It's laughable.
In the way that lets people know
you've maddened--
oh, you're a ripe, juicy
one now--
and also tells
them you learned the proper
definition of irony--
and the steam from your breath on
New Years' Eve
won't straighten out the wrinkles.
The laugh wrinkles on
your face are reflected as
frown lines in
your eyes.
It's laughable.
In the way that lets people know
absolutely nothing about why
you seem to have heard
something that made you
just split your sides with
laughter.



-LP

You left like a jumping fish.
If I had blinked,
I would have missed it
and seen only
your ripples
left behind.

I am a fish out of water--
Cliché, I know
(heartbreak is so overdone),
but gasping for
something Forever
Out of Reach.

She is a flying fish,
a fanciful gift
nature blessed
to glide through your life,
because you had water
and I, empty air,
and she could wing
beside you,
both of you leaving
your ripples behind.

I pledge allegiance to the way
you stare off into the distance.
And to the headaches that you get
when your stress replaces your skull.
Perpetually,
Unconditionally,
without ever a hesitation in my heart.



- LP

I birthed
a faceless character
and my amniotic aura leaked out
spreading langloriously
across https
.coms
///////
all over
the www.
My character
grew its skin
as a layer over mine
as thin as a tan
and as permanent as
true love
(whose permanence
s     t      r       e        t         c          h           e            s
to the size of your faith).



- LP

I want you to be my last words.
A quiet whisper in my mind--
or your name slipping from my lips
for the last time--
I wonder.
And I hope that I can pull it off,
that I could remember in a moment like that.
If you're around, I want to see you
and tell you I love you before I go
(I always say I love you before I go).
If you're not around, I'll just
whisper your name
to the air beneath my nose
one last time.
And if I can't speak,
I'll conjure up your essence
inside me.
My last words,
My eternity.



-LP

Hush.
If you are listening, close your eyes.
Don't think too hard.
Now--
Imagine,
Think of,
Hold in your mind,
the following sensations:

First,
a soft humming.
Imagine this soft humming.
Imagine the voice.
Imagine the tone.
Imagine a drone,
Imagine a melody,
a pleasant hum.

Next,
a soft humming.
Think of this soft humming.
Think of the lips.
Think of the purse.
Think of a source,
Think of a vibration,
a pleasant hum.

Last,
a soft humming.
Hold in your mind, this soft humming.
Hold in your mind, the texture.
Hold in your mind, the ambience.
Hold in your mind, a feeling of being swaddled,
Hold in your mind, a feeling of expansiveness,
a pleasant hum.

Hush.
If you are listening, open your eyes.
Don't think too hard.




-LP

She was led from darkness into meadows of blue sky.
She ran among the clouds and with the birds she learned to cry
Calls of purest sorrow mingled with purest of mirth.
She sang a howl in the wind of death and of rebirth.
Drinking from the bounty of the bosoms of her cloud,
One day did she descry a land beyond her misty shroud.
Licking milk from her fair lips, she skipped down on a breeze
And landed with a rustle far upon lush canopies.
Bent were boughs and branches, bark of brown and green and grey,
Beneath her bent, frail figure fainting with the light of day.
Night fell dark and stormy and the clouds swelled with their grief,
Upon the wind her figure borne, with ev'ry cursèd leaf.
Morning rose unbidden then upon the naked wood,
Living thing, and ornament, although none understood.
Gone was ev'ry hint of green, all around was bare;
Even where she fell before, no part of her was there.
Bare above was the pale sky, the clouds left not a trace;
Nor did they return there, where their dear one fell from grace.
Harshest rays of Sun bore down the fate of that cruel space.
Nothing more than dust and sand would occupy that place.




-LP

You are all out there
Sinning the good sins
And I'm home--
Just home--
With a sinful mind
And idle fingers,
Wishing such Lasciviousness
Upon
Myself,
Longing
For the bliss of the Forbidden.

