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Jan 2019 · 415
mike dm Jan 2019
my binary atoms are
being smeared wet and mucosal
like holes flexing and swelling
like being queen of the all-all's
watching their heads roll into
tentacles that are serving me
dropping ontologically immanent grapes
into my mouth and fanning me
with hexagonal cleopatras glistening
and all the whorl is a place to feast
Jan 2019 · 397
mike dm Jan 2019
these asshaberdashers
are hung on the wall
but can't win in the end
Jan 2019 · 404
mike dm Jan 2019
old light. there's
mold on your

your me
is flipped through
photo album. i am

somewhere between
the solar spasms,
deleted and spatial,
****** off. holding

no grudge, i
just can't care
that hard anymore. all

i want is
soaring silent synths
and eyes, mine, closed,
holding vacuums on the lids.
Jan 2019 · 266
mike dm Jan 2019
poems write me
in my slumber
and then i forget them
later. sometimes they
are so good i feel like
this hell is something else
Jan 2019 · 323
mike dm Jan 2019
what is will
when the wind
has us. is there
such a thing,
i wonder. i
really do
Jan 2019 · 278
mike dm Jan 2019
i'm bad luck. struck sad and oblate
weary, dedicated to the swearing ground.
chivalric pulp, my pages
don't bind like they used to.

rhyme me sad. adder fluent, sistines
vaunt these heads of mine. but wise
enough to feel these molecules murmer
and mouth the corvid in the wellwater.

annihilated profiles in my coming wake.
i am bad luck and prose. slipped
my shadow, i walk a bare life.
not broken anymore. not here all the way.

don't canter.
never could.
haven't loved. will

of a ghost. hell, i see ancestors
trailing behind me
in a mass of quadruped brutes
black as the day i was born
and sounding a great horn
made of gold and unprophecy,
babblings of a river older than talk.
Jan 2019 · 428
trapperkeeper eater
mike dm Jan 2019
depression is like finding
a phillip morris pack
of cigs left behind the drywall
in an old burb splitlevel tract house
now being renovated.

you bust down a wall
to make room for
a new space only
to find old ways,
cute and smarmily nostalgic.

billboards of then,
marlboro men.

it's no michelangelo.

the not-too-far-back past
is a looseleaf ghost
binding you in three rings,
one of which won't snap
shut all the way, letting you
be here and there, drinking
your dumb boring blood
like a can of tab soda
from the cafeteria vending machine

replacing your numbered collarbone
with a googol of transfinite plateaus.
Jan 2019 · 326
mike dm Jan 2019
is there anyone out there
that is actually real or
am i just being spammed
by the void?

i think the void is
definitely spamming me but
why would it when
every single person
is following it?
Jan 2019 · 227
mike dm Jan 2019
tumescent ruin,
grabbing my
pompeii. mass grave
palming after massive
onslaught from those
unmasses of
darkest mame always.
Jan 2019 · 305
and scene
mike dm Jan 2019
drinking hard cider in
the dark. the art
of sad is mine.
Jan 2019 · 329
mike dm Jan 2019
i love you - i
always have -
like natural flavors.

and just as the sun's hurt knee
is yellow number five,
my pale blue flame is underneath
the bottom of fate

looking for a good home cooked meal.
Jan 2019 · 212
botany monotony
mike dm Jan 2019
i cut carrots and kale
and eat it w soup
delaying the doom of this, this
Dec 2017 · 826
don’t quote me but
mike dm Dec 2017
the dark
is just a star
slow rainbow soup
Dec 2017 · 1.0k
kissyface killer
mike dm Dec 2017
twofist head muscle: kineval.
but really iz jus 2:15
shoelacegazing in a prefab park gazebo.

texty fingertip slinger.
chase that dragon.
kickin fake jordans
in a tomb called Khufu

diffuse serial NOONSDAY scenario:


yuh know, that


from alphabet soup news to
netfizzle huludoodoo,
twiddling its Neros.

V iz for silent
in the actual voodoo
that’s been silenced
with dogooder silencer.

this is all so
prolly. so
follow me.

anyway resistance is feudal, ‘cause
evil doth hearts a good fight.

“evolve?! nevar!”
quoth the flat noted, dorsal
Dept. of Unkindness
Dec 2017 · 608
those cookie-cut indigos
mike dm Dec 2017
from the foam come
uncupboarded hoary-eyes wide,
once more, too
Dec 2017 · 647
flower thorn
mike dm Dec 2017
august december sun
showing itself around here, again.
the nerve.
Dec 2017 · 485
mike dm Dec 2017
him, a tiny
speeding into the void coy.
easily disposable. the paper
head can only fold
so many times.
yet mind
the liminal and

you too
can heal.

