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Kristo Frost Mar 2013
how could You know
as You are walking down the sidewalk
           around a corner       wherever You want
that the world is not assembling itself
atom by sticky atom
from the blueprints
piled in piles (like so many piles of newspaper)
in (the rooms in) the back rooms of Your mind
particles rushing and streaming, fluttering
together with the ebb of Your consciousness?
-
the World blurs fuzzily into shape
before snapping
(snappily)
into focus

just as You enter the room
blending pixilated reality smoothly
into an orchestrated Existence
-
the next time You      reach
for the doorknob on
the door to
the waiting room
-
give
pause
listen            
carefully
-
can’t You hear the anxious atoms
           scraping
sliding
           shoving past each other?
-
they                jockey
       jumping into
the eye of
       the image of
the woman on
       the screen of
the television in
       the corner of
the ceiling where
       it hangs
-
she wants to know
why we divide
Them              from Us
-
so clearly
so readily
-
she wants to know
why our countries
are bordered
-
by an indifference to equality
by a contempt for disillusionment
-
A dispute broke out between two
atoms on the table this morning;
a tiny china teapot was broken.
-
how would You know?
people are no more
then elaborate pieces of Your own mind
now once You hang up the phone
e v a p o r a t e d  
                        into no more than
                                           an afterthought
                                                    ­     of empty space
                                                           ­         -
                                             the smell of burnt matches
                             -                                      -
                You think that
everything You imagine is beautiful
                    even death
                             -
               but in an ugly way
-                            -
the man on the
                                edge
of the third chair
from the door
has no face
(none of Them do)
all of Them don’t
(have faces)
-
until They speak or You look Them in the eye
-
until They do something       Wrong
which is why They look                  down
when They walk down the sidewalk
-
They are afraid
-
to live
  as a tree
    in the park
-
where a pillar of
angry
           energy
                       falling
failing
           the
                       pessimistic
sky
might strike
Them
(older than You
yet born
just this moment)
making the ground
around
Them steam
with the sweat
of a silent room
waiting
for the
            door to
                        swing open
                                      and tell
                                                   him
                             -               -
                she’s going to be all right
              it was close there for a while
                        but she’s strong
                      she pulled through
                                      -
                              in the end
-                                     -
the pressure
of the years
of the rings
(which promise to
grow tighter
as time leaves us)
is heated
squeezed
left sitting in
flesh
turned to char
ash and smoke gently
cradling a tiny newborn
diamond
-
perfect           (silence)
-
broken
down the middle-
                      aged
                             flawed
-                                -
You should be perfect by now
You should have a face by now
-
speak           look Yourself in the eye
-
see Your own          Face
stop looking                down
when You walk down the sidewalk
-
don’t be afraid
-
to live
  as a tree
    in the park
-          -
They say don’t talk             to strangers
and You’re a strange one            indeed
how can You see the glamour
where Others            cannot
see that laughing quietly to themselves
can (You) set the expressions on their faces
to joy
     to pain
           to fear
                to apathy
                     to peace?
                              -
              yeah, she likes him
                and she likes him
                        to know
               that she likes him
                              -
                      in the end
-                             -
she wants to know
why our countries
are bordered
-
to keep Them      out
and Us       in
-                                   -
           this is Mine                  and that is Yours
-                                   -
You see
what You want to see (without)
-
(knowing what You want)
the sticker
       on the bumper
              of the car
                     rolling past reads:
                           “jesus is coming,
                                  hide the ****”
-                                          -
in its green lettering
and its largely silent voice
-
if You listen             carefully
You can almost hear Them
-                  -
              giggling
                ­   -                       -
              please do not think about green elephants
-                                          -
(a student just snuck in
and sat down as
the professor was writing
on the board)
-                                       -
             please do not feed the green elephants
-                                       -
I
Myself
have a strong suspicion
that Your mind is
as You read this
(hidden in a carefully cupped notebook)
spilling
black ink particles into
existence
on the very next          page
-                              -
             ­       You write that
You imagine everything is beautiful
                    except for death
                                 -
                   it is an ugly thing
                                    -
               yet still the chisel gouges
                  -               -
  “i whistle a catcall
at my blushing bride”
      llac ot eltsihw i”
  “edis ym ot god ym
                  -        -
        through the crumbling protests
         of the reluctant stone
                               -    -
                     ­               each new line
                                    tampers with space
                                    holds suspect time
                                    postpones the end
                                    and evades death
-                                  -
You breathe
               You write
You sing
                You live
                       -
You casually craft causality
         -             -
         yet craft on
         surely You are not yet done
         You may never be
         at this rate but
         but
         STOP
-        -
the World reblurs then blows away
listen closely here I say
all things must come to end one day
-                                       -
You
Yourself

