#wearing
(i)
rising off the table
ether fumes
mute yesterday's voice
giving birth to the future's tongue
rejoice
rejoice
for a poetic *********** king is born in bedlam.
southern cross hanging
above the cradle of mankind
shining brighter than pit of kimberlite mines
hollow space inflated
breathing life into language's diaphragm.
preaching poetic alchemy
& fashioning blood into ink
pound for pound no illusionist would dare
take on the wordsmith with butterfly fused bee sting verse.
(ii)
smoke rises,
seeping through scattered torn limbs
among rubble, shards of glass
and melting plastic dolls.
under the waning crescent moon
the closing chapter opened a new book.
Begorrah!
Deborah, the queen honey bee
has flown off
leaving behind her hive,
ditching the colony
death to her family!
(iii)
in a field of sunflowers engulfed by flames
a blazing tower of hellfire
fanned higher by the chemical rain.
asteroids crashed into volcanoes
as magma shot exploding
a sea of lava rose bubbling
burning through the landing.
Icelandic clouds of ash soaked into the sky
blanketing & blacking out sunlight
casting a shadow of suffocating night
over the field unyielding to morning.
curtain curtail
darkness dulls bright
we wait for a dragon to fight the dying of night.
Feb 1
Feb 1, 2026 at 12:43 PM UTC
(whimsy - playfully quaint or fanciful behavior or humor)
——
recent events, minor tumults, additive,
the summing up of wearing,
a slip and fall, financial reverses,
communiques misunderstood,
clanking pipes resounding against
a sonorous soundless soulful sleep, and
the
unrest of disinterest in essaying
thoughts into words into creativity
a far far cry from singing of the whimsy
in life that teases and delights, replaced
by a weariness from the whiners,
who craftily abuse, with deft badly
prosed propaganda propositions,
seeking solace in solitude + add-an-all-inability to forsee the goodness in people,
delimiting desire to inspire, why then
compose when so decidedly decomposing?
lay the ownership of pen-man-ship down
until dealt an inside straight, eyedrops
that open wide, dilate into a wider perspective, a kinder me, and the
patience of a patient awaiting a
healing vaccine against the flu
of whining. so awfully communicable,
will read Whitman, Frost, and those
revolutionary Persians who ken the
revivification of spirit, return from a
there as a refugee
to a refreshed refuge
of here
nml
Addendum
———
*the chill in the body that’s so
invasive, resisting two sweaters,
a coat named “The De~icer,”
over heavy sweats,
the interior is*
frostbitten
Feb 22, 2025
Feb 22, 2025 at 5:22 AM UTC
God is
calling me to
give rest, he tells
Not to be silent and lower
In heart
He offers his yoke and tells me
Wear it so that you will
Learn of me the
Right things
.
Nov 5, 2024
Nov 5, 2024 at 8:08 AM UTC
beat into me until i'm broken and the feelings
alight the layer of skin just below the outermost,
like the lining of a jacket, catching aflame.
scratch out the remaining worries with the spines of your teeth.
rake me upwards, shred the doubts like old sunburn peel, and peel and peel the layers of mistrust off of me till i'm raw, pink and ready.
never has this body not been scarred
without first feeling excitement.
since you pierced it, now you're responsible. I'll chase that ownership, mutually owed, to the end of all meaning. till the sensations are the only bits that still make sense, and then you can make up for everything else.
only after this, after everything else is spread across a blood splattered floor, can things start again. only once you make up for not returning the parts of me. only once my remaining organs, now calcified, have been cracked to their inner ichor, and you tip me gently into your thankless lungs.
only once the prostration, the words left since butchered into me, have been flayed by your regret, and raised to the height of saints.
hang me up.
swing by my legs and wrap around the root of me like you once would.
debase yourself inside of me again, learn to build something again. dig deeper than needed again, strike copper in my veins so I can oxidise again. watch me alight again, at your briefest touch.
Aug 22, 2023
Aug 22, 2023 at 4:39 PM UTC
Oh, ye of little faith…
“Know ye not that He shall
Give His angels charge over thee,
to keep thee?” inquired the Sage.
Hm… I hear the same charge was levied against the Lord.
In truth, to grow in leaps of faith is my heart’s sole desire,
so increase my faith I pray thee, Oh Lord!
“But pray tell me, thou Sage, since an outbreak of salmonella most dire,
with symptoms of gastroenteritis and chills,
at this very moment plagues fifteen states still,
shall faithful saints in affected states
eat unwashed but sanctified fruits and veggies,
and thus prove their strong and abiding faith?”
