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"abducting" poems
No option, but to be perceived Violent, Aggressive, Irrational Identity becoming an other Words of malice, they mystify Words of ignorance, they vilify Subverting consciousness and articulation Our identities, fighting to be Autonomous landscapes Hoping in anticipation for liberation No real notion of we or me Implicating it's inhuman to be foreign When they represent as much of we and me Scandalizing alternative identities as subversive Advancing erasures in favor of hegemony Propaganda favoring what is most white Amelioration for the obliteration of cunning identity? No more cooperation, ****** the euphemisms That cover up, and help justify marginalization Our identities, fighting to be Autonomous landscapes Hoping in anticipation for liberation Time to **** ****** massacre eurocentric ideology We preach no violence, being not them, just we But cannot request to be free, must tear it out by force Eurocentric ideological pandemic inhabiting, inhibiting the soul of mankind Unthinkable abomination concealed in the veil of appropriated minds Necessitating exorcism for the incarcerated conscious mind When we completely violate mandates of eurocentric ideology When only we appropriate our own identity When we all nullify the color of our skin As profanity or inadequacy Our identities, fighting to be Autonomous landscapes Hoping in anticipation for liberation Will be awaiting purgation from alienation
0
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 6:25 PM UTC
Ideological Pandemic (Abducting Identity)
This is a Bleeping Bopping Boo. Bleeping Bopping Boo lives on the biggest bandana in Boston. Bleeping Bopping Boo eats big black butterflies, blankets, blue bananas and bears. Bleeping Bopping Boo likes beating up babies, belly dancing, bouncing on buffalo's back and abducting bananas. Bleeping Bopping Boo breaks into buffalo bodies, blame babies for bad stuff, and blabber all day. Bleeping Bopping Boo banged my back against a box. Oy the Bleeping Bopping Boo./Users/mlackritz/Desktop/Screen shot 2012-05-22 at 3.22.47 PM.png
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May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 3:14 PM UTC
Blotz Poem: Bleeping Bopping Boo
In the grace of your undying presence Voices, all those scattered voices in me unite In the light of your abducting black eyes My bleeding heart begins to write. It is your beautiful restlessness That tears me down and builds me up It is you and your silence That flows in me. In the heat of your blazing soul My veins have hardened into steel arrows Which caress my heart to and fro Until it wails like a haunting violin.
0
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 9:38 AM UTC
The Violin Song
Helplessness grasps me In her malevolent claws Abducting my soul
0
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC
Captured
i'm unwinding my head on honey moon belly ******* carnivorous lozenges falling in love with glazed eye ball devils hypnotic stare destination a tunnel of fiendish odysseys blood drooling eel vomits gush white daddy long leg threads in honeys wet cage to wither writhing spit hot in fat muscle and bone headless head first like a mindless falcon after scattered mice i feel her teeth tearing syringes of ecstasy ransacking swollen motion spirals and ***** like bronz buckaroos at a fancy pool party crimson *** macabre ****** roast bon bon fire licking her lump of desire a rousing boogyman sermon speaks in incinerating tongues swallowing a hideous parfait **** growl girl squat **** **** mint julip throat choke symphony abducting lascivious pollinated gulps take me in like reckless bull sap through your red dada warp land pit of the brain undulant flesh landscape of shapeless ovule spume mouthing night blows Incised flagellation's devour buffet spread maiden derelict arched and trembling drunk and drugged like a buttermilk sky groaning hysterical in feral muck stained beds of puce and slime ochre pigments stunned umbra a famished deep veined jutting peninsula longing for princess ***** dynasties with vast thighs radiating inferno hearths and rolling hill **** hieroglyphics decipher rug pugilist lap songs my goddess i long for your bruised fruit crawling like the dead of night on pitch vanta shadows where love becomes a savage
0
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 1:26 PM UTC
DAda Warp Land ...Ero **** Poetry
Death come marching in March. The darkest night with full moon above. With gloved hands, Death purloins my loved ones. Takes their coins so they may join the soigne march. I hear the dull sound of feet over quiet whispers. Sensing dread before I see the sight. Death conducting the dead, while abducting new souls. The march threads away through the night. Death is a relentless one. The dark menace in an endless pursuit It becomes clearer as the march gets nearer. Death hopes to pull up my grass roots An rope my untethered spirit, whether I consent or not. Death will not yield to anyone, and I am no exception. My fate has been sealed. A deadline one can not be late for. If my body is stubborn, and won't let me give in. Death will twinge me until I am unhinged. Each year, Death comes in March Each year, I watch Death march away. Each year, Death gets closer. This year, I will go marching in March.
