I search for the core of my thoughts, to drift into the feathers.

Of course-
They are separated by silk or satin.
By now-
I must have warmed both halves of my body.

It's 3 am...
I'm two hours late.
But the rabbit has no time to waste.