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3d · 22
obleek trilogy
matt r 3d
end with music like a winestain
wrap a shoulder in reflux dig ur
talkn from ur throat its no good

its question time for the dreamers
is there really such thing as cheez
or is it just some joke im not in on

untuc ur shirt like u walk a churchgoer
whip nocturns back like a duvet o pluto
u infest stronomic beds like bredcrums
exploring nonsense. not that u don't know that.
4d · 43
dans le rouge
matt r 4d
punched in my fat wine gut & lethargy
spills like a capri-sun punctured. each
step errs like a slurred word and each
stumble's a fumble for the right curse.

oh! despair is a soft orange glow cast
-ing shadows on my throat and i think
i might just ride the sunflares to dusk.
remember me when you see a red sky.
not the usual whimsy i must admit.
5d · 106
oh-so virtuoso
matt r 5d
here my lexicon shimmers
like a mirage of flecks upon
the window of a reversing car,
so not getting run over requires
elegance; the intelligence to glean
what really makes a poem irrelevant!
when you read my oh-so virtuoso prose
let my lack of substance turn up your nose;
your letters get longer but paper gets thinner
some nonsense on nonsense?
matt r 5d
the moon bobbed like a lure
rain and other drugs ran off
his coat the whaleskin creak   (s)

like a fishing rod missing the
hook it casted on some z-axis
it gifted a girl the fate of laika

took a vacuum to the beach
we call andromeda the dust
leaked oh aries has a mother
5d · 37
limbo trilogy
matt r 5d
shrug the armistice from your
shoulders you little teapot you
brew peppermint rain in vain

in doors we dance like monet's
girls i saw you tiptoe into glass
like a still pool of stomach acid

we talk of throwing music out
the window would it be littrin
to play o-love-me-love-me-not?
Dec 2024 · 374
monday trilogy
matt r Dec 2024
rainfall tangoes on my tongue
it tastes like metal tonight my
bullet teeth could say anything

two purple books sit tails between
their legs on my coffee table ran
-som notes to my temporal cortex

low speakerbuzz like a 1979 sci-fi film
i cast my mind like fishhooks;thewires
a two-stop tramline everything will be

ok?
think im gonna try and do exercises where i just write out what comes to my head without hesitation or editing + embrace random abstract thought?
Dec 2024 · 53
to:gemma
matt r Dec 2024
i passed 13 pigeons on my way
to the café. am i corny to hope
someone happened to spread
more breadcrumbs than usual?
crossing under the bridge my
wet shoes left psalms upon the
staircase opposite the pub we
drank in two days ago. we talked
about carol & vivian maier and i
felt the wind. wind like atom fin
-gers wrenched the door open
and ran themselves across the
table up my arms and down my
shirt right through the neck-hole.
wind like knees to a chest, maybe.
good luck on your travels !
Dec 2024 · 54
to:milli
matt r Dec 2024
some guy. some man to find
his, as the old veteran put it
, "special lady" or something.
we're made of the same old
stuff, you & i. the very cotton
that binds us to our shoes and
our shoes to pavement and
the pavement to the sky. in
-verse the slant on what it
means to know how someone
looks after waking up in the
morning. how you feel when
you realise you've been sleep
-ing on a bed of fries and
burger lettuce. when you
accidentally box their nose
blue. you, some cosmic com
panion you turned out to be.
a digital ode to a very good friend of mine.
Dec 2024 · 50
low poly man
matt r Dec 2024
my shoulder aches like a gift
- like a punch-holed receipt
for thrifted yen. i died tonite
when i saw your shirt. i died
when i paid and left the traffic
to stick double-quick needles
into my dead-numb chest.
sew the rain into my veins.
stitch into me a never-ending
thread of longing. i don't have
to be a poet or scientist to know
that i'd rather die than admit
i'm not good-looking.
trying something a bit different. i should
remember there's no committing to style.
Dec 2024 · 58
10a.fm
matt r Dec 2024
people look so silly under the spell
of friday's grooving radio hum:
they trip and fall over miles of tiles
when gin tins leave their shoes untied;
its showtime under the ambergreen lights!

seven o'clock and motor breath
turns to head-seeking missiles, i duck
under a stop where frostbite seeks
to hide its fingers in my socks
"i'm not ready to end!"

"it hasn't yet begun!"
seven twenty and here's my bus!
a giant metal knight with wiper swords
and a two-door parting shield
... i check if my feet have healed

engines ruminate over their revolutions
and rumble and grumble on deaf ears
cautionary tales of last week's anteeks...
but not all roads lead to rome, fortunately,
some lead to queen's square

...my toes are warm now
Dec 2024 · 93
the moon my dame
matt r Dec 2024
(J) the moon forgets the day she was hung
up in the sky with comet chains; rung
like fingers, rings and bells among
...
every sultry blackscreen of purple-hot tar;
bathe the sins of each marble-hot star
[like cosmic change spread 'cross a bar] (1)
,
so screaming ¿redwhite? rockets dine in shame
of their solar jurisdiction! their lunar game
ignites the dame's afterburning blame
more utter silliness !

(1) guy scutellaro - the wishing well
Dec 2024 · 308
#7
matt r Dec 2024
#7
a sharp-dressed woman
spilt the stars across the sky
(her dress had pockets)
matt r Oct 2024
as the drumline spiels his deal,
his baseless accusations ring
the bell behind your eyes! sing!
mimic his air! your cacophonous snare
shouts like an °astronaut° on a •space-walk•

promise! never let the cold take hold
of your reptile brain; you're half unsaid!
why must you let the louder half spread
his legs in ecstasy? you deal in chastity!
who are you? some [ sci-fi ***** ]?

you can't be saved from your retroflex grave,
so dare to live where no rhyme scheme toes
the line of ~ cosmically acceptable ~ prose,
see? nothing matters!  - this jawless chatter
asks "who are you? some cerebral *****?"

"an ugly *****!!!" you might retort
but self-awareness does not absolve
the sins of online vanity; dissolvvve
me, untrue - drown in pixels green and blue
or wake up
                     in the nothingness
                                                     ­  of the space-walk
what a load of nonsense ey !!!
matt r Oct 2024
it's funny to imagine time as walking;
would he wear little boots? au naturale, perhaps?
would he get tired? bored? would he relapse
to the classic passtime of beat-step stalking
the second hand round the clock face?
think! a formless concept in real space...

so then, why would this "distance" matter?
i could wave my hand - open a portal
up between moments; our newly immortal
honeymoon periods served on a platter
well - why not? it's a trick; the reverse
of our father's relativity to our universe
a plath-esque attempt* at a flirty confession

*(one could only dream)
Oct 2024 · 188
#5
matt r Oct 2024
#5
birds feast on daybreak
worms; threads of song borne from dirt
salvaged as dusk wind
Oct 2024 · 79
#4
matt r Oct 2024
#4
seconds drag; their limbs
line the hallways while we sleep:
yesterday's awake
Oct 2024 · 193
#2
matt r Oct 2024
#2
feel the air thicken;
neurons twist around your throat,
sleep, and save your breath
inspired by scrib :-)
Sep 2024 · 74
the collider's heir
matt r Sep 2024
dizzy; lose focus and choke on air,
i, the hadron collider's heir,
last saw you still, and clearly
to die so sincerely
contorts the atoms
to blurs of waves,
i can't stop,
you won't
save
a nonet.

— The End —