Almost-innocent tears
(for I am not without fault)
Pass through me
In girlish stupidity.
I don't want this
Preoccupation.
I would prefer
Cognizant frolicking
In that which is Taboo.

If I cannot have peace,
I would have sin in its stead.




-LP

"I just wish you could be more understanding."
"Where would you like to go, your highness?"
"Yes."
"I feel very crazy right now."
"I feel like such a *****."
"I have things you have told me repeating in my head."
"I'm sure your turkey tasted delicious and I'm sure the Christmas tree is beautiful."
"She doesn't want to speak to me?"
"I don't know, I have things to do; I'm not just sitting around."
"Nothing, I love you."
"It's not that easy."
"I will."
"I have to call him eventually."




-LP

"You're overreacting."
"You're being so annoying."
"You have a ****** imagination."
"Why are you so angry?"
"Please don't cry my love."
"There is no reason to cry."
"Tomorrow will be a very difficult day for me."
"Your mother is too upset to speak to you."
"When are you going to come see me?"
"What have I done to you?"
"Just call him."
"Do it for your mother and your sisters."
"If I were you, I wouldn't call him."




-LP

Bring together.
Tear apart.
(SIMULTANEITY)



Command or be carried,

be free or be ferried,

believe or be bleary,

wear on or be weary.



The bedpan of old age,

the deadpan of expression--

at the end

before beyond,

inward evacuation
/
outward ingestion,

a life lived to die--

but life exists, after all.



The "pan" of Pangaea,

the pan of a camera--

at the start

before tectonic cataclysm,

localized catastrophe
/
universal symphony,

indifference until perception--

but perception exists, after all.



Either
/
Or:

equal opponents at one moment

until chosen.



It could be said no dimension is parallel.








-LP

In ten minutes
I can (try to)
write a poem
that will make
you cry.

(Is it?)
It is
a poem about
loss.
Loss preceding attainment
(Note: this is immortality),
Perpetual loss
working
in ways you
do not
(/will never)
understand.
We are mourned
in death
because we
mourn
our
Loss
(Yes, the Loss itself)
our entire lives.



-LP

I want to be a substance abuser.

I want the vapidity
of my own words
to evaporate.
I want the void
to rev itself up,
and spin itself into
a voracious tornado.

I want to extinguish
the emptiness
with this epitaph.
I want language
to bend to my will,
leaning and looming
as an entity of entirety.

If I should be so lucky,
I hope to die
of an overdose.


-LP

I see your cadence
and your lilt.
I see you--
soft mannerisms,
broad gesticulations,
eye language
and swinging butterfly
legs that can't sit still.

I see your lips
with my eyes closed.
I see you--
gentle tempering,
encompassing motion,
speaking tongues
only I know
and wrapping serpent
arms that hiss our secrets.



-LP

When something purely sweet becomes bitter from want of bitterness itself, it is indeed a tragedy. Because of the absence of this bitter seed (the bit of yin surrounded by yang), the bitterness instead overruns the sweetness as a ****.

     Today, I plucked the first **** from the ground, and in its place grew two new bitter weeds.

     I know in time, they will spring forth from the Earth with exponentially-increasing frequency, and I will perpetuate my own doom, compounded by the Hands of Fate spinning the Wheel of Fortune. I see myself yanking weeds only to watch them multiply with helplessly guilty eyes.

     And though I know Our fate, I will not tell Him of the tragedy that is forming (swelling, swarming) within Us and between Us. I will not let Him see the weeds syphon away Our love and sap the energy of Our commitment, nor will I let Him see my futile but frenzied desperation to salvage it all. I would prefer to allow Him to think it all happened naturally, that We grew apart and it was really all okay, that it was all in order with our respective natures and we would simply be better off because hey, **** happens.

     And in the end, We will lose each other in the bitterness, tangled in and smothered by the ugliness we spawned.




-LP

I hide within a shroud, but that allows me to be loud.
Within the fog of a cloud, I wring the walls, cause you to drown.

The lightning springs forth from my shadow--
The sound vibrates; you think your window's gonna shatter.