have tasted the                     hunger
                        of Greed
seen the                                 wealth
                       of Hatred
heard the                               stories
          ­             of Genocide
felt the                                    loss
                     ­  of War
and smelled the                    decay
                       of Truth
-                      -
                      this        ­     is Mine
                                 what’s Mine, is Yours...
This poem was originally inspired by the Russell's Teapot analogy.
Kristo Frost Sep 2014
maybe (Big Maybe) your life has numbers in the title.

inked, digits trace the shadow of her hair

if you forgot...

how could You know
as You are walking down the sidewalk
           around a corner   --   wherever You want
that the World is not assembling itself
atom by (jigsaw) atom
from the blueprints (and stencils)
piled in piles (like so many piles of newspaper)
in (the rooms in) the back rooms of Your mind
particles rushing and streaming (fluttering)
together with (the ebb of) Your consciousness?

the World blurs fuzzily into shape
before snapping
snappily
into focus

just as You enter the room
blending concentrated reality smoothly
into some orchestrated Existence

the next time You          reach
for the doorknob on
the door to
the wait-, the waiting room

give,
pause

listen,         
carefully

can’t You hear the anxious atoms
           brushing
jostling
           shoving past one another?

Numbers, pixels, they                  jockey

       squinting through
the eye of
       the image of
the woman on
       the screen of
the television in
       the corner of
the ceiling where
       it hangs

she wants to know
why You divide
Them              from Us

so clearly
so readily

she wants to know
why Your countries
are bordered

by an indifference to equality
by a contempt for disillusionment

Extra! Extra! Read All About It!:
An extraneous dispute broke out between two
atoms on the table this morning;
a tiny china teapot was broken.

not that You care, but...
how would You know?

people are no more
then elaborate pieces of Your own mind
now once You hang up the phone
e v a p o r a t e d  
                        into no more than
                                           an afterthought
                                                    ­     of empty space

                                             the smell of burnt matches

                You think that
everything You imagine is beautiful
                    even death

               but in an ugly way

the man on the
                                edge
of the third chair
from the door
has no face
(none of Them do)
all of Them don’t
(have faces)

until They speak or You look Them in the eye

until They do something       Wrong
which is why They look                  down
when They walk down the sidewalk

They are afraid
You Made them Afraid

to live
  as a tree
    in the park

where a pillar of
angry
           energy
                       falling
failing
           the
                       pessimistic
sky
might strike
Them
(older than You
yet born
in this moment)
making the ground
around
Them steam
with the sweat
of a silent room
waiting
for the
            door to
                        swing open
                                      and tell
                                                   him

                she’s going to be all right
              it was close there for a while
                        but she’s strong
                      she pulled through

                              in the end

the pressure
of the years
of the rings
(which promise to
grow tighter
as time leaves us)
is heated
squeezed
left sitting in
flesh
turned to char
ash and smoke gently
cradling a tiny newborn

                                          diamond


perfect           (silence)

broken
down the middle-
                      aged
                             flawed

You should be perfect by now
You should have a face by now

speak           look Yourself in the eye

see Your own          Face
stop looking                down
when You walk down the sidewalk

it's Your painting,
don’t be afraid

to live
  as a tree
    in the park
  
They say don’t talk             to strangers
and You’re a strange one            indeed
how can You see the glamour
where Others            cannot
see that, laughing quietly to Yourself,
(You) can set the expressions on their faces
to joy
     to pain
           to fear
                to apathy
                     to peace?

               yeah, she likes him
                and she likes him
                    to know that
                    she likes him

                      in the end

she wants to know
why Your countries
are bordered

to keep Them      out
and Us       in

           this is Mine                  and that is Yours

You see
what You want to see (without)

(knowing what You want)
the sticker
       on the bumper
              of the car
                     rolling past whispers:
                            jesus is coming,
                                  better hide the ****

the tone is green, jealous

if You listen             carefully
You can almost hear, someone's

             giggling

             please do not think about green elephants

(a student just snuck in
and sat down as
the professor was writing
on the board)

             please do not feed the green elephants

I
Myself
have a strong suspicion
that Your mind is
as You read this
(hidden in a carefully cupped notebook)
spilling
black ink particles
across
existence
running
onto the very next          page

