#dissection
required tools
———-
Perpetual/Forever Calendars (Undated)
Favored Writing Utensils
Perspicacity of the Eyes
Discipline of the Mind
Intestinal Fortitude
Modicum of Courage (Large)
———-
perhaps, unawares, that
you are already somewhat skilled in the analysis
of time,
but have not graduated yourself
to a professional
**di-s|s|ector
note this emboldened word, its comp~opponents
the flow of life is amenable to
di~vision,
you may em~ploy the calendar as a crutch,
if you must,
but travail, employ the scalp~el of truth.
see the sect~ors of life,
draw lines that inter=connect
and inter~change
and yet separ>ate, concretize
be sensitive when a period
begats & begins
and
ends
or sends you to journey on…
this requires the vision to see one’s self,
as outsider, a ****** through a window
purposed open for spying
in order to deny the denying
prevent the laying down of lying
when/where rawest courage is employed
cherish you notations!
They are the stuffing of you
chestnuts of essence,
the dried bread base bread that sustains carbohydrate living forms,
the broth of blood pre^heated,
and the salt and the pep\/per of
you life.
be afraid if
you have the extra
courage to see ordinary as valuable,
the extra ordinary as defining,
their combining is how you will
preserve and emerge…
~~~~~~
I could essay further on,
but my own work has begun,
selecting sustenance,
forsee the normative,
scheduled interruptions that
are the curricula of thy
subject,
thyself,
and
leave great enlarged spaces
for the spaces unknown
where the who
of the truly
unknown or unexplored
are just maps of large purchases of space
where the gold is hid,
and the X
is moving too
and time is
newly defined,
smelted, refined,
a continuum of pauses,
gross and fine
raw and seconds of delicate
and the
times of
who
and always connoted
and yet, dutifully & duly noted
<>
7:54am
Thu
Feb 12,
2026
Feb 12
Feb 12, 2026 at 7:42 AM UTC
my pen was made
to bleed the words of grief;
"there's something so beautiful
and profound in grief
when you start to see it
for what it truly is."
past the barriers
and stretching distance,
i caressed my aching soul;
this grief of mine grew out of love
for grief, in what it truly is,
is a love that endures
and suffers willingly.
IA
Jul 31, 2021
Jul 31, 2021 at 7:44 AM UTC
I read
Every word
Thrice
First, like everyone does
Second, for their intention
Third, for my comfort zone
A kind remind
Nov 19, 2020
Nov 19, 2020 at 7:22 PM UTC
If I grew wings
would you stab them
with pins
and add me
to your collection?
If I grew fins
would your interest
in me
culminate in a classroom
dissection?
If I grew muscle
would a vivisection
suffice
or would you first crush my strength
within an iron vise?
Oct 2, 2020
Oct 2, 2020 at 10:24 AM UTC
I touch your chest.
Scraping your skin off with my fingernails,
Layer by layer.
Meticulously.
I reach in.
Slowly snapping the bones back,
Rib by rib.
I watch you breathe.
This is the part I love,
Feeling your heartbeat.
It keeps perfect time.
The blood gushing, it's poetic even.
I take my finger, slightly pressed to the beat.
You're gorgeous like this.
Under the smallest push of my finger.
This won't be clean.
I wrap my hand around the source of it all.
I twist, tug, and pull. You love it.
I take you in the palm of my hand.
Still beating, still vibrant, so beautiful.
I bring you to my lips, and I kiss you one last time.
I swear I can taste you in between my teeth, raw still.
And this time you stain my lips red.
Oct 31, 2019
Oct 31, 2019 at 10:06 AM UTC
Is there room for context at this table?
We can move some dishes and shuffle chairs.
I’ve checked all four legs and they seem stable,
but choosing a placemat is like splitting hairs.
I notice the candle’s flame is getting dim,
and my fingers pirouette in the puddles of wax,
my hair needs a cut but I settled for a trim,
and I’m donating my salary and spending my tax.
I’ve told you every thought in my head,
except the ones that matter the most,
the facts that scald my cheeks to red,
now they’re burning up like charred toast.
I’d promise you whatever you ask for,
and I’d drag myself to deliver each time,
but I’m ignoring the truth at my core,
and I’m confessing to you in mime.
Sit across from me with crossed legs,
see magnets becomes our eyes,
“come closer together” both begs,
but we’re determined and polarized.
There’s no world existing around us,
and there certainly is no group,
you listen while I ramble and make a fuss,
over the death of Lipton’s Alligator Soup.
We turned Heaven into a Hell,
we took a skeleton and made a shell,
We dragged our nails down the walls
scribbled ephiphanies on bathroom stalls,
and silenced a story we could never tell.
And all the things that have driven us apart,
in truth have only made us stronger.
and my love you are actually my heart,
I won’t question it’s beating any longer.
If you’re stuck with a choice
you should flip a coin in the air,
then listen to your mind’s voice,
‘cause your answer will be there.
When it comes to heads or tails,
you already know your favourite side,
you’ll pray for it as the coin sails,
ignore the outcome but absorb the ride.
Jan 13, 2019
Jan 13, 2019 at 12:10 PM UTC
Splayed out atop the the table, stupefied,
Etherized, dreaming anything but excision,
Witness the specimen's unnatural habitat.