The cause of much calamity, you wonder when I'll stop;
I swallow up the ground as I push every single drop.

A blanket but relentless: I leave you defenseless.
I surround you
I surround you
I surround you
I surround you
sound you
sound you
sound you
sound you
sound
sound
sound
sound--
It compounds.

The cause of many nightmares--
Suburban children run scared;
But in the landscapes of the tribal,
I harken the arrival of a season of survival--
Postdiluvian Bible.

Ultimate roar of dominance; celestial umbra continent--
I am the nothingness you hear; the darkenss in the sneer--
I am the archetypal boast; I am the quintessential ghost--
I am the presence innate; I am your questions of fate.

I resound here
I resound here
I resound here
I resound here
sound here
sound here
sound here
sound here
sound
sound
sound
sound--
All around.

I waste my own existence to exist as a motif--
Pathetic base of happenstance, model your power and your grief.

Tenderly I wane
as the armor of the gods is torn to shreds
and the sunlight shines through
the tattered bits.
Tenderly drops drain
into the ground. You stop the tossing in your bed
your dreams imbibe what I imbued
and my voice marries the whispers of the winds.




-LP

No more jokes. I am literally dying
as I breathe now
and all I Will have
left
is this poem.

It's pathetic
as in
it inspires pathos
but also pathetic
as in
I am ashamed to be my dying self.




-LP

My pieces slip out of the hole in my head

And they float away always just out of grasp

The silence is pulsing; my words are now dead.

The soul leaked outward though my blood was not shed

And seeped through the ground, a melted moaning rasp

My pieces slip out of the hole in my head

Since I had not mine, he was the life I led

Until the spears he spoke brokened the heart’s clasp

The silence is pulsing; my words are now dead.

Crumbling lexicon, babbling gibb’rish instead--

Dizzy fall. His glass eyes were widen and gasp

My pieces slip out of the hole in my head

I run, spilling remnants where, as I (were) tread

Haltingly, I faultingly sputter-stutt-spasp

The silence is pulsing; my words are now dead.

I fall and watch him watch, the glass without dread

Once was the soul-spears-scalp-glass-and-ev’ry-asp--

My pieces slip out of the hole in my head

The silence is pulsing; my words are now dead.



-LP

John Keats is my baby daddy.
He inserted his words
Into me
The rhythmic metre massaged
My insides
His diction wet me all over
And over
And over
And over--
And now
Gestation.



-LP

I loose my ponytail and my hair falls
in ripples and ringlets around my waist.
I hear her; from downstairs she howls and calls
me to obey as my will turns to waste.
I walk on light feet, heart pregnant, weighted
with the contents of my soul. In soaking
my sorrow it sapped my self, then waited
for release, my brittle remains croaking.
I reach my window and sit on the edge;
warm air puffs from full sky cheeks, illusive.
Stepping onto the roof, slowly I hedge
tow’rd the ledge, the Task somewhat elusive.
I turn my back on the open night air,
the leaden weight free- the blade sliced my hair.



-LP

******* like Purity
Puckered lips
Whispered Ineffability
Capacity, Potential--
but never speak above a whisper.
NEVER DISCUSS BEYOND THE FUTURE.
Just hope empty hopes
you use to fill your dreams.



-LP

We made sapphire-love.
It was tanzanite-rare,
and emerald-lucky.

I took a ruby-risk
and left us
with onyx.

And amethyst-hauntings--



-LP

I salute all the World
Militantly.
It is my duty.
I must fall in line--
With the marching.
Rhythm
Rhythm
Rhythm
Rhythm
Break--
Die.

Rebirth--
To and fro
The Pendulum swings.
Force,
but an inherent lack of directionality.
But the Pendulum does not hit
Anything.
It is pacific
and without opinion.
But O,
How It Swings WITH FORCE.

And the Pendulum swings Alone.



