#transplant
Was Fate the hand that guided me that night?
Did Destiny thence deign her wild decree?
How came I hence within her golden light,
A risen spark within my soul set free?
We danced and kissed and walked and talked and ate,
We walked and talked and kissed the night away;
The dawning light alas refused to wait,
We parted with new-lovers gaited sway,
And so e'er since my love for thee has grown,
No hour of mine has e'er since been alone;
You stand by me as once pledged at the altar
And hold me strong when I am prone to falter ~~
You are my sun, my moon, my earth, my sky,
And intertwined we live, we love, we die
Apr 24
Apr 24, 2026 at 12:27 PM UTC
~~
Once more
Unto the knife
To shore
This mortal life
~~
Mar 31
Mar 31, 2026 at 6:58 PM UTC
The sky tonight shall interrupt my dreams
As water cascades down into my veins;
Upon each hour my fingers let forth screams
As endless needles poke and ***** with pain ~~
Ahh sleep! If only sleep could lull this night,
But sleep, alas, shall not avail me here;
The morrow brings an emptiness of light,
The void inside shall grow and spread I fear ~~
The table beckons once again, and I
Shall soon be blessed within that unknown space
Wherein no time has ever dared to fly,
Beyond the mortal realm in Fortune's grace,
Until I wake and all has been divined,
And thence to learn if I am redefined ~~
Mar 29
Mar 29, 2026 at 11:40 AM UTC
The table beckons me, "come",
Trouble yourself not to stride,
The beat of an ominous drum
Will summon a chariot ride
The midnight fast will cease,
The sleeping juice will pour,
And thence a swift release
Unto the voidless maw
And timeless is the drowse
Until the distant voice
Does summon me to rouse
And pray, with high rejoice,
To say, "all went as well
As it could be conceived",
Now rest thee for a spell,
Thy ailings are relieved
~~
Mar 22
Mar 22, 2026 at 7:54 AM UTC
The pain awakes me in the witching hour,
Exquisite throbs like embers on a pyre
That strive to sore, and soar up ever higher,
Extracting each and ev'ry "oh'm" of power,
And hope quick fades into the darkly dour,
And cracks appear around my lonely spire,
And shadows drown the lanterns of my shire,
And evil lights a fuse beneath my tower,
And in delusioned state I hear them speak,
The many varied voices softly chatter,
And talk of me as though I do not matter,
And with a feeble sound, hence I reply,
And they perceive me as a windless sigh,
Ignoring of a soul long hence too weak ~~
Mar 21
Mar 21, 2026 at 8:26 AM UTC
I ne'er would wish upon a soul this curse,
That tarried not to take me to the brink
Of contemplating ambulance or hearse,
And thence to rob me of the will to think ~~
My body broken, sprawled atop a bed,
Where medics paused to gander and go by,
A curio, a prize of ornate lead,
An empty husk, yet still a knowing eye ~~
And thence, the irony, a crueller fate
Befell another I should never meet,
For them, redemption mayhap came too late,
For me, no time was ever so replete ~~
My life is owed eternally to thee,
Thy life lives on eternally in me ~~
Mar 17
Mar 17, 2026 at 10:29 AM UTC
Three wilted transplants
Kiss dirt as squeezing vines choke
On midday sunlight
Aug 11, 2020
Aug 11, 2020 at 4:35 PM UTC
In the youghurt,
you can be the cream,
i'll be the culture.
Let's make good sh*t.
afterthought
(what if i made so big a difference in everyth-ng?)
Mar 13, 2020
Mar 13, 2020 at 1:30 PM UTC
Hidden in your eyes
the only portrait of mine
Wish I could see it once
through my eyes
which were yours earlier!
Jan 22, 2019
Jan 22, 2019 at 3:17 AM UTC
Never transplant a poet's heart.
It wouldn't start.
Or, if it did, would stop
at some seemingly minor shock.
The vena cava is much too slender,
the endocardium, much too tender.
It takes a life-time to learn to live
with a heart so horribly sensitive.
Graft the skin and kidneys.
Interchange the brains.
But never, never transplant a poet's heart.
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 3:05 PM UTC
service failure the ***** will offer
there's something medically askew with it
the usual role is proving so unfit
a second chance in a transplant's proffer
another dies to bring life back again
wellness being redeemed by precious gift
the recipient receives a big lift
living's joy restored out of the rain
someone's kind donation affording breath
so that the period of existence stays
a healthy liver performing its job
for not to have this giving there'd be death
the bestowment allows those future days
gratitude felt within a person's cob
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 9:27 PM UTC
So what I drink all my calories
I'm sane and you're not, bruh
It's never enough even to wear
what you're wearing and talk
like you talk, do you even care?
Killing myself keeping things legit in your sphere
Black sheep combine forces to feel
wanted, keeping your company
I feel blocked when you're nodding.
