#wheels
Here's a funny thing 'bout clowns:
NOTHING. They eat babies and ****
Young men until they get their fill,
Hang kittens by their window sill,
Send texts from behind the wheel,
Name their daughters things like Neil,
Use way too much salt on every meal,
Leave you on read just for the thrill,
And put their names in your nan's will
Actually, the balloon animals are pretty cool I guess
Jul 27, 2020
Jul 27, 2020 at 7:03 PM UTC
Summer rain, melting Arctics
and the lipids lining the nerves
in your brain. These are the metrics
of our times. Mere resolve
is not enough to take care
along the highway—you need wheels and prayer.
When you realize there’s no there there
that’s a scary day. End there.
August, the extinction is terrifying.
Quiet, too quiet. 100% humidity, not a single insect flying.
Summer morning, summer evening, sighing
the sighs of purgatory—grief without pain, death without dying.
I’ve chosen the safety of these mountains
and the beauty of their mists—such perfection
which anyone can have for the asking.
All you need to know is the names of things.
Conflict, coercion, war, strife.
Flying high in April, shot down over Germany.
Have a good day. That’s life. Fix yr brakes.
When I hit a pothole my fillings sing.
Anything’s possible, it’s impossible
to know what will happen until it’s happened.
You can’t know what you’re doing until it’s done
and even then you stare in wonder
unmoved yet moved by the stillness
a pure goodness, bone stillness, potential energy. You can practice it
in the city or the desert.
The wilderness or the mirror over your dresser.
Dec 2, 2019
Dec 2, 2019 at 12:25 PM UTC
Your work, your will
Both the unconscious free and purchased thrill
All of it being inside yourself
Burns fast to ash and with a flash
Is gone into the nothingness of the still
But God
Being more than free and willing to wield
The honest truth in relation to man
Is outside of the self
Is outside of the endless pleasure wheel
Though redundant as this life may be
To pass over the distant hill
It is in his freedom you most feel
The completeness of his higher will
And may you be therein
Feb 21, 2019
Feb 21, 2019 at 7:10 PM UTC
On four wheels
and on my knees.
Warm colorful tones
and cracking bones.
Up in the sky
and down to hell.
A trip I take everyday,
to feel well.
Foggy windows,
foggy minds
creating beautiful times.
Pulling the string
that makes me do things
which would make an angle
loose her wings.
She would forget to fly
and then peacefully die.
Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 1:48 PM UTC
Burning time with
Written rhyme for
No real reason at all
Thinking of fall
Colors leaving
The trees turning neutral
Faces wrinkle, and
Water trickles
Down the flowing river
Leading us back
From which we came
To unity, once again.
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 1:26 AM UTC
I always thought the wings of a plane
were the most important part,
but they only carried me
when I was flying around.
It was then that that I realized,
She was the wheels
Who carried me
whenever I hit the ground.
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 7:04 PM UTC
My wheels were always a trusted friend,
but upon this degree of speed and spin,
I felt the wobble upon the road,
a countless amount of times I've rode!
At this moment, I looked around,
for the best place to strike the ground,
and in that instant, beneath my feet,
my board no more, only cracked concrete,
within the silence, I heard my mom,
“Don’t leave without your helmet on,”
with nothing soft to break my fall,
the ground and I began to brawl,
It ripped my clothes, it ripped my skin,
until my body seized to spin,
inside my head, my world still spun,
surely, my ragdoll body was done,
but how could I end my day on a spill?
so I scooped up my board
and climbed up Stoney Hill.
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 10:15 AM UTC
At a time where it seems so very hard, for me just to feel alive.
all I wanted then, was to drive
As ridiculous as it seems
it was the stuff of my dreams
all I needed was my car and vacant 4am roads.