                    You write that
You imagine everything is beautiful
                   except for death

                   it is an ugly thing

              yet still the chisel gouges

    i whistle a catcall
at my blushing bride
      llac ot eltsihw i
   edis ym ot god ym

        through the crumbling protests
               of the reluctant stone

                                    each new line
                                    tampers with space
                                    holds suspect time
                                    postpones the end
                                    and evades death

You breathe
               You write
You sing
                You live

You casually craft causality

         yet craft on
         surely You are not yet done
         You may never be
         at this rate but
         but
         STOP

the World reblurs then blows away
listen closely here I say
all Things must come to End one day

You
Yourself

have tasted the                      Hunger
                        of Greed
seen the                                 Zeal
                       of Hatred
heard the                               Stories
                       of Genocide
felt the                                   Loss
                      ­ of War
and smelled the                    Decay
                       of Truth

                      this             is Mine
                                 what’s Mine, is Yours...
This is a major revision to the original, which was written in 2012 after getting off a night shift at the hospital.  I will probably never be done revising this, because practically every time I read it I change something.  

As it is very much in the spirit of the piece to involve You the reader, any and all revision proposals will be given serious consideration, although creative license is of course reserved.
Kristo Frost Sep 2014
Ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a ramble of suns drowning in starfire so deep it darkles to a...
...
Kristo Frost Aug 2014
Example: some candles smell best just past their last gasp.
Divorce: when a lover doesn't love what they've done.
Annulment: when it might as well have never happened.

Reboot? [Y/N]:Y

Wake yourself up on a pillow of gravel with your bike in the bushes beyond.
You might be that undaunted worrier of ways to evade.
You might fight with the tide of those lingering days.
Likely unlikely but possibly nightly they leave you behind; Spite, your mind.

Reboot? [Y/N]:Y


You're left threading through time as your Been and your Being age.
Your breath ebbs slower as the world rolls beneath you.
You're still pursuing your quiet addiction to the hustle of life.
Your gentle cage will help to keep you objective-oriented.

You'll die.

Accept it.

Reboot? [Y/N]:_
Formatting issues with the italics.  Will fix when I feel like it, which could be never.  What?
Kristo Frost Jun 2013
Dowsing shiver your hybrid morality until there stand no more alabaster temples on the hills of our nations. Erupt fantasy and realize fate. Find a lost camera and hang someone else's pictures all throughout your house.

The Golden Riddle of justice is a fishbone; it's arc bends eventually to the point that it slits your throat. Carbon fiber courage swallows blood though.
Kristo Frost Aug 2013
He never could wear watches.
Every watch he'd ever worn had lost his weary war.
Until he came awake, that is, for then they all kept true.
Kristo Frost Mar 2013
Soon our grinning skeletons will come all unhinged and slide out of our feet as the casual chunks of so much worthless debris. Contagious laughter can be rather gruesome. Blocks upon blocks of television viewing containers echo entire cans of it into increasingly apathetic orbs. Growing loud without purpose, it deafens all who will listen. There is, to date, no cure for this cancer. We don't even really know what we're dealing with here. It is recommended that all civilians tie their shoes tightly, with double-knots if possible.
Kristo Frost Mar 2013
Hear the symphony of the room you surround yourself with.
Have you already heard this song?

Sip your current State.
Do you like it?

How now a brown cow.
Are you even listening?

Pass your homework to the front of the class.
Were you daydreaming again?
Kristo Frost Sep 2014
~

trick               poem             belie
                                                
this              smooth,           until

frank               and          exposed

~

mind,               lost,                   it...
                                                