0
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 9:07 AM UTC
Death's March
I can wash a dish SO GOOD... So good, that you could eat off it... I can fly a kite SO high, and a paper airplane SO fast and far you'd think... You'd think I was  some kind of  a pilot I listen to my music as I sleep. I dream of green women abducting me. I forget these dreams when I wake. I tie my shoes before I fall on them. I make less than average knots and fall on them anyways. And I can do these things. I can Fold a shirt SO Messily ...you'd think I had just thrown it on the floor. Yes, I can iron my clothes SO unevenly you would think I'd  jumped out of a basket. Because I did. Why? Because I am an Average person. My !LIFE!! is Average. My !CITY! is Average. And yes..even my love is average. I walk around my city with...wide eyes...but my head down. Who can see me? Who can I see? ...I walk. I go home. I work..and I eat...and then I **** Average. I wake up and I put my pants on one, two, no no FIVE! Five SLEEVES at a time. I wear one sock and TWO sandals while making eggs in my apartment. Why? Well why not? I can do these things. I am no superhero, I..am Average.
0
Sep 20, 2010
Sep 20, 2010 at 5:04 PM UTC
MLIA
A hawk is hatched in the harlequin hush inside the walls of library books in their incendiary shelves incline invitingly in carnal stories in words that leave us billowing smoke in scenes of innuendo... A bird of prey in flight even in a stationary perch, he is a glorious sight eyes full of limpid thoughts, & search, levitating litany like taboo thrown across the room questions and detours from his gaze uphoric pheremonal ***** My ***** is in a penury of vigor, my skin / proving red-rushed weaknesses for just his adonis sight for just one fantasy night... The humid walls, with their olden and unbiased silences attend my quickened qualms attend my entirety of suddenly needing to be caught in his talons' violences craving to be the meal ~ in a hawk's sight, flesh ripped in lushious strips to be inside his mouth, to feel my digestion... We match growling stares, feel the quicksilver pulse, hesitation and realization the super nova flares heating my middle, hardening my fiddle creating new sensations and worlds of wicked inflections a warm nest to rest, after the S                          E                          X... A nervous breath, as he stands abducting his hardbound knowledge odyssies in exquisite arms a twinkle in his bestial-brown eyes a pause, for crumbs to be sprinkled on the path to reprise, a piece of paper with a numeric surpise; a name: "ANGEL" flashing collegiate goods, an endangered understanding a naughty smile--a young mouth, and i am a V-formation heading for warmer south... A hawk is hatched from the harlequin hush of the Flamingo Library, i am ready to fly beyond loneliness and February, catch urgency's godspeed to Angel in the tradewinds of our testosterone his invitation scribbled on a corner piece of notes i am guessing / i'm in control i am the words unspoken in these pages, in dusty scrolls in the volumes on the walls our endangered understanding If he is there and nothing's there... still must follow my volcanic hopes meandering so to speak that entangling his and mine / tongue... how like a hawk in Spring i am sprung... (and understanding how endangered I become)
0
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 12:45 PM UTC
ENDANGERED UNDERSTANDING (Spoken Word #3)
A hawk is hatched in the harlequin hush inside the walls of library books in their incendiary shelves incline invitingly in carnal stories in words that leave us billowing smoke in scenes of innuendo... A bird of prey in flight even in a stationary perch, he is a glorious sight eyes full of limpid thoughts, & search, levitating litany like taboo thrown across the room questions and detours from his gaze uphoric pheremonal ***** My ***** is in a penury of vigor, my skin / proving red-rushed weaknesses for just his adonis sight for just one fantasy night... The humid walls, with their olden and unbiased silences attend my quickened qualms attend my entirety of suddenly needing to be caught in his talons' violences craving to be the meal ~ in a hawk's sight, flesh ripped in lushious strips to be inside his mouth, to feel my digestion... We match growling stares, feel the quicksilver pulse, hesitation and realization the super nova flares heating my middle, hardening my fiddle creating new sensations and worlds of wicked inflections a warm nest to rest, after the S                          E                          X... A nervous breath, as he stands abducting his hardbound knowledge odyssies in exquisite arms a twinkle in his bestial-brown eyes a pause, for crumbs to be sprinkled on the path to reprise, a piece of paper with a numeric surpise; a name: "ANGEL" flashing collegiate goods, an endangered understanding a naughty smile--a young mouth, and i am a V-formation heading for warmer south... A hawk is hatched from the harlequin hush of the Flamingo Library, i am ready to fly beyond loneliness and February, catch urgency's godspeed to Angel in the tradewinds of our testosterone his invitation scribbled on a corner piece of notes i am guessing / i'm in control i am the words unspoken in these pages, in dusty scrolls in the volumes on the walls our endangered understanding If he is there and nothing's there... still must follow my volcanic hopes meandering so to speak that entangling his and mine / tongue... how like a hawk in Spring i am sprung... (and understanding how endangered I become)
Continue reading...