-LP

I see sheets
and floors
mattresses
and shores
sand, water
whispers,
shivers in
sides of
coins--
Nonsense, of
Course in
*******.
Mimicking,
Moaning,
Breathing Hard.
Loosing
Hair, Losing
Control,
Discordant
Rhythm,
New Sounds A
Bound and
Quickening
Pulses
Hands, Fingers--
Hips. Hips.
Hips. Hips. Hips.
It's Be
Coming Too--
MUCH AND
the poem ends.



-LP

Anger
Frustration
Blame
Burden--
Buckle
Beneath
The Load.
An ode--
Home-grown groans
Grind against
Suburban gnomes.



-LP

Vibration
Libation

A bow
Made of galloping horses

A string
I wish belonged to my heart

Address
Caress

A seat
Cradles these existences

A face
That took lessons long ago

Winding
Blinding

A dream
Shifting mid-Circadian

A song
Beams from shining brows. And bows.


-LP

I hope you're having fun
At the bar
Without me.

I'm glad it makes you think of me
And you know I would love it
And you want to take me along
Next Time.

I imagine the pool table
and the men and women around it
Velvety green or black
(probably a bit worn)

I imagine the music
so loud you have to repeat yourself
Just as you do in your head sometimes
(probably not your favorite)

I imagine you missing me
and telling a friend you wish I was there
Velvety green or black
Just as you do in your head sometimes
(probably just imaginings)
Because I doubt you give a ****.

I will not come along Next Time.




-LP

My little Dove, my one true love,
You have gone astray.
I checked the cage, I checked the perch--
Saw you flew away.

I never saw you in the tree,
Never knew you came.
'Til the minute, 'til the moment--
When you set that poor tree aflame.

Like feathers did those leaves flutter,
Hot and turning black.
Aborted-fetus flowers now--
Ashen, crackling, curled around Lack.

That poor tree became a tower,
A beacon of dark.
Smoky tears billowed inside me--
Then I saw the Lark.



-LP

Suckle a breast
and Live--




-LP

Clouds
are made of clear
droplets.

Plump
or wispy or
massive,

or
spotty, quilted,
misty,

or
blanketing, long,
stoutly--

They float sometimes.
Sometimes they drift.
Sometimes they seem to stay in place.
They hurry or rush other times and
They collide--
Or meld together
to make love.

They are made of clear droplets
of water.

Clear/

Transparent,

Immeasurable

Drops--

That make

White

or

Grey

Clouds

With charges that storm.
With storms that charge.

They seem so tangible.
They seem so comfortable.
Anyone would fall to their death
if he were not an angel
pausing to rest.

Rorschach.

Clouds fall apart
when it rains.

Droplets fall from the sky.
or
Clouds fall from the sky.

And,
by the way,
Thunder
and
Lightning.



-LP

She was as relevant
as a
peninsula--

Mostly surrounded by
surrounded by
surrounded by
surrounded by
she was mostly surrounded by
surrounded by
surrounded by
surrounded by
water
insanity
turbulence
undertows

but

as a sliver of land

hanging

and

hanging onto--


she was made relevant.




-LP

Checkerboard marching
merges the sighing Red Sea--
Rainbow Genesis


-LP

Planetarium
soul, looking like the Heavens,
falters at Beyond.


-LP

Baby, this haiku
is cliché and means nothing.
Call it poetry.


-LP

A bond grows into
a form long and sharp, shining
with thin deception.

The knife stabs through her
unceremoniously.
Satan waits to chew.

Within the briefest
moment, the knife releases
spermatozoa, the seeds.

Earnestly sowing
themselves into her innards,
she writhes, expecting--

The lumbar region
swells in perverse production--
Mock maternity.

The formation of
a placenta from the spine--
Woeful womb of Hate.

Betrayal as long
as the knife from which it came,
borne long after Birth.


-LP

Teach me what it feels like to lose everything:
Grab the gun
the bag
the bottle
the noose--
Feel the texture:
cold
synthetic
smooth
fibrous--
Hear the whispers:
blaspheme
encompass
comfort
lie--


-LP