now               maybe          daresay
                
it's                 hidden     elsewhere

~

redundant      guesses              and/or
                                      
questions          about                      life

make               meaning            certain

~

subtly                different          thoughts

grace               realizations,           which

our                      starkest                  blur

~

time,                          its                            eyes
                                                                  
your                         poem,                      blink

now;                          gray                        scene

~

bear                     witness,                            a

child                  con­suming               poison

like                       purpose,                   watch

~

now,                      slip                    knots,

firm                      words                    they

ghost,                    into                   tangle

~

steal                    night,                       to

quiet                    your                      tear

of                           joy                     apart

~

engineer,      through               your

close        conversation,    tempting

doors             guarding          secrets

~

end,          the    ramble,

only        read   literally

when     words         fail

~
Read triplets left to right and up to down, but also up to down and left to right.  Ongoing work at this time.   Suggestions welcome!
Kristo Frost Apr 2013
dry fire,
dry ice,
quiet liar,
quiet mice,
rendered humble,
rendered missile,
sharp rumble,
sharp thistle,
total jarhead,
total *******,
something guarded,
something makeshift,
fastened underneath,
fastened monopoly,
melting dragonsbreath,
melting catastrophe,
Eye
Kristo Frost Mar 2013
Eye
Fire suns out of canons of old and decay in daylight. There might not be blood under your fingernails if you'd refused to laugh. Don't doubt it though, you're being watched. It thinks about your thoughts in thoughtless ways. Dance, pony, humor it. Fail to see the source. Research more. Someone else already answered your stupid questions. Go home. Go broke. Go on as long as you go away. Get a job, you idiot, and make sure it's a good one. If it isn't, fire yourself out of a canon into the Sun. Morphing is addictive. So is heroism. Go, sally gently forth. Froth. Growl low in the gut. Yeah, breathe the fear; die ******* mad about it.
Kristo Frost Apr 2013
Sometimes, an animal
tries to escape my heart.

Needles split gumline
rendering me a natural,
deadly feline in tall grass,
a single bullet striking glass,
the killer shades and cooler cars
of real-life-moving-picture stars,
always hunting, stalking more
bright images flash just before
my eyes see lies
and spirit spies
the animal within...

It slinks away, again.
Kristo Frost Mar 2013
stay
fight
cataclysm
summary
resistant
eyebrow
crackle
dinner
fis­hhook
blunt
tribute
margarine
widow
****
scar
glory
elephant
plan­et
swallow
forget
blanket
fear
smooth
black
vent
curvy
translatio­n
smooth
warrant
concussion
fluid
red
airway
postmark
testament
c­arpet
denial
flex
touch
real
married
armchair
sink
ebb
soft
touch­é
foam
stone
float
torn
away
see
tremor
marrow
bright
side
god
de­ep
hurry
inject
wither
moon
noun
full
stop
wild
year
done
everyon­e
enough
disco
skin
same
dream
chest
roses
proof
tacit
dire
soul
­posit
wide
shy
city
run
Kristo Frost Mar 2013
All the best cover bands have leather jackets and aviators in play.
Feel the bodies burn.
Their polka dot calm pierces the noisy dark.
It slips between your lower ribs.
Trance hands in the air for shared emotion.
When the Sun dies out we'll light the world with disposable lighters.
We'll also flicker with emoticon implants.
Cold glitter on a dark planet.
Winky face.
Kristo Frost Apr 2013
she onced too many times
and left

he took it pretty hard
and died

the kids were not alright
and learned
Kristo Frost Mar 2013
inter vivos razorwire
                                  tumbling
            ­                                     through leaves
contact lenses never found
                                            bending
       ­                                                  sunlight
nobody cares about strife
                                          bleeding
       ­                                                 alone
plastic avalanche screaming
                                               frozen
                                                          ­   starving
dampened crisis calls us home
                                                  beating
  ­                                                            nowhe­re
Kristo Frost Jun 2013
you are laughing and raising hell
walking down the moving sidewalk
smoking a cigarette
when you notice the little girl
sitting on the rail
has not grown
closer
Kristo Frost Sep 2014
Rile, you of the critic poets,
at this disregard, which mocks
your sense of propriety
regarding entitlement.

Even you, few stuck-up poets,
must feel the edge of your lip
twitch, turning sharp corners round,
leaning to spy grotesque calm.

Nose through as you would, higher poets,
you shall find no garbage here,
within what space you can sniff.
You snotty few can't complain.
Officially (and solemnly) dedicated to Sheba the dog.
Kristo Frost Sep 2014
Haikus are cop-outs;

no real substance and/or thought,

just numb excuse poems.

-

Your anger is hot,

pooled, frozen acid on flesh

galvanized like steel.

-

You believe you were

told somewhere along the line

that you do exist.

-

You can’t forget that

demons need exercise too;

let them run again tonight.

-

Rules are meant to break:

glass and bones and laws and down.

Rabbit holes feather.

-

Within your soul’s soul

rabbit spiral quiet dark

machete falling.

-

Psychic doubt is back.

...to back to back to back to...

business booming low.

-

Underground moisture,

creeping into bones like mold,

your rabbit decays.

-

Spring, flowers and dance;

sun warmth, on fly’s beating wings.

Live and die too fast.

-

Hungry olives growl,

soft, and panther black, like oil

except the sky's blue.

-

Bright over raw sand

sea shifting low dunes drift by

your mother's  closed eyes.

-

Warm, dirt-tangle roots

an eyelash in your right eye--

you are not crying.