Going through the gears, as if they were my final years
piston tatted-ring finger; hand firmly wrapped around the wheel
braking late into the corner
locking up the alloy steel wheels on my automobile
the tires squeal
waltzing them back into rotation as I find the threshold
clutch in
twist of the leg at the hip, I blip the throttle with my heel
down into second
one swift movement
un-burnt fuel erupts in the pipes.
blitzing through the off ramp
keeping it tight, clipping the manhole cover in the apex
pedal flat coming out, bounce the tach' as its not worth the upshift
pitch the car into the long sweeping overpass bend
the back end kicks out on decel'
counter steer and slam the accelerator back into the bare metal floor
front wheels clawing in the direction that I please
keys slapping my knees
straighten out and I ease her back home.
reverse down into the narrow; dimly lit garage
as I climb out, I can feel the heat radiating from the machine I built
hot oil ticking as it finds its way back to the pan
I stand and watch my car slowly disappear behind the garage door
it is but another night survived
for both of us.
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 1:47 AM UTC
The ideas to some would verse on the loathsome depravity
of humanity. But in my line of work what can I say there are lines,
fetishizes that even a calm exterior camouflages within
the proportioned exterior. But where the concept ferments on
there conceptions what if I could just once.
I had spun a myth that you could call for the latter fake news,
that to partake on those still exhaling life while feeding
upon them could in essence harvest their youthful years.
and to an amazement this was perceived as truth of word.
But I didn't mind, feeding dark fantasies was justice enough
I would move around in a covered lorry, it was quite
the thing to see not like a slaughter house on wheels more
a bistro, if you can envision it black reflective tiles where
the meat would be cut. "yes they liked to watch their food.
but I had organized it so it was easy to dispose of evidence.
Admittance to ones own errors in judgement is ones first step
to learning. I had invited a select few to see how it would play out.
You could never quite tell, I had vetted them of course before hand.
Seeing if their fear would procreate to me being an jumpsuit lackey
of the orange tint variety. But my faith in humanity was resorted.
For I had taken precautions these tables were rigged,
what you think I'm just a cook? I was in university years of
wasted youth, but I learnt much. Knowing the foundations of
what I was doing, lets just say they'd be static if I were betrayed.
And for good luck, my beautiful little lady slept under the counter.
They watched in admiration for my art, asking the questions
of "was it alive. I had left a drainage hole for the blood to
seep warm to a holding bowl. Some had versed that they
wanted not only to taste, but drink upon this special occasion.
So they to gorged on life's rose bouquet and adored its tasting.
What I hadn't perceived was that to keep them static of
motion was not a wise choosing. They say to much of
something is a good thing, they weren't joking.
The blood had to much sedative in it, luckily all had slumbered
on there drive home.The coriner had a busy night.
But all had tweeted its success before become as dead as lunch.
This time it was different, I just created a gag to muffle, but to
also verse the whimpering murmurs of there ill begotten pleas.
Did they not think if they were this deep in the rabbit hole?
There was no way of digging themselves out of this..
But people liked the noise while eating there meal.
"silence is death,
The only way it would end would per say, once I broke down.
sights not meant to be seen, murmurs escaping there captivity.
Nearly happened once, "ONCE, is enough the mechanic
finished fixing my engine "Dam spark plug, but as he
wondered on to next appointment in life. A silly notion
of my ignorance, bumps loosen bonds, and voices loosen
to the sound of another's presence.
"What was that, "hello are you ok, "Sir what's going on,
Last words not befitting, now I have two meals to prepare.
Luckily a local to the place now a missing poster somewhere.
I travel this country of mine, meals on wheels of a different
kind, giving those of unique human traits there just taste.
If I wasn't doing it others would have and not in my good
taste. Do you know they say that the flesh taste like chicken?
To those who follow me, they think it extend there finite
moment on the rock hurtling to oblivion some day.
Me, I just enjoy my skills, cooking is life, you are what
you eat. So if you have a strange friend who invites you
to a once in a lifetime meal, be careful for those of squeamish
inclination will only see this once for if I sense there needing
to snap-chat.. to food **** my creations on social media.
horrified by the unique blending of my creations.
Think for one moment? is this other really your friend!!
Or do they wish to partake on your flesh, a delicate aroma
of your live being drunk upon.. they smile as you fade.
