Place the moniters on the right surface.
Everything dances to a diferent frequency, hert
Scanning a pond of rocks
Each fingerprint, pit, dimple
I rerealize now the specificity of everything
And amplify anything
listening in on the correct…. His/her voice can be heard
A medium is its own sea.
a walk through (what is now) the second to latest real epiphany, just in case yall ******* wanted to stay current with
I think the king left you a message, Ole Miss
Stop and learn to let go.
Before you squatted over his drum major baton
And let “the n word” strut across living rooms.
Stop and learn to let go?
I learned in textbooks about when
The ****** strutted across the living room
You made him fetch more ice to fill the lemonade lifestyle.
I learned in textbooks about when
You claimed to hate my sable hue.
My people still spray lemonade flavored perfume on this
Lifestyle I run now. Something backwards remains:
The claim to hate my sable hue.
Though now you wear it for fun
The lifestyle I run somehow remains backwards
The glorified get picked from trees.
And now they wear it for fun:
The color of the dirt from which the lemons burst
The glorified get picked from trees
And when life gives you those lemons, you make lemonade.
a pantoum I firstg drafted in a workshop.
I can't help but think of the scores of demons dying halfway across the planet
in my backyard
In my house
People filling their bellies with opinions on things they know nothing of
But this doesn't do as much damage as the real work
there are those killing taking action taking lives
in real time
trying their hardest to beat the tally
to beat the board
in this bored *** life
I almost respect them for wanting to make a dent of their own
wiping dinosaurs clean
whipping amoebas and monkeys into shape
Doing something is better than drowning in möbius waves of linens and comforters
My rabbit hole hand looking dried and thirsty while cupping the brook side run off
Tongue lapping ****** sores on the outskirts of my only remaining power source
I stay silent and let loose control of the scores
Like justice, unbiased
And of course I am still looking forward to a slick hair back And focus time.
This is for those who get their hands *****
Crawling thru the abyss
Of their own ****
Submitted to the cat pose
Then try to track it all up in your house
And then those who get their hands ***** trying to pick them up off the ground.
This is for those disgusting people,
Not those that disgust
But are disgusting.
Stained by physical handicap, relationship hiccups, family troubles
Or whatever demons.
Named after the Son of the *****
Found the light while looking for the switch
In the waves
Can't compare a life to how insane I am
How are you? How is the man
Standing at 6 three in a couples years will have knee pains Longer than the synapse that runs from the hip to the chest to the cranium
Worried about fleek game and the cruise ending
At any moment now
Peace flees and crows cackle yowl
Holistic tendencies I try to keep up
And I think the time has come again to bends too and fro
With the wind, like a limb
Begging to just say I know,
There's more after the falling action of the sad story.
I wanna say that a podium waits beneath a Jumbotron, with furious music, and o positive dripping it's ****** self down onto it
Like the excess acrylic From a mural
Slipping it's way into another mural,
Oh god. (!)
I said, I saw you in the cracks between the tile !
My hearts rots volatile while my babied mind wants repents.
I really don't wanna know how you are, what u are, whoever you are.
I just wanna praise you,
Extend my exalt in perfect symmetry out from me.
the high and the lows
Friends and foes
The cup runneth over and hits the ground but the fountain continues to pour
Gimme ..... ...... ...... ....... Whatever it takes.
A thanks to the great spirit
for those readers
of the word of the day.
for those obsessively trying to climb over the trench
that confines the most low self esteem,
to be dragged lower by the next coup de etat
a ruse set by demons
to be aroused by demons….
The leaking turned screaming at the back of the eyelids that
and over sharpen the light.
if one could always see that tattoo that you stained into the oblique
in that prolonged moment of prowess
you told them to place
‘pain is but a creation of the mind.’
in trying to find air between
sobs you will find that, this may be the best time to
who wants to improve so bad,
aspire to fail.
whip the Clydesdale on the blinders that have your morphic cycle
**** out of luck, and foolstruck
by a rut.
close your mouth,
and open your ears…
listen for that whistling
can’t you hear it
coming from the breeze that was started
when that door was shut in your face and the window became an opportune
Oh, how just breathing has become an escape
though every second a hilarious shot at my wee existence,
and my peers take peeks at their phones
stand at the peak
with one foot already convicted to a leap
wondering what will save one more sole
if they would take deep breathes between cries
pull their neck back for a rest
and continually search for the remnant of that release
and find it again.
alternate version of another work.
I sink deeper into the atmosphere we were responsible for,
in silence my eyelids and I fight the sunlight’s slow and crescendoing intrusion,
wondering if she is still asleep
or if she realized by now that every time she makes the slightest fidget
away from the center of the bed
I bite her
right where her lower abs meet her hip flexor
on the outside
I wanted to have her learn I am consistent.
she didn’t have to give consent,
degenerates like me don’t care
if I want the cake and proceed to eat it before day break
then so be it.
her lips press their frozen presence into the space under my jaw
and a warm gust of her pushes my sideburns up
my chest jumps
lumps in my veins snowball and create
the feel of cherry bombs popping
at every nerve ending I had forgotten
it rings me.
how could I let her trick me into jostling my babe awake?
and all before the alarm.
I grow the wings of a vicious pelican, expanding my span
using my featherish lips to attack her out of cryostasis
she curls up, afraid of more laughter and pushes her tongue through the gap she made
between her bottom and top rows of teeth.
she glows better than the bringer of days
the sun must find me insane.
an aubade I wrote for a workshop Im in
A yell for the child comes with momentum
It shakes a creak out of each elderly step and surrounding glass fixture
Wailing wakes the set of mahogany stairs before stopping at the moat of the dudette’s dungeon
Kaboom, it kicked the door in on the dream
Enter a flow of sunlight
Now visible dancing off the sweaty leaves and onto the walls of the hallway
Leaping onto the eyelids of our beholder
She turns to face the wall
This empty vessel isn't ready
The yelling quickly becomes relevant
As it Sharpens into an irritating spear
Creating unwanted foramen
Making mesh out of the impermeable cushion enveloping the chrysalised girl
The parent is a lackluster alarm clock that she bought
But still wants to beat the **** out of.
Though they serve their purpose
the half conscious tend to be ungrateful
A smile breaks open now
knowing such noxious noise is futile Fighting the lull that was already present in the room.
Going through the first motions her feet find a base
and her socks slide dangerously over splinters and thornish nails peaking out of the floorboards
The drums of her feet meeting the stairs announce her arrival.
On the first floor there awaits a vision of her childhood
Her father watching programs and eating breakfast with Charles Osgood and his correspondents
Mother making moves towards the car.
The sweet smell tricked the girl into believing adventure land had been relocated to her kitchen.
She witnesses Bands of fibrous smoke slide off of the bacon
And harden as happiness on the rims of her nostrils
Her hunger whispers clear thoughts and primitive instincts from her core
And a shell of rubber pellets is released to ricochet around in the girls belly like a couple of quarters in a piggy bank -
Wants reverberate and drive up her throat
Driving her hands to the cooler of the three tired skillets
She does a quick but thorough survey of the stove top eyes hitting every grease patch and
Yellow egg puddle worth avoiding
Sitting at the galaxy black table
Jaw tensing against its will
Gums sweating and shocked anxious
Tastebuds wiggling into the room left available by the imagination
Eager on ripping into fattening pleasure
Osgood leads them into their moment of Zen to be ended at the pace of the subject
Father different from daughter
Daughter different than the mother.
wrote this for a workshop