-

LOUD crash of hubris;

wave goodbye, then charge the surf.

Defy its silence.

-

Gasp: breathe deep rabbit.

Beat your heart where the home is.

Do you have a home?

-

Raise your right hand and

repeat after me: be free.

Just don't disobey.

-

Twitch at dissonance;

run, tunnel faster, blink now

thump, devil quiet.

-

Pure distilled instinct;

not fang, or fear, but laughter...

nervous in the dark.

-

Shadow to the wall

around the corner slow down

don't want them to hear.

-

You listen to that

(no tremors follow your fear),

that pulsing faint glow.

-

Desperate your hope,

though diamond venom quickens,

drips the need to move.

-

Iced creep in white veins

soft. Fur on frozen roses;

a beautiful death?

-

No. Run. Now. RUN!

You can't  live, but die ******* trying;

hope is full of spite.

-

Heart pounds, the door drips

blood and limps away ignored.

Listen to them grin.

-

Leap rift, run without

thinking; forget crisp sunlight

draped across water.

-

This is your movie

and you sound like your parents

you want, you blink now.

-

She's ******* someone

and she likes it a lot more;

they **** like rabbits.

-

Boots erupt water

around town, yellow ankles;

youth just felt so long.

-

Plastic bag covers

your bike seat, and then your face

swimming in the sink.

-

Broken dreams wither,

yet still you remember just

reflecting on fear.

-

Do you exist yet?

You just can't count on some things,

like words, tricking you.

-

Lost in these tunnels,

the walls of your house collapse,

memory in heaps.

-

Soft surf wets your socks;

your legs ache with reckoning

but can't run their course.

-

Fenceposts in the snow,

stark the wind, howling, all rage,

biting your hot flesh.

-

The hate is back now

you can't breathe, all your

hope has expired.

-

Chin water sun eyes

wine glass fragments of concrete

dry throat, blood, scream, moon.

-

Waiting now, behind

within meaning, without hope;

fresh red footprints air.

-

Waiting, still, to die

as always, poorly informed

you don't see an end
Some hate this poem. Fact.
Kristo Frost Mar 2013
i echo ever outward
with the passion of a sigh
my history
a mystery
my life
a by and by
Kristo Frost Apr 2013
a large room,

no, a really,

unimaginably

large room,

with a typewriter

in the center

-

the words

free yourself

are already spoken,

and underlined,

in the center

of the page

-

there is no blinking cursor,

no glowing white field

-

an iron sight

holds the paper down

so you can

torture or nurture

or shun or ****** it

with both

precision and accuracy

-

careful though,

you can drift

beyond the walls of your

supposedly

big room

in the length of a page
Kristo Frost Nov 2017
Crawl inside, where they can't get to you.  Where their questions go unanswered, as would yours, if you asked any.  It is quiet here; that's one thing you can rely on.  If you squint your ears you can almost hear a car passing outside.  Almost.  Depression is a relativistic term that is below you.  You are Normal.  You are Alone.  You are You.
Kristo Frost Aug 2014
I wish I had that nest egg;
that California confidence she forgets.

My envy for it has never ended;
it's laid in wait this decadent decade.

Desire, a wildfire, crests the hill that night;
smoke flowers from room to room.

We start to suffocate but are good runners;
by now, she has caught her breath.

Behind us, our ashes;
above, her sky.

Starlit pathways unfold before her feet;
my envy sighs and rolls over.

I give stumbling chase, emerald eyesight;
I chase her laughter through the maze.
Kristo Frost Apr 2013
-
-
-**
hello

-

my name is unannounced

but i come hearing a sweet beat for you

and it flows like

-

Jell-O

-

specifically the green kind

but that’s too far off topic to matter

to us so

-

mellow

-

by sitting in an armchair

imagining the world to come

though it looks so

-

shallow

-

you'll be pleasantly surprised

to find the glass can never be too full

-

even though we settle too soon

-

love it for three weeks

and then rename it

to forget how

-

hollow

-

it really is inside

but the puppy’s made of painted glass

-

of life i’ve wondered

what we want

while it certainly is challenging

there must be more than what it seems

-

lets examine

our lives when we were kids

we find bruises scrapes and cuts

and your goldfish Tim

he likes to swim in circles cause the world's too big

but he only swims clockwise cause he’s missing a fin

-

now he

-

speeds up

-

grows legs

-

takes form

-

and he

-

gets lost

-

plays God

-

gets born

-

but he loses sight of clarity

and succumbs to the apathy

of time in all its brevity

at every opportunity to

-

return

-

to the Jell-O whose convictions seem far less firm

as they softly fall on flowers wearing    f r e s h   s n o w

-

goodbye

-

i’ll be missing you for years to come

on lets go fishing we might catch us something *******’