— yes,
even you.


with a routine flat gaze
through smudge on the window
on a train. it arose

orthogonal, from

one space where
felt helicals hold
the pause of holy.

he knows
this place
not well.
he feels
to the task.

like it’s too late.
like he is an idiot.
like his time is up.

each of
his small rooms
that make him
him is
coated with a
light film of whetted necrosis,

the sharp dust, to come.

but at the epicenter
of each sits
an old woman with
braided hair blacksilverwhite down
to her knees, speaking
looping words which, upon
hitting stolid air of
pyramidal hymn, manifest
sound images in three directions:

of those horrors to come
that, if not
taken at a glance,

of wobbly peace
and tranquil eddy
that heal, all in all;

of fretted final causes
where arrow of our earth-shot
finally ends up. and

upon her forhead
writ in the ledger
of four parallel
wrinkles were:

is the inside,
keep a rattle
close by, seeker
Nov 2017 · 431
u can leef it in tha ellac
mike dm Nov 2017
arapnoia next
to me, and
three amaryllises of
bella. the pride

is pose juxty to
the cloud battybrained,
clearly. so

tax the syn and jus be
Nov 2017 · 349
mike dm Nov 2017
neuron off the grid
three hands on the wall fall
eyes on the prism hid visions of


cement sidewalk head dandelioned
spaghetti-o code everywhere
grammarsplatter pattern augers up grays
i think im gonna be ok visions of


signals comin in immanent
primal info before ire set
seams solidified iami visions of

mike dm Nov 2017
undead city
layered spiffy
eat brains at discount
Nov 2017 · 519
mike dm Nov 2017
habit is at
my elbow, tho
scenes not small too
flank the left
ulna. hell,

w a flick
of the wrist
i could commission
a fistless head squawk bloom. but this

viscous, if
lag of lead and
cadmium sapped, ack-

a vision,
also. all

have a voice,
no matter how
crude or

the hydra, for
instance, has a mouth-
ful of

jet-void smaller daff-
odils milling and
mauling tall, i am beautiful
because i  
am here
amid it all
for such
a little bit
Nov 2017 · 365
swing sets
mike dm Nov 2017
yesterday i chose love
but then it swung.

the throat
of grided

i found

a view

it skipped
over waters which
merely glinted
at first,

but then i
out of
the corner
of my eye and

the water

in the harbor.
it carved

a kind of
geometry; i felt
short little
liquid daggers
stop these
hard eyes:

sea birds
glide and
dip along
air currents, making
and landing in the water
with this
grace that
was like
play; then they

would dive deep
to fish (?) i counted
46 seconds for one;
62 for another. i wondered
if they got anything,
or if they were just
trying to see how
far down
they could go..

the breeze
was cooled.
it felt so
right. and i
could feel - i mean -
actually ******* feel. and
the nuerons on
my mouth
spoke to
my head.

but then my
dropped and

retraced its
steps back
to the grids
of them,
the cut slab
of have.

ppl not
walking but
more like
falling on their
legs. feet rooting or
cutting deep into brick,
staring at thine
rectangle pocket entity,
efficient, dressed
in their conquerer’s best,
layered up,
shiny and
brand new. it was

as if
their father’s
sword had
undergone mitotic
division and
whetted the face to


i could
their fate.

it was
then that

i heard the
that will
eat me
call my
other name; the one
that i have long
shut-up in a box whose
label is unintelligible

i then
ate pizza
cheese and
for them
Nov 2017 · 488
mike dm Nov 2017
we all get to have gold jackets
when the sun comes up, again
that ferrari thought is just a pumpkin
Feb 2017 · 982
note to selves
mike dm Feb 2017
keep it simple
just a wrinkle
calm as flower

pedaling fingerfelt winter sun

(if only
if only)
Feb 2017 · 825
sisyphus smiley face
mike dm Feb 2017
“Important message from Pioneer credit to cover Inc. my name is Larry Stevens requires a visor is communication is from a debt collection company is attempt to collect a debt and information jammies purpose please call my office at 1-888-287-4431 please use reference 125-** to get my name is Larry Stevens please call me back at 1-888-287-4431 thanks…”
Was this transcription useful or not useful?
Feb 2017 · 1.2k
mike dm Feb 2017
the ever briggy snapperjab,
once as trallhup as spacescrapers,
had his woo jotty happenstance
jejuned and nooned

and i soon saw
that i too was too much tooned
in the known visible wavelurf
where roving fate is ghosted
by inexhorrorbull ringly meedecree
of blingee choo choo Hist-o-Then

ever since,
my crave
has castled me down
into whitened gray limb petrify

where diggy beclouded sendersave replaces
Feb 2017 · 1.1k
another sophia
mike dm Feb 2017
and she spoke,
and her lips were myth;
her tongue, song:

forehead scar shone
lodes of rune
re-membered ember
of yesteraeon soot cooked
sitting fire in ashen ire re-sired

without him

her self
felt, *******
clod alive

tooth of skull
culled forth
bone spoken
tomes uttered

and i felt her light enter
this dilating space
of ebb and ruin and alone

stile of mine
thresheld, again
footfall of wynd,
blown open
into dope field sprung swim
Feb 2017 · 884
if you ever
mike dm Feb 2017
if you ever meet
any little differences out there,
then run: find
a yellow lukewarm,
well-lit square
to take care
of you.