Sep 8, 2017
Sep 8, 2017 at 6:32 AM UTC
Miles and minutes
Trading time for a timeline
I'd rather not finish
Stick it out and ill be fine
Passing space
Metal matter flowing far below me
It must be the high tide I love to race
Encroaching, live for the second
Adrenaline dripline
Barely alive but still doing fine
Seperate my body and mind
Laughing as everyone else, doing their best to undermine
As i stick my wheels to the curb
***** four wheel drive
One more dead end suburb
I lost any reason i had left to strive
But im still right here
I havent moved in so **** long
In the seat of my car
Still hearing the same **** songs
Still partaking in life as it may come
Still drinking gas station pop
I was told the world would pass me by
But turns out my world follows me
And I dont mind
Passing their world by
Space seems so far away
And im still worried about words
Ideas die when action is taken
Stones are broken as we discern
Rebuilding feels so akin
To leaving no stone unturned
And as my temepered glass view finder
Drifts father through the rubble
I can see promise
And i can see the death of each and every one of them
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 3:50 AM UTC
I got a pair of Starburys when I was ten.
Didn't want them,
I actually wanted some Heelys instead.
Wanted to be like my friends
and trip over pebbles
and get tucked into bed with band-aids.
My mom told me to stop focusing on their plates and look at mine.
I had a fork, spoon, and knives,
grown man portions: eyes the size of my stomach.
She was right --
I never liked training wheels, or cheat codes,
or elbow pads or nightlights.
Grown men aren't scared to fall,
so why am I?
Why am I twenty years old shopping on the Heelys website?
Jan 12, 2017
Jan 12, 2017 at 12:27 AM UTC
The rumble of wheels beneath my heels.
Wind in my hair, forgetting that noone cares.
A heavy heart and a brand new start.
Oh, where should I go?
Will I ever know?
Nov 25, 2016
Nov 25, 2016 at 9:12 PM UTC
Clickety clack clickety clack,
Suitcase wheels over the cracks,
Business men and business ladies,
Men and women some with babies,
The noise they make with heavy pacing,
Sends my heart heavily racing,
Pneumatic tyres would be better,
I'll need to send the makers a letter,
Small cases with high pitch sound,
Ladies with fast walking grace,
Heavy gait of business men,
Large cases with a steady bass,
Trip trap across the road,
Off the pavement to the gutter,
Checking left and right for traffic,
Straight across without a stutter,
Clickety clickety clickety clack,
Two abreast and walking past,
Clickety clickety clickety clack,
Like a train approaching fast.
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 5:11 AM UTC
Great events often turn on small wheels. It is a gear shift that is not easily obtained.
With time thinning, moments to turn around for better is lessening.
We don't build without foundation, the pyramids also were not overnight.
So to be wan and weary when the seemingly endless journey advances,
you realize pace is adjustable.
Baby steps are inevitable, but the worth of building up to better is just so patiently inclined.
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 9:13 PM UTC
When two black wheels crashed into four
Two legs stretched out behind a silver door
He lay, pinned down on the dusty road
Clawing at her face in vain, he choked.
My conscience asks, "What troubles you more?"
"*The mask of anger that she wore?
The circle of people watching the show?*"
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 7:45 AM UTC
I’m a man on wheels.
Don’t got much to ride for
and I know how lonely feels.
Few women I would die for,
none in ribbons or high heels.
There’s a place back home
I call my own,
but the emptiness it yields
makes me remember why I’m a man on wheels.
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 10:35 AM UTC
Greased wheels, I knew you once.
I loved to balance like a child.
Roaming the paved streets; riding is like flying.
I knew you when the store held you back.
I chose you from behind handlebars with purple streamers.
Your tires silently carried me to classes,
each brake stop signaled that we were close to our arrival.
I sat on your worn black seat like I was on a throne of sorts.
Even though that seat is tattered with one rip on the side,
all I saw in you was my own **** pride.
Spokes, I knew you once.
I played your tune each journey that we went on.
No hill was ever tall enough, no road was ever too bumpy.
Gears, I knew you once.
Click, Lock, Click
sometimes you were tight and never let me ride
sometimes you were loose and my feet went flying ‘round too fast for me to catch
what you were doing.
I knew you once, when time was young.
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 8:46 PM UTC
HOT WHEELS.
I went from broke to buying a Lamborghini,
Price tag not so teeny,
Sleek and black, for my driving academy,
Or should I buy the red Ferrari?
Command a salesman to "comprare"?
Wouldn't he be a happy chappy?
But would it make me happy?