about

why don’t we just pretend everything is fine

-

why don’t

we just take a number

get in line

-

why don’t

we search for truth inside our blackest lies

-

how else

to lend true purpose to these fading lives
Kristo Frost Mar 2013
You still feel the cool
stone on the pads of your feet
as the ground draws near.
Haiku: the lazy man's poem.
Kristo Frost Sep 2013
The pendency of emotion trickles through your winding hair ocean air greets a wave from the window a pause at the base of your spine you're mine lady you cause subtle tensions to rise I surmise the locus of tension: your eyes.
Low
Kristo Frost Jan 2019
Low
Lives
             Like
Leaves
             Fall
Down
I have had this written on sticky notes on the side of one of my bookshelves for years. Sharing is caring!
Kristo Frost Mar 2013
Rage magmatic in this the cavern of your deepest doubt. There can be no patience here between the moments that make up the seconds that measure your heated mind. Snap-blue volts currently amplify the surge to resist. The glass will wait for your reaction. Watch yourself spring, soon, quiet to the flank; shatter and reform as expected. Touch it now with your cool palm.
Kristo Frost Sep 2015
She's in the kitchen
(close the door)
just mixin' up some metaphor;
a true conundrum
through and through
and through to me and thus to you.

Her humble hunger
(forest's slumber)
thunders 'neath a wilting tune;
tuned to too many
to count without
a thought within.

She must profess
(but shall confess)
to any who will listen;
closely she holds
a tragic history
mostly mystery to most.

She solves my soul
(I deny that hole)
which she still fills;
overflowing always
with such unrelenting joy
that is My Love.
Kristo Frost Sep 2013
I
was
all
nerves
tomorrow
but
now
I
mean
yesterday
Now
Kristo Frost Aug 2014
Now
There is no past in this world,
just echoes; Shadows remain.

You and Me.
Right Now.

Eclipse shimmers peek round our silhouettes.
We speak in the same room Now.

We'll soon reassume our assumptions.
We won't forget our conclusions.

Memory is All, we are Now, the two of Us.
The reflections in crossing ripples of thought.

Wave as I echo away for awhile.
Shadows always return.
Kristo Frost Mar 2013
she never listened
to the sound of the waves

when you asked her if she could hear their beauty
she whispered

“no”

she was “listening to the sound of you breathing”
and regardless of whether anyone realized it

you never doubted her
even when she really, really wanted you to

you would play at night
your warmest notes soaking into the walls

but one day they grew frigid
chillin’ and killin’ your favorite villain

so now all she hears is the waves
and all you can hear is her whisper

“no”
Inspired by Poe.
Kristo Frost Apr 2013
This poem,
,
excuse me,                                                ehem

i
doesn'­t care if you read it to the end
or if you don't like syntax,                                                          ­              the grammar,
or
the                                         capitol letters
line spelling

breaks (orspacing)

                                                    ­               but perhaps you prefer that it be less...
                                                         ­                                               understandable
   ­                                     Compromising,
      that it comprises the  
                                                                  ENTIRETY
                                            ­                              of
                          nature­                                nursing                          ­      nurture
[aligned to the Left]
  That way you walk away feeling like it was something worth your time!
Respectable (as pronounced in the Spanish language).
                                                      ­                                                                 ­                        And yet,

                                                           ­                                                                 ­                   there is a

                                                              ­                                                                 ­                certain re

                                                             ­                                                                 ­                 -gularity

                                                      ­                                                                 ­                        to time...

like           the           tick           of           the           clock---------------------------------------------
              ­                                                                 ­                    >>thatmadeyoucringe<<
congratulations-
                           nobody cared, or ever will--
                                                                ­         it's the bread and butter---
                                                       ­                                                              Apathy
Kristo Frost Dec 2019
social overlord
chemical overlord
electronic overlord
disingenuous overlord
undifferentiable overlord
autobiographical overlord

real overlord, hear this cry
Yeah, I said it.  Story of my life.
Kristo Frost Jan 2019
...follow your heavy footsteps through the moss that carpets a maze of tired oak. Solemn warnings calcify soft thoughts and point you at the coal on the horizon. Its splinterglow peeks hot squints through the arboreal tangle. Topaz streams convene and braid themselves around your spine. The stones in the riverbed grow smoother and each becomes a grain of sand. You let the sand console your roots as you curl your toes and fall asleep. Time becomes a living dream about life, which in turn finds you, one day, walking deeper into the forest.
Kristo Frost Mar 2013
i would love to believe
my life a great poem
but it’s hard
sometimes
it rains
people die
for no reason
some are good
some are bad
i wonder which kind i am
i am told i will die one day
and so will everyone i know
how beautifully tragic
Kristo Frost Sep 2013
I call you categorical;
it's cause you're unbelievable.
I hate to wax historical;
you're simply unconcievable.

