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Thomas Bodoh May 2019
A brew’r of hearts once offered me a phial,
Her fragile workings wrought with glass-tipped hands,
Brimming gold and glinting simmering smile;
It wafted cooling springs and lotuslands.
Her gentle fingers crushed our fateful flowers,
Enchanting them, and seven years surged back
In bottled blooms. Undo, O nightly hours!
You saw my tainted tongue poison it black.
But ere the deadly draught near stopped my heart,
A foggéd dream collects within my sight:
The far ’way face that Time has locked apart,
Her unblack tresses matching moonless height.
Hear, sweet witch, my soul’s lamenting plea
And fashion me the flask of saving remedy.
Thomas Bodoh Feb 2019
Seeping, leaking, between my teeth
The biting gust that hardens my skin like frost creeping across granite
Air inhaled and exhaled by time's countless gasping human mouths
With cracked lips and drier tongues gaping wide
Air that ***** my lungs flat till lifeless
Then fills them up again:
Swelling like so many pulsing hearts.

~ T.A. Bodoh
Thomas Bodoh Feb 2019
From a thousand miles away
I can still hear you
Breathing
Don’t stop
Yet
Thomas Bodoh Feb 2019
People matter and they matter and they matter
Until suddenly they don't.
Shall I condemn myself?
Thomas Bodoh Feb 2019
A ***** tightened too tight
Right here. In my stomach.

Life is a simple thing, really:
You just let people tell you exactly what you need to feel,
Followed by:
Exactly what you need to do
Followed by:
Exactly how you need to live.
Then, fortunately, you'll be happy, and thus you will have nothing else in the world to worry about.
It's certainly a utopian age we live in. It's funny how every single person has every single answer to every single question.

A Disclaimer:
I dislike emotion. It's rather like a very uncomfortable shape that just sort of sits there - or sometimes it rages, but mostly just sits there - moving about as if it breathes, and its heart beats on its own. The best thing to do is:
Beat it down with a large wooden stick. And then follow the rules.

Let us review the matter, shall we?
A singular person seems to entirely shift the constellations that connect the stars in my head.
Until it all sort of flattens into a wide, sharp-but-not-sharp mass of screaming desire and frantic pursuit, and it settles nicely into the shape of my smile.

A side note:
Eyes are easy to look into,
until you realize that perhaps you shouldn't be looking into them
until you realize that it might be your one chance to look into them,
until you realize that it's too late, and those eyes are
somewhere else.
Bliss.

Back to business:
The feel of someone is like fire - can't quite grasp it until you are, and then it leaves a mark. An aching mark, perhaps, one that leaves you up at night, but a mark nonetheless.
And then the planets suddenly all revolve around that sun, that flaming son, that maddeningly heated and roaring sun that warms you and burns you and fills your life with light and blinds you to everything that was or should be or even wants to be and it just is:

Love. A terrifying, irrational, confusing, and all-around undesirable reality. Let's scrape it off into words, the little voices said, and see if it makes anything better. In a small way, perhaps it does. Or maybe that's just me again.

A note to the Reader:
Nothing to see here, my friend. Just a bit of liquid nonsense splattered onto a blank page. With all the lies out there, it's fascinatingly easy to be deceived.

A Final Note:
Occasionally there is a moment
in which the reality becomes so real that it's There
and an unfortunate soul can feel it
and they also feel that Person breathing, shifting, living, from so far away and suddenly
for just a second
in a flash of light
that unfortunate soul
can sense the squirming mass of flesh that is Humanity
under an abandoned darkening sky.

A hand tightened too tight
Right here. Over my heart.
Thomas Bodoh Jan 2019
Silver ink snaking, slithering, sparkling like
drops of liquid starshine, night-sky blood
against such a blank and frightening ocean!
A map with no places, latitude no longitude,
stacked on one another like skin, punctured flesh
throbbing under aching fingers, scratching, scratching --
Wood on paper, etching the past in words,
the same naked quill I used to slit my soul
and slice open a hurting heart, once beating now bleeding
black and crimson pools of little light letters:
a lonely puddle, a mirror-pond, dabs of grey
in that white sea,
ivory sea,
silent sea,
hidden sea.
Thomas Bodoh Nov 2018
Thank you for asking all the hard questions
that I tried to answer but you never believed me

Thank you for that ring you dropped into my bag
the golden one with the intertwined hearts

Thank you for making me love the wrong way
each glance like someone that doesn't hug back

Thank you for darkening the sky over my head
with your horrible grinning and coaxing and breathing

Thank you for begging me to tell you what's wrong
so I can fashion a fantasy of black hoodies and grief

Thank you for letting my lie to your face
slipping through my teeth under lips with a smile

Thank you for making my poetry crumble and
become rambling lines about love

and other awful things
that kind of don't
matter when
it gets
down
to
it
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