Yes, I'm acting just like you want me,
bruh, I'm coming up short to your haughti
ness, blessed with a sense of self
stopping just short of your level and
what the hell, what I am doing here
fighting for otherness, concerned
with the purity of water of my brothers
and my sisters of the covenant
You talk about faith when it comes
to prey that you're stalking, keep
it strong, yolo, fleek, and a hashtag
To be honest I'm scared that my hometown
will be infested with those the internet
claimed and ingest, swallowed with
speed of light, people spit out as pesticide
turning the verdant green such a ****** brown
Yes you're so on top and classy, lacking
purposely the tenets that turn a body fancy
Cool *** beard bro, girl that's a freak ***
hairdo, up in the midst short sides a pool cue
locked in your hands up inside a ******* dive bar,
midnight drive holding a pipe 'hind your
headlights, Yes you're mixing with the best
making them arrogant, such a lens to view
the struggles they been through, Weird queer
younglings in their late twenties and homeless
at some point, only the noise of the sirens
and blue lit bathrooms, keeper of the needle
rights, and happiness,5-0 lights blasting on naito, picking
on the kids white/brown outside washing
the day away with the kiss of the pabst
taking a nap on the grass on the waterfront
blessed with lives with beards and queers
passing by as they want one.
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 3:21 AM UTC
Clamp the red march onward!
Cut the winding trench!
Mask a visage for protection
from the visceral drench.
Light the forge in battle!
Keep the battlefield alive.
Hear the laborious drumbeat
of a heart trying to survive.
Stainless steel and knowledge
in the forge are fired
Gone are human needs -
Death is never tired.
On each second rests a lifespan.
Each minute gambles years.
A surgeon only has two hands
and no mortal fears.
The battle surges forward
as blood is forced right back
from the heart it came from;
a heart still under attack.
Even as the battle ended,
with blood, tears and sweat,
the war raged ever onward,
Death remains a threat.
Every day a battle.
Every life a war.
Against Death and the ethereal
survival is the score.
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 7:38 AM UTC
In Italy in 2017
A medical miracle
Will be seen;
A transplanted head.
They'd better get it right.
They didn't say which one.
Above the shoulders?
Below the waist?
Another ********
To dinkthink.
A hard-headed
Limp-brained head-banger.
Or did I misunderstand.
Perhaps it's woman's to a man.
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 8:22 AM UTC
Head start on a frozen night
we'll trickle slow down blighted
street ways
and mix our crunching footsteps
with our ever-rougher laughs.
Grab a drink
too tired for sleeping.
Work weeks pile up, getting deep and
I don't think apartment walls
can contain us one more night.
So save a drink for me,
and meet me out on Longstaff Street
I've got all night and an axe to grind
You've got a case of cold friends
and a troubled mind
so let's pace
this neighborhood.
Pull up my roots, we'll untangle yours
from Knowles Street, right on Marshall
walk and drink for hours
'til we sink
that slant street moon
Transplants grafted to this town
we'll spread roots in these downer
regrets
and spill our gravel laughter
on the sidewalks with these beers.
South, back home,
a handful got it:
rotten nights pave paths to coffins
I don't know how many steps
it'll take to cool our heels.
So grab a drink for me
and we'll go walking Longstaff Street
We've got these drinks, we can disappear
into a slant street night
where no one'll hear
how ****** up
these days become.
I still think back on Emerson Park
that Summer night we fled from
the cops through the dark
when the Russell
Street traffic hums...
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 2:08 AM UTC
Don’t read this if you’re squeamish,
Or if you’re eating food at the present,
Since some of the subjects discussed in this poem,
Are let’s just say rather unpleasant,
On the subject of donating organs,
Or the subject of organs at all,
It’s not unusual for my claims to leave,
Some subjects feeling pretty appalled,
Now I’d say that most people die,
In fact I’d vouch that it happens quite often,
But when my time comes, set has my sun,
I want all of me in that coffin,
Now I get it, I’d save lives if I donated,
And I don’t mean to sound like a **** (yes I do),
But the unmissable flaw, the foot in the door,
Is that not all of my parts seem to work,
My eyes are screwy, my heart’s far too cold,
The state of my lungs’ll make you shiver,
My kidneys too small, I'm not sure I have a pancreas,
And don’t get me started on my liver,
And let me tell you with a face like mine,
Not showcasing this beauty’s a sin,
But it’s awfully hard to have an open casket,
If I’m not sporting any of my skin
It’s selfish and weird I know that,
But my eyes are where my soul is exposed!
…Yeah actually my soul’s pretty tainted,
Can someone make sure that my eyes are closed?
I only want those I love to have a part of me,
So if I’m forced, if I’m forced, to partake,
-
-
-
They’ll be frying up my organs,
For refreshments at my wake.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 3:22 PM UTC
Collection of characteristics
that the outside world
deems desirable:
empathy,
gentleness,
sensitivity,
the ability to love
deeply, madly.
Yet,
from where I stand,
the view is bleak,
for having a heart that
is big
means that it is
a hundred times more likely
to be punctured.
I wonder
how many times
my soul can
take these blows
before it withers
into
nothingness.
My body aches
of a perceived emptiness
that is
grossly
full of
an echoing,
resounding compilation
of disappointment,
anger,
and despair;
and though I am sad
in the free flowing of
my own bitter words,
I breathe in a jagged breath,
heave a large sigh,
and succumb to my
self-induced
anesthesia
as my big heart
is transplanted
with some smaller,
colder *****
that is not
riddled
with
pain
and
dismay.
I want to be
small,
simple,
average,
for there is nothing
to be desired
in anguish,
and I now
find myself
writhing in
envy of
those who possess
the gift
of
apathy.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 1:45 AM UTC