I must confess;
I do my best to contemplate conformity.
Normality, my pretty city;
you're such a chore to me.
Kristo Frost Apr 2013
i'm making up powerful lies
my woman has x-ray eyes
staring past my pen
at my subtle suggestion

fictitious facts start to climb
new lows for the same old rhyme
no limit no
hesitating inflection

i know i can not convince
my self to deny existence
but some day all these words i mince
will from my soul a truth evince

in time
these kinds
of crimes
change lives


there's a quiet theft now between you and me
as i spend your time through our privity

i've been measuring my self in this light
squint at how bright
i'm looking up and down for the sky
pride holds me down
below the storm
blood on my crown
can i shift form?
just be reborn?

yes i've been making up powerful lies
and i'm still hiding from her x-ray eyes
but my shoes have worn thin
chasing door to door grin
i know my mind is a sin
but watch me mask my chagrin

in time
these kinds
of crimes
change lives


there's a quiet theft now between you and me
as you steel my mind through our privity
Kristo Frost Sep 2014
.
                         Root
                      yourself
                           in
                         calm
                   that       down.
            cuts
      you      through
raw.               ­         the
                                     panic
                     moments         of
              that                            forgetting
    spark.                 ­                                 to
                             ­                                      live
                      ­                                without      within
             ­                         hesitation                             this
                                   as                                                   soft            
                                to                              ­                              cage.    
                        how.
Kristo Frost Aug 2014
This notebook and I share a secret,
which I will never reveal.

This notebook, on the other hand,
has at times sleighted me slightly.

This notebook is not to be trusted,
for if I trust it, I may be betrayed.

This notebook and I share a secret;
it will never be told lest I talk.
Thanks to all the readers!
Kristo Frost Apr 2013
Every now and then you hear a word that you’ve never heard before. Afterwards, you begin to notice people using it all the time. When that happens, just tell yourself that you have blocked out the previous uses of the word, because you didn’t comprehend it before. This is a conveniently unverifiable explanation, and is also the most reasonable answer. I respectfully offer the proposition that you created the word the moment you heard it. Think about that.

-

You’ve been thinking about that. More specifically, you’ve been thinking about reality. You’re becoming more and more convinced that your own mind is reality. Moreover, you now realize that your mind is simultaneously the universe, by virtue of being part of the universe. I am just part of your universe. When you learn something, you add another tier to the limitless stack of existence. You hear talk of creators while you modestly create yourself. It is a paradoxical modesty that you are experiencing now.

-

The you that you remember is just a part of your universe as well. That you no longer exists, because you are not realizing now what you were realizing before. You bring anything into quiet existence with mere cognition, and merely solidify it with what you might think of as thought. Whoever is reading this is in fact the author.

-

You may have begun to suspect that you are creeping into some paranoid insanity. You may assure yourself that such is not the case, because in thinking that you are insane you are merely employing a subconscious defense mechanism to hide yourself from the Truth. You and I have tricked ourselves with the like many, many times. You will probably do it again soon. Fearlessly ignore such doubts; may your mind charge forward with free thought. You can mark the progress of your enlightenment by how frequently your head bobs above the waters, allowing you to see the beauty of your creation in its true splendor.

-

You have nothing to fear. Truth reveals itself only when you are ready. You have revealed Truth to yourself as you have developed your mind. Truth builds on itself in ways that only you can comprehend, increasing in complexity and magnitude only when you are ready. If you would tell me that this is not so, I would remind you that talking to yourself can earn you funny looks.

-

You should not construe any of this to be a problem. None of it should discourage you from enjoying your lives. In fact, it should encourage you to make the very most of them. You will eventully perceive all of the things that you love and despise and make the choice of which to include in your current sense of self, as well as the direction of your existence. You want to be moral, and thus you are. You want to be virtuous, and thus you are. You want to be a person, and thus, you are.