I could be buying loads of stuff,
But when you're old, you've got enough!
To me, consumerism is in vain,
My peaceful simple life in the slow lane.
So, today I did not buy the red Ferrari,
Or indeed the sleek Lamborghini,
There was no Hot Wheels Driving School,
Consumerism as a manipulative tool.
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 5:26 PM UTC
what is this yearning?
to feel the constant twirl of our turning
to angle the head, resting chin to shoulder,
wedging itself into place like a candle to it's holder
motioning backwards, resisting all forward
where our form turns from flesh to steel
as we wrap our stories onto the rotating prayer wheel
mimicking VHS tapes
and twisting our frames to rewind the spell of time
to undo scripture laid in stone
becoming a one man
time machine freak show.
to dwell in the days of yore
and tell yourself …
"its all been done before"
where we become the whirling dervish
head angled aside like a curious sun dial clock
arms resting in the air on the great invisible rock
or maybe
holding afloat the force of the celestial spheres,
a battalion of Atlas' drenched in marbled white cloth
stirring in a *** of dance turned to trance
into some chaotic mystery broth.
where we become the lazy susan
who just found her running gear
wedged on the cluttered bookshelf
like added day to leap year.
and we wonder what we have become
what concoction have we drunk?
thats spun us dreideling from
under the rug of normalcy.
this potion of feet lifting and descending
-- a mad mans dance --
always going and never arriving
until we no longer know where "I" begins or ends
until time no longer knows which way to bend
and our feet become entangled below
in a rapid fire dance of devotion
between course ground and sweet motion
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 2:13 AM UTC
I twist and turn your wheel like a man possessed.
Stamping on the brake
Stomping on the gas!
Turn that lever
Honk that horn
Get me there quick!
You growl back at me!
But then comes the affection
I maintain you.
I polish you and give air to your tyres.
Keep going we will get to the finish line together!
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 9:33 AM UTC
NUMB, half asleep, and dazed with whirl of wheels,
And gasp of steam, and measured clank of chains,
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 4:01 AM UTC
8450 plus one. But you are always ahead of me by 84.
But this doesn't stop me from trying to catch up to you. I can try and fill those 120960 moments with my leaps over cracks in the sidewalk to reach your side.
Yet you've whispered to me, I'm not a digit over 7355. That you've watched the ticker count, and it announces every 1440 moments that 7355 has not changed for 1040 repetitions.
I can hear in your exhale that staring at the defunct device has been in vain. That your desires, for it to be somewhere near your own 8534, are blatantly not occurring. I feel the heat of your blood as the rush fills your mind that if you stare any longer, your counter will pause too.
You tell me that there has been a problem regarding my recorder and there is nothing you could do because you had to tend to your own to ensure it wouldn't falter.
You don't know that I am a mechanic. And I diligently examine the mechanism. The gears for the face in mine have not been greased.
I had always just kept the clock wound - forgetting that it is useless for a watch to move forward, if it never displays the correct time.
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 1:43 AM UTC
At the beginning, when lighting this fire,
I thought I was just playing with matches
until I realized that when my plan hatches
I've got it under control.
Fire fighters can control fire,
but they can't control desire
and now I have lived in my human pyre,
the feeling of hell on razor wheels
down in the pit of my stomach.
The feeling that keeps you up
and makes you write til your numbers up,
and I couldn't stop it even if I wanted,
this task is my final gauntlet,
so I go crazy not to squander it.
It only happens once in a life time,
and it ends whenever the clock chimes,
so I fight to keep that minute hand
from going one measure further,
but I can't fight a time marked brand,
so in the end I will be the server
of all who fight until the end
of the struggle, to help those after me
so I'll cry for others to hear my plea
to treat others right until the world can see
what they've done so well.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 12:18 AM UTC
Sitting is my only choice
I rolls slowly down the halls
I don't really have a voice
No one ever seems to hear my calls
Strap on the gloves of black
Pushing and pushing all day
My teachers think I tend to slack
I really have a lot to say
It's harder than you think to be me
To not be able to walk
And not be able to see
People tend to think I can't talk
I wish the world could see it
What it's like to live on wheels
You can't do anything alone
You need help and more help.....
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 7:57 PM UTC