85
Inhale, exhale, and inhale again. Blood rises and quickens. Rushing, like the resin abducting my oxygen and holding it hostage. The smoke before me that twists and dances and duplicates, making love to the air. I look at these strands past a foggy haze of uncertainty, wondering how they fit together even better than we did when they are not tangible bodies. The strands, they don't hold a heart or listen to each other breathe as they fall asleep. And I wonder how this smoke, how these **** dead wisps, love each other better than we did.
0
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 4:30 PM UTC
Exhale
nightmares are common to me normally of silly things like zombies rising aliens abducting monsters slithering but recently they have been of something more painful of you leaving me either by choice or by death it's ridiculous really i know you won't but my mind says you will it's terrifying how much the thought terrifies me that losing you could impact me so much but i guess that's what love is. -r.y.s
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Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 2:52 AM UTC
July 2nd, 2015
I first saw him in magazine ads: chiseled face + handlebar mustache + a thousand yard stare= badass. Often, two smiling, beautiful people would be to his sides, connected to his coolness, validated by his sophistication. I couldn’t wait to have one. An adjustment period comes with having a pet—sacrifices must be made. People say things like, “I never figured him as a monkey person…” and you become part of the pet owner’s subculture. He stinks up the house a bit, but I never have to lay down newspaper. Like I said, sacrifices must be made. We soon develop a symbiotic relationship: when I wake up, he is next to me… I pick him up after every meal… I take him for walks on my breaks from work… Ozzie & Harriet… Michael & Bubbles… Frankie Beverly & Maze— “We Are One”. Anyhow, eleven years pass and he gets huge. It’s becoming harder to carry him the less I think of it. My pet develops a penchant for climbing skyscrapers, a proclivity towards abducting white women, but he is always there for me. I wouldn’t call him high maintenance, but caring for a silver-back gorilla can be expensive. Nonetheless, he is well-fed; the money I spend is Chiquita. I kiss his **** sure…everyone that knows him does. I have to get rid of him and it will break my heart. You can’t take a gorilla to the pound and they won’t read Dear John letters, but something must be done. If I don’t **** him sooner or later, he will **** me… he has become a wild animal after all. A pet is never more dangerous than its owner.
0
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 7:23 PM UTC
The Marlboro Monkey
I first saw him in magazine ads: chiseled face + handlebar mustache + a thousand yard stare= badass. Often, two smiling, beautiful people would be to his sides, connected to his coolness, validated by his sophistication. I couldn’t wait to have one. An adjustment period comes with having a pet—sacrifices must be made. People say things like, “I never figured him as a monkey person…” and you become part of the pet owner’s subculture. He stinks up the house a bit, but I never have to lay down newspaper. Like I said, sacrifices must be made. We soon develop a symbiotic relationship: when I wake up, he is next to me… I pick him up after every meal… I take him for walks on my breaks from work… Ozzie & Harriet… Michael & Bubbles… Frankie Beverly & Maze— “We Are One”. Anyhow, eleven years pass and he gets huge. It’s becoming harder to carry him the less I think of it. My pet develops a penchant for climbing skyscrapers, a proclivity towards abducting white women, but he is always there for me. I wouldn’t call him high maintenance, but caring for a silver-back gorilla can be expensive. Nonetheless, he is well-fed; the money I spend is Chiquita. I kiss his **** sure…everyone that knows him does. I have to get rid of him and it will break my heart. You can’t take a gorilla to the pound and they won’t read Dear John letters, but something must be done. If I don’t **** him sooner or later, he will **** me… he has become a wild animal after all. A pet is never more dangerous than its owner.
Continue reading...