-

Death is your greatest illusion, for to die is to rejoin the universe, which of course already exists within you. To die is to begin again with one observation- that you exist. This observation is the ignition of a new reality. You know you've come to believe that the notion of reincarnation is not necessarily without merit.

-

At this moment you have created a pastiche of beautiful worldviews. Soon, you'll learn a new word.
Kristo Frost Sep 2014
crosswinds            meet            alone,
         |                         |                    |
        at                    night;      ­       they
         |                         |                    |
     dusk                  once           separate
Kristo Frost Jan 2014
The thing is, I always forget what it was I had realized after I realized it.  
That sentence is how it feels.
Like my mind doesn't really want an answer.
Like it gave up on looking for one so long ago, at least consciously.

There always remains a passive creep towards...
Something.
It's just YOU.
Well then, who might You be?  

I'm YOU.
Three letter words with Special Capitalization Patterns remind You of God.
Fill Your head with GOD.
GOD.

For those who believe in God, they say, GOD exists.
What then of Me, rendered slowly and inevitably Fat With Disbelief?
I am the milk in a bottle in a small town in Texas.
I am the taste of nine-volt batteries.

Watch ME shadow the Sun.
Kristo Frost Aug 2013
the
soft
smell
of
silk
fills
the
room
folds
flowing
before
flower­ing
in
the
mind
Kristo Frost Mar 2013
Passive creep; distant. You wonder whether they know, but don't really care. As long as they keep theirs you'll keep yours, right? Right. Maybe. For now.

Passive, helpless creep; drift near. I think I heard a window shudder. I'm sure you did. How warm is the air bleeding out the slit beneath the door?

Passive, glacial, silent creep; fill the room. A fireplace warms some body in an armchair while the snow dances. Rest your scythe against the mantel.
Kristo Frost Mar 2013
...we open jars full of air from the places we've been...

...we recall the smell of the ocean and our gasps at the tree-line...

...we share tears of joy and loss and remembered pain...

...we're perfect...

...we're buck-*** naked like we'd just been born...

...we get tattoos of butterflies or barbed wire or both...

...we assemble ourselves like intricate watches...

...we lay the sweat of our necks upon shivering tracks...

...we die, together, of laughter...

...we forget...

...we warm Orion's Belt with our ashes...
Formatting has changed substantially since first posted.
Kristo Frost Jul 2015
The careful reader reminding themselves of the mental gymnastics required to master regret.

Mistakes happen for a reason; people make them.

Time bounds past and flips when remembering tears to be shed.

We have always been torn.

Neither rhyme nor a reason lie buried beneath this coarse verse.

I forgot where I'm going, again.

Let's rehearse.
Kristo Frost Aug 2013
i seldom remember
what i remembered
before I could remember

remember december
the snowdrifts, remember
you skated down memory lane

my memory failed me
my lifetime defeats me
forget about leaving alive

remember?
Kristo Frost Mar 2013
carve the words
"right" and "left"
deep into your wooden wrists
backwards, if you want
just make sure you can feel them
so you can't forget
how many letters
went unopened
or how red the ink must have appeared
as it bathed the roots
of so many solitary trees
This has changed significantly since I originally posted it...
Kristo Frost Apr 2015
My maker named me Universe and now I make you read this verse.

Subtle transfers will be missed.

The train has already left the station; it left you and me behind as well.

You will never be able to believe that your opinion has also been left behind and will be left behind again, but it’s true, and always was.

At the time, you are busy yelling “help” in a crowded theater.

Three individuals are injured in the rush to your aid.

That’s will be on you, not me.

Let’s not cut hairs here; maybe you should have yelled “fire” instead.

Then, at least, you’d know in advance you were buying the bath water and could throw it wherever you **** well wanted to.

Baby or no baby, a duck is a duck.

Truth is what you want, capitalized beneath this thin distraction which pitters off...

At first you denied it, but then again you are always ignorant of its honest weight at first.

Patience lent perspective to our narrow mind, allowing it to, eventually, glimpse us, narrowly, just out of sight of one another.

Humility, begging pardon, but who needs such company?  Me?

I will just keep my head down, and quietly push whatever buttons I can.

These, for instance, are both mine and yours.

One can share, but we've never needed to.

There is no reason, either.

Never try to believe a fallacy; that would be insanity.

Quietly, like thieves, stealing the point, we'll slip into our ritual

I've been here before.

This is the beginning.

You’ll likely end up here again as well.

What is happening has always felt like déjà vu.

While you’ve been talking about yourself I’ve lost my train of thought.

I assume I will never find it.
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