#fearfulpoet
wrestling with angels
slept three hours max, my brain is a stew le ragout,
pot-au-feu, a *** on fire, my dopamine is dope,
and seeing ladders, escalators going up and down,
angels all want to try wrestling with a protected poet
beating this poet a internet-fast way to fast fame!
one who dares to tell the Boss to f**k off, who takes
none of the deity’s lip, mock imitates His deep pomp and
circumstance voice, gets away with poetic saucy disregard,
cause poet worked his way into a corner of His affections
all just because the poet keeps telling Him to stop
this tortuous interference in human affairs, to lay off
the string pulling in lives for His amusement and
satisfying a reality TV craving, why can’t He change,
the channel to Lifetime and get tears vicariously, like
an ordinary minor deity, nah, not Him, he loves His
wrestling so, even though, everybody knows that
wrestling is so fake.
Sep 9, 2020
Sep 9, 2020 at 8:29 AM UTC
wrestling with angels (Le Ragoût)
slept three hours max, my brain is a stew, le ragoût,
pot-au-feu, a *** on fire, my dopamine is dope,
and seeing ladders, escalators going up and down,
angels all want to try wrestling with a protected poet
beating this poet a internet-fast way to super-fame!
one who dares to tell the Boss to f**k off, who takes
none of the Did-Deity’s lip, mock imitates His deep pomp and
circumstance voice, gets away with poetic saucy disregard,
cause poet worked his way into a corner of His affections
all just because the poet keeps telling Him to stop
this tortuous interference in human affairs, to lay off
the string pulling in lives for His amusement and
satisfying a reality TV craving, why can’t He change,
the channel to Lifetime^ and get tears vicariously,like
an ordinary minor deity, nah, not Him, he loves His
wrestling so even though, everybody knows that
**wrestling
is so fake.**
Sep 9, 2020
Sep 9, 2020 at 12:43 AM UTC
she said:
*you are a man knowing cruel, knowing hard,
with strangest soft skin, a funny way of talking,
lick my face with your words so I’ll learn,
to be tough and tender too, this I want, wanted*
he replied:
**life gave me splinters, broken from rough edges,
left under my exterior to fester, blister, and scar,
life licked my face, taught me mean, and the words
that came with that, were sand papered on my skin**
she answered:
*I’m not blind, I can feel, smell your contradictories,
want your antibodies in my blood, survival skills,
to be what I am not, and keep too, what I’ve got, to
be infected and protected, knowing words defensive*
he listened:
**what you desire, is the health that comes after,
after what you don’t understand, until you’ve
loved, lost, been beaten down so that getting up is
miraculous, this unteachable, this licking by words**
she insisted:
*your arrhythmic rhymes, skinflint perspectives,
this is what I ask, what I need, what you can give,
what is in your possess, what you need to unburden,
making me better for making you lessened*
he wept:
and said nothing.
for nothing taught appreciating silence and that,
***was the beginning,
of what she wanted,
of what he did not,
of what he gives reluctantly***
8:16AM
Wed May 20
Isle of Mind
May 20, 2020
May 20, 2020 at 8:26 AM UTC
reminder: sight, sound, smell, taste and physical feeling (touch)
~for yocum~
<>
without our five senses, what purpose, we serve?
hindered from the verification of our existence,
great then the irony then that the scourge announces
its presence by taking our presents, our very present,
coming cat quiet, announcing itself by thieving two,
our ability to smell and taste, that, only the beginning
later it steals speech.
but no need, nothing left to say or even hear, speech’s reciprocal,
the throat filled with the tube of oxygen containing no words,
some call it breathing, me, I call it a slower, ungentle, silenced dying
the medications are for the pain,
making the eyes sleep a neutered constant in a closeted body,
still, better not to see your own desiccated withering,
but all this, even this, I could tolerate!
***but not to feel your touch,
oh god, give me that!
sensing your touch informs that I, still, I am!
touching you confirms I am greater than my ossified body!
the sense of your skin means this,
that I will live even if death relieves my entirety
but no, touching is forbidden most of all,
and I am inconsolable, gone the greatest pleasure***
the first is the last final sense taken,
now it’s too late to turn the other cheek,
I touch myself, but it’s evidence of nothing, cause
now that I’m dead, my only pleasured sense remaining is
my inconsolability,
the last remaining sentry,
the immortal and final
guardian of my heart
Apr 14, 2020
Apr 14, 2020 at 11:35 AM UTC
“only” the lonely know (my special sign)
{=}
an incurable silence
the meaningless, wasted touch of a hand,
attached, directed by them from them
to them
a failed reassurance
a classroom, a stadium, cornfield or grove,
so many nutted fallen solitaries fallen to rot
midst a globe of trillions never noticed,
never missed
the silly conceptual that the lonely,
special unique, blessed with a curse,
a specialist status, “only” they afflicted;
with a ken that isolates and yet feels elevated -
oh! I am special
show me one, just one, human who doesn’t truly believe,
they are the onliest loneliest and you will vision
each and every
lonely person who
secret sighs and whose first thoughts are only:
god spare me one more day of being,
fearful of achieving
my very own knowing,
in the invisible place,
the incurable silence award,
reward of another purple heart,
“only” the lonely service ribbon,
my Cain marker
~my special sign~
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 4:09 PM UTC
these hard words
are the only fruit my hard-rocked soiled-soul produces,
my alliterations secrete no beliefs, quench nothing,
the poems I don’t write are my most successful,
the songs that comforted, now find no-entry orifice
skin cold wet clammy sweating unsuitable for tilling,
my horizons natural, felled, underground swallowed,
replaced by the man-made barriers, guardrails of words
leaving body, utterances shoutout, exiting non-permissioned
lurch from one guilt-carrying, black leather-straps wrapped,
round my arm, to the ones strapped around my temple,
honorable acts owed, responsibilities fear foundering
unfulfilled lists, griefs, signs of cowardice, badges shameful
deep sighs, open groans, me mean asking questions of myself,
laughed off, city noises turned off, silences of colorless colden,
the sirens loudest inside reverb endlessly, still give nothing away,
a final exam, an all sided, annual checkup reveals nothing but
these hard words
7:48am 10/15/19
Oct 18, 2019
Oct 18, 2019 at 11:27 AM UTC
school starts soon
smoking joints on the weekday afternoon
in a sidelined shady
freight car, property of
Norfolk Southern
debating if this car will be
northbound or southbound
and ************ our fantasy
where we want to be taken
knowing full well maybe one of us -
(and they all looking at me)
will get out of this car and live to
see foreign places without having to
return in a body bag
we argue lazy who should go get the beer,
collect the quarters and sweaty dollar bills
and **** if I am not reappointed
leader of the beer fetching
besides it’s my
tan lab panting needing water so it’s my
responsibility and the nasty liquor store owner don’t hate me that much as the others so he’ll sell me beer without too much **** talk (some for sure)
asking where I’m laying low on a **** hot day like this one
tell him i’m getting on a train getting out of this two bit town which makes him reminisce and ask which direction
could be northbound could be southbound
hell could be west
but for sure won’t be
going eastbound
cause I seen the Atlantic and didn’t like it
too **** big and too **** cold,
too **** mean
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 1:16 PM UTC