all those
who loved me
i've ran from

if you ever come across
unusual syntactical arrangements
in your head,
**** 'em off w good ol'
reverent dread.

all those
who love me
i run from

if you ever stumble upon
weird words strung together
while on the bus,
cut em off quick w
well-worn scripts.

all those
who will love me
i will run

if you ever cross paths
w themes juxtaposed irrationally
in the fridge,
eat the hummus on the door ---
not the severed finger in the crisper drawer,
signaling for you to come closer;
closer still..

all those
who have love
run run ruuuuuun
Feb 2017 · 1.7k
waning yeses
mike dm Feb 2017
i wanna be the sun so bad
but this moon spoons
my dark spaces so v good
Feb 2017 · 1.3k
this is jus a poem
mike dm Feb 2017
sidelong wakesleep
her face halved
in periwinkle sheets

one sun stripe
zips down the room
partioning the dark

toes yawn
under the sheets
inadvertently scratching me

her breath
so much more (or less)
than i could ever poet
Feb 2017 · 484
mike dm Feb 2017
My powers halved,
I am laid by four walls -
orthogonal gods linguini
Feb 2017 · 477
hello borg
mike dm Feb 2017
all you poets out there,
biting your lip,
writing your scrips,
citing your insides ----


by me,


need i say anything
as trite as,

resistance is futile?
Feb 2017 · 389
Ode to Robert Malthus
mike dm Feb 2017
alone alone alone*

bitter seraphim
knuckle white,

what will you do
when you discover
that your adversary
isn't out there,

but within?

will you sink
or swim?
Feb 2017 · 690
i fling
mike dm Feb 2017
idea slung rivulet
writ small down the back
of esophagus wall

the city never spits
it wants it gloms onto

lil iflings

di v is  ion

we come n go
streety needy
Jan 2017 · 615
if only lonely knew
mike dm Jan 2017
moon puddle
the soon, subtle

makes me wanna
stop myself
in front of you

troubled helix
creaky spiral

if only he could go virulent
Jan 2017 · 412
cute obtuse
mike dm Jan 2017
everybody wants you
to be better than you already are
a better version
of their whom's
Jan 2017 · 451
mike dm Jan 2017
show me your rearview mirror of me,
so that I can know who I am.
Jan 2017 · 879
it adn things
mike dm Jan 2017
Not here. Not there. Not anywhere. Not anywhy. Not caring pennywise above my lotto-won unslant brow. I simply cannot who this town anymore.

Wut? It's not that i "jus can't;"
it's that.. well, it's that....

---- It all sidepath whirr spins too much, resulting in me being in it too kneedeeply, as my limbs brim over the finely-tuned ledge of what we think we can potentially know, where it grins up at the space stolid, like a thing imagined real - plus my poor machete has (in a torrid blink of the winkers) turned; or, more accurately, transmogrified into sudden feted befridged leftovers, which, aren't exactly untaciturn in their ways.

(understatement of the eon, iknowiknow)..

---- worse still, -forgotten- leftovers, hidden away in the crisper drawer under the rest of the things spoken for: half due to lazy; the other half, to the fact it won't slide nicely anymore :/

it, turning
and smirking.

Oh! the its
and things.

And those three anthropomorphic hands always pushing n prodding the fated its and things. It's all so.. meh.

So, of c, we decorate it w meta imps and wings above them. Methinks the neon signs of the new rind output axon doth protest too much.

Yet, the gray area is nigh.
Autocorrect, be ******.

Me: I, now, know your tricks. Your abstruse, purely theoretical storms which appeal with chartreuse arms elongated into lawnorder - I can see you've been drawn out. I can see around the bend. You don't scare me anymore with your elegant renderings. I am too much in the dying whitehot.

That voice inside: nothing

Me: ...

Chicken, *****.

Don't you see? It's all getting crunched down. God is in the box marked "fragile," sexting n taking dog selfies doing a Miley tongue wag in the ***** bathroom mirror w an awk ttfn postscript n kissy face discursive.

I won't flinch.

my pockets turned inside-out aboutfacedly, knowingly staring that stare right back up at me, reflexively, interrogating and adjudicating, highchaired n bewigged n gavel-swinging n self-righteous spittle-wingin n all - cuffs hugging the curly q sloughed off set-o-symbols once hung like rare priceless lace above that (over)hyped brand new skull muscle (geologically speaking, of c). but the ***** have all been given, and i, finally, with arms reaching forward and backward, am here.

the haste the haste
the grammar head at the wake
let rigormortis do it's worst,
because there is more behind its door

0100111101010000 bars
hug the star's start
stripping them away,

Denuded, they

corrall it
adn things

I grip these two
and win back
the abysmal.