37
I came to your hometown team inserted in hallucinatory dreams   inspired sweaty with fused realms Is it real that you stole Mona Lisa? At the heart of Louvre in 1911 Is it true that you sneaked her? was it for a muse or a lover to use? She would have viewed you sideways then make love to you at the coffee table Her beauty enthralled yours in entirely blending on easel with pencil onto a canvas Her palate would have swooned your palette   Her very kiss would have paralyzed in ecstasy abducting your perpendicular in angular zones Then you framed it on Guillaume Appollinaire The poet play wright whom face you just forgot under the oath, in the sweet name of freeing art from the prisons of extortionate museums fixtures   the same exhibitions holding your name and fame charging fees for a walk around the rhythm of art a melody not each an every artist will be granted You made the goddesses and then reduced them to dust Fernanda soothed the childhood nightmares to lust Olga the ballerina whom you couldn't share the assets Marie-Therese the 17year old who hang herself to death Dora Maar who fought so hard to get your affection Francoise who left law school for your immortalisation Jacqueline your passion who you wooed with a dove
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Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 6:54 PM UTC
A Malaga of Picasso with a twist
evolutionary revisionist screaming about alien DNA and the Annunaki teaching ape-men on the Sumerian plains – looking at the southern skies for the coming of Nibiru sending red horns across the horizon bringing back the overlord giants another round of **** and zero-point energy – fallen angles look like greys travelling from heaven in shiny silver disks abducting the impoverished for genetic manipulation and artificial insemination attempted creation of a hybrid nation my lament is not taken seriously and I slip further into the fringe – cattle mutilation no longer garners a press release five million people with similar memories are all discounted as crazy so the masses can sleep believing they are alone and special in the universe –
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Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 12:59 PM UTC
the new age upon us smells familiar
over 18 adult content Things That Wake Me Up I sleep in my bed and get woken up by different things But not all at once they get me one at a time There’s the earthquake shaking the bed side to side The need to take a **** when all I want is sleep Bowel movements rumble griping me to get up Time to go to work to do my slave job A big ******** my urge to **** **** **** her now! Rise and shine Nick it’s time to hike the hill Smell of lovely bacon cooking ruins my sleep No sleep as all keeps me awake so I find her Zombies breaking down my door rouse me Aliens abducting me thru the roof ***** me All this and more wakes me up now now now All I want is to get some ****** sleep! You’ll sleep when you’re dead lad…
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Sep 27, 2021
Sep 27, 2021 at 10:37 PM UTC
Things That Wake Me Up
Food is very clearly one of life's greatest pleasures Before my immortality had revealed itself, when i could taste I would eat the most delicious food Flavors are something i miss the most Roasted duck breast, brazed boar, steamed broccoli, sauteed mushrooms Spiced rice, beef bourguignon, warm soft bread The sensation of chewing, feeling sinews of meat rip and tear against my teeth Letting taste fill my pallet Feeling my belly fill with fresh hot food, satiating the human desire to feed But many years ago taste began to abandon me It maddened me; i gorged myself Ate everything i could to try and taste Drank far beyond when a normal man would have died My appetite grew and went to strange places Desperation consumed me and my mind caved inward I began abducting people Of vastly different ages Having them eat food so that i may watch Sometimes i would have them feed me Eventually i turned to eating my victims In a desperate attempt to gain my lost sensation The young, the old, the unborn, the dead My early decent into never ending life was a torrential madness It ruined my mind Only after having eaten my entire household inhabitants Did i confront, no, transform into the entity i am now Among very few things, I remember taste the most But i miss it the least A simple joy, lead me to the most distorted, darkest, insanity
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Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 12:42 AM UTC
The Immortal Melting Man 6
Desire is a hidden waterfall gushing in secret silence pouring on aching stones for the quest of an unknown Sun to reveal itself. Desire is the carnival of colors on a night when you first discover the smile of love and how it dissolves walls in your room as wings brush a fascinated frontier with the new possibility of anything. Desire is a clan of warriors at Dawn armed with spears of magenta smearing clouds, stabbing sky spectacles as your eyes blast off somewhere far away. Vigorous is the voice speaking from Evergreen Palace, extravagant as the precious place we all come from but have forgotten. Firefall abducting your wounds into absolute convergence inside the Nameless Place of All. Discovery is the realization that what lies inside you is the golden cup that completes every broken aspect you identified yourself to be. Drink long and deep, this golden liquid can heal anything.
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May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 12:23 AM UTC
Desire Of Discovery
it's like you were my abductor. at least that's how I see you, you were like a kidnapper, abducting every last one of my thoughts against my will and I had no control over it. I am practically like a helpless child who has been abducted and is hidden away from anyone and everyone, only instead of being hidden away, my thoughts are held captive against my will to be constantly set on how things should have been between us, only you don't know where I am. I constantly feel like a child locked away in some hidden room so no one can find me, only I am locked in my mind to dwell on what I should have done so this thing wouldn't have happened. I am just sitting waiting for someone to come rescue me, to call 911 because they found me, only I have to be rescued from myself, because I am my own abductor, because I control my thoughts that only consist of you and they way your smile shines like a thousand stars, or how your eyes twinkle when the light hits them in that certain spot, the thought of how you aren't ticklish, but when I try to tickle you you come after me and I giggle like a little kid with cotton candy. I want to always remember the beautiful memories that I will always carry with me, the memory of the way you abducted me in every part of who i am. so if this is abduction... I cant decide if I want them to rescue me         L.K.W
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Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 1:23 AM UTC
///7.16.14///
I've always been fascinated by mist This white purity That can be so dark And so cruel Abducting And blinding You white darkness Your satin fingers Touch So soft So pure And you **** with menace White darkness Swallow me in Engulf me in your blinding light Oh, sweet white darkness... How you mystify me.
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Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 10:25 AM UTC
White darkness
Time immortal, the master thief, stealing tomorrow from the past Abducting each moment, all life itself, —today within its grasp (Santa Fe New Mexico: February, 2019)
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Feb 2, 2019
Feb 2, 2019 at 11:26 AM UTC
Stolen Moments