Life stains the whole of its existence -
See the sacrament of its entirety, its divinity,
Its flesh made manifest and merely flesh.
It mocks this menagerie with every breath
And, aping its peers, struggles, strives, dies
For the pittance this world lends it.
Confronted with the end, it spits derision.
Confronted with the start, it cries in awe!
What a nonsense of a creature we see here,
This enigma we recognize in ourselves:
The human, being.
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 6:26 PM UTC
my skin is peeled off
muscles dragging on the floor
my organs are exposed
my nerves cut and burned
my broken ribs
scattered on the floor
i've been dissected
eyeball lenses popped out
and my beating heart
is right out
in the open
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 9:42 PM UTC
Waking up into the world
Foul words burn holes in my ears
Truths so raw they rot my young flesh
The instant they leave your lips
Kisses of death and decay
A power play that never ends
My personal hells undying fire
Pulverizing my mortal soul
Crazed thoughts meander in my head
I make my own meals
Milk and crunchy glass shards
Topped with freshly ground chillies
What a tantalizing trinity
The perfect homemade breakfast
To accompany our charming little pad
Savour our eclectic interior
Forget the artfully bloodied rooms
Someone's stiffened liver in our dining
Torn muscles stashed in a corner
A punctured heart in the kitchen sink
Some ground up bones in pepper shakers
Fractured ribs on my study desk
The brain sitting on the couch
Our latest wallpaper from centuries ago
News of our deaths on the headlines
Your acidic kindness
A raptured spleen in your bed
I belief that belongs to me
I'd give anything for your brutal love
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 11:55 PM UTC
I wouldn’t like this.
A class full of uncomfortable individualised strangers.
An over head projector,
prodding, obvious questions,
trying to ascertain the exact purpose or meaning.
The space for ambiguity is closed up like a canon eclipsed by an earthquake.
Highlighter and underlining of a spontaneous experience.
They are trying to make water into concrete.
I just want it be able to bubble and foam and languish
but they want to pin it down.
I would be sad and disgusted if I saw my floaty feelings
pin boarded up onto the wall for dissection
Do not treat my insides in this way
Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 9:46 PM UTC
I act dumb in the dirt
In the soil, in the middle of the flies
that lick their wings, bat their tongues
in the dirt
I act dumb
for all the reasons that I’ve had to keep my back straight
at dinner tables
with narrow chairs that clip at the side of my thighs
for the party tricks that leave through the door
I become the punch line
in the muck, in the slime
I behave grotesquely
for the crowded silences in rooms
the friends that mistook my alienation
as a stab wound to laugh at
all the fireworks that exploded inside
this head, this brain, this basket of fruit
nothing like retaliation with a kiss
In the grime, in the earth’s decay
I act like panicked swords under anesthesia
drowsy summer swarm for
the times I’ve had to be a mother instead of a child
where walking down the street meant carrying
your weapons close to your chest
but remember enemies closer
I act dumb in the dirt
In the dirt everything is sublime
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 2:10 AM UTC
Unwind my body
Like a vivisection
And see if you can find
The real me
Unwind the code
Like pulling a string from cloth
And see if you can find
Humanity's reason
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 5:35 PM UTC
We are a deeply entwined vine
Growing ever more far apart,
But still attached at the roots.
He has rooted himself in myself,
And has become a part of me.
I dissected worms in high school,
But I don't feel qualified
To dissect our conjointment.
He has asked me to hand him the scalpel,
And I have become too accustomed
To his requests to decline.
We stare at each other,
Both of us too timid to cut the ties,
And go to bed side by side
With scalpels in hand.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 1:51 PM UTC
1.
Your specimen:
the cat.
He lies, a stretched out
blob of
whirring, whizzing particles:
You can’t see them –
he can.
2.
His fur is
dried old carpet
left out on a front lawn:
homeless,
floorless;
waiting to be claimed.
3.
His eyes are
blank marbles
flicked by sticky fingers
in a game.
You won them
by cheating,
and stole them but they
turned to mush
in your hands, they
fell through your fingers, and
stained them with purple:
it would not wash off.
It grew:
an omnipresent reminder
trickling down your arms,
pooling at your elbows.
4.
You raise the scalpel:
it is a crescent moon
speckling down to
illicit behaviour
below.
5.
The portraits on the walls
applaud
when you make the first
CUT.
and reveal the
gooey caramel
dripping, circulating, inside.
It sticks to
the blade, forming
clumps of purple
that harden to a
crystallised-honey form.
6.
Later you sleep
with the cat;
he lies on your bed
and purrs
(does he purr?)
and you label the jars:
“Dissection 15”.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 4:15 AM UTC
Oh, sweet calico
You flittered and you fluttered
Before the cruel men
Pinned your wings, and held you
Under
Examining, every colour
And stripe, on your surface
Comparing, every pattern
You made
To a control they deemed
Ordinary
Their tongues were as rough
As their calloused hands
Yet their minds were like sharp knives
Or scalpels
Dissecting your
Entirety
Three green dots
You were marked with, before they placed you
Into a four by four
Box
And promptly
Forgotten about
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 10:24 PM UTC