I am OK with breaking down,
with being hurt. Vulnerable as ****.
These tears are me
and mine.
Jan 2017 · 1.1k
i can't write
mike dm Jan 2017
Inhale all of those felt bones. Observe. Skeletons will dance in the dark for you..

Hang them up. Tilt your head. Curl your hair. Bite your lip. Wonder at them, feel them

as a thing

Wonder at
how they
diminish us
with such
gentle clinks
of their being.
Jan 2017 · 891
mike dm Jan 2017
I am standoffish scar. Armfuls of hurt worm through this spar, this whisper no longer here. A thread of then, turned lead now. Eater of blue. The glib is winning. It's too much. It tires me. I'm always tired. Why? I'm never ever going to be me, again. I am lined with lines of lies lied, ******* and gagged with ballnchain blame games. It's easy to lay me. Sleeper of sleep, pulling my sleeve into childish reveries of when nothing was anything but that was ok. I know it wasn't really actually ok, but the thought of good times haunts the line dividing me between the wake and sweet release. I let it **** me
Oct 2016 · 842
mike dm Oct 2016
her periwinkle lines
next to my magenta margin
precipice slid into
Oct 2016 · 602
mike dm Oct 2016
i say *** out loud
like sixty times
a day, easy
Oct 2016 · 621
cupboard gremlin
mike dm Oct 2016
this thought,
one texture
old sweatshirt

the roam's grin grows
iknowiknow this home is
****** wasted eaten knifed neatly


texts to ex's
needy emojis
******* us

the bones are coming now
Sep 2016 · 581
good bye
mike dm Sep 2016
Today is the saddest day of my life. I am beside myself. I have not known tragedy until now. And yet the tears feel good. I have not felt this alive in a long time. Pieces of me are dead and dying. I feel light, like a kid again.

I am pretty sure there is nothing out there. Not anymore.
Sep 2016 · 646
gray dandelion
mike dm Sep 2016
Everything is chance. We name the random to create the idea of order and predictability. It's a stab in the abyss.

What is choice? Plinko. Go, pick the arbitrary with stars in your eyes. What you want is only an arm's-length away. Scratch the ticket. Feel the neon in the night wheel like time is in your corner. Let it hurt you. Learn.

the tree limb
crawls up and out
tangent into
the stuttering cool air

I sleep so. *******. much. It's pathetic, really. I've many theories as to why: I'm lazy; I'm not being challenged enough; society is, well, society; I'm a misanthrope; I'm a dreamer.. But, in the end, these all miss the mark.

The impetus behind my sleepmoresleep is, it seems, a direct result of that sentimental urge to bring order to a cosmic court whose very fabric is made of change and chance.

buds waiting
limbs feeling, again
slumber shook off
but this tilt too will end
and bring the wilt back

Start again. Turn the page. We love our metaphors. Why? Because they remind us of the flux. Things won't stay still. Ever. Dictionaries breathe too you know. New glyphs itch to get in.

Let them.

rosette of jag leaf rawr
bright yellow flower
head of seed and
a mane of downy tuft
reaching through
neglected suburb
concrete sidewalks
Sep 2016 · 427
mike dm Sep 2016
The few times I realize I am content, I just as soon feel like I'm cheating on my usual sadness; worse, that it is only the eye of the storm; and worst of all, I'd be duped into writing a happy poem - anything but that.
Sep 2016 · 466
mike dm Sep 2016
sweet black bile
that sad smirk
hurt's so good

i'd eat entire moons for you
and sleep in till noon
spooning the day wasted
Sep 2016 · 462
mike dm Sep 2016
cut stone
lichen roam
over your
shut mouth

mineral lochs
run through
slowed vein


your hard hand

take my face
and wake the sleep
that petrifies me
sunk into this bed

ancient thing
ancestor to the mountain
what tales of brokenness
you must have

break them
over mine
widen this time
give me eyes farther
Sep 2016 · 377
mike dm Sep 2016
night callers all, drink
your dram of dream
lick the moon clean
Sep 2016 · 925
mike dm Sep 2016
open your mouth --- wider
there, those are bones
roots known by the flesh

look at your fingertips
they too bear the bone
scrim ***** coverings, ten of them

the scar on your skin
observe it
harm came to you
visited you - did you


or did you
bottle it
and set it to
the dark green
murk beneath?

is it a part of you
that you shun? embarrassed
by its inarticulate language
curling and lunging

discolored other?

animal, listen
your mouth noises: mere symbol

your thoughts:
brief shimmer o' the surface

this is black
you are but blue
that is all
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