Also, lest I forget the angels who must daily don scrubs and masks,
“I pray tell me, what must we impressed upon such gentle souls
Who must daily don scrubs and masks?
Why does society abuse humanity’s best so,
when their sole desire is our wellness from head to toe?”
Speak not of the numbers who must have grave prices
paid for services they must unto the sick bestow.
Doubtlessly, with such an awakened consciousness,
One need not dread wintry days and nights.
Who needs fur coats, cashmere blankets, or campfires
When in faith we bash in warm, celestial delights?
Oh, thine uncommon wisdom, Oh Sage,
is to be extolled and praised by generations yet unborn.
Every life is merely a fleeting performance on a stage;
thus, make haste to engrave in stone such wisdom for the forlorn.
Sep 23, 2020
Sep 23, 2020 at 9:50 AM UTC
Wearing such an appearance as gentle thoughts is an illusion!
Wearing it for fun is the slow delusion creeping up on you.
Gentle thoughts may be fake... B-but at least I have my own dignity to outshine my true self as my truer appearance!
PS... Gentle thoughts
Jul 19, 2020
Jul 19, 2020 at 4:01 AM UTC
Although I am always cold
Maybe I have burdened my self...
With too much linen to wear and carry?
Jul 13, 2019
Jul 13, 2019 at 10:55 PM UTC
I feel small
The world is a laughing giant
Wearing a coat to stop the cold
But all of her coats are too big for me
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 2:46 PM UTC
Thread by Thread, sowing light.
O so white, gloriously bright.
Like the Sun, hanging up high, shining brightly.
My Spirit soaring, my faith growing. The Passion burning.
A black canvas can be painted white.
Dark skies can still be streaked with light.
I don't know about you, but I will be wearing light.
The fire within burning bright. The light inside, never to be put out.
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 12:18 AM UTC
I lingered in pockets of madness, they were
like crushed velvet on my fingertips.
Soft gentle with a hint of static on my nails.
When I had lived in sanity it wore on me
like a cotton jumper, irratating me, my
thoughts rational and lucid I felt *****
"We are only as crazy as the world around us,
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 5:47 PM UTC
I try to breathe.
Which is a hard task for me.
My life is fading fast.
These new lungs I was given.
Make me feel unforgiven.
My breath will never last.
Life is hard to live.
When all I do is give.
And I receive nothing in return.
The new lungs are fading.
My wrists are blading.
My whole world is ready to burn.
I can't escape this Hell.
I've been deemed "mentally unwell."
I'm ready to be down for the count.
So I just crawl in bed.
And cover my head.
My new lungs are wearing out.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 1:20 AM UTC
Let me tell stories about who I am,
Let me rob you of your proof that I am your friend,
Let slip secret notions that live deep within my soul,
Watch me process and twist whatever unwavering truth you've believed you told,
All jumbled on the banks of a chaotic mind,
All broken stolen and now hard to find,
Please tell me it's okay to let ugly parts poke out of this heart you've painted gold,
Because keeping them hidden my body begins to fold,
This smile you cherish is a silent scream trying to escape my tightly closed lips,
This smile is me begging you to instruct me to cut the s**t,
Because without permission and direction I'll always choose to swim in it.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 7:04 PM UTC
*(I think I fell in love in the back of a theater
foreign languages on the screen-
mourning dew in your eyes.)*
Empty bars encourage the best conversation
in the dead of winter
when nobodies feel the most alive.
they order Irish coffees and Old Fashions
to remind them of the
grandfathers they never knew, while we talk
and covet the ****** hair of exotic men.
*(I always awake feeling close to you
and then go to bed
disintegrated by distance- by need
love is always easier when your face is numb
having mistook the blemishes its supposed to hide
for forbidden fruit within the promised land.)*
there's a depressed bartender talking to
a manic patron,
reminding me to visit my parents soon.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 11:25 PM UTC
In this river of wine
I love my love with love
Never known before
Don’t walk into this river of hope
wearing a robe
You don’t take a good bath
wearing your gown
Come naked
In this garden
Without clothes, without figs
I am glad
that you found me
How pure a flame now burns
This thirst
with which I burn
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 1:08 PM UTC
Don't look at me and say you see
good,
They don't like that. The way
my hands are caked in colour. The way
the wall behind me is now
desecrated, they say, how can you
question those who wear
well with grain on their
lips?
The grain is their gun and
it's always on their
lips.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 3:06 PM UTC