"ambulation" poems
I’m a construct; piece-wise and bilateral
Anointed by half pieces parted from wise souls
Who sojourned to two-states America in uncertainty
Bore fruit, and I’m part of the four.
As fourth, I am the neoteny of the family
I’m this fleshy symmetry
Can barely keep track
Must remind, crafted in his Immortal Geometry.
So I must grin and bear it
It goes so fast, I remember bits and pieces
Far from wise, before neo-belief
I match left and right but inwardly, I’m not so wisely pieced.
It didn’t take long, my journey, though certainly short, by peaceable ambulation
From where I’ve been, people I’ve met with this inner asymmetry
I want to fix them; with my black hammer and white nail
With my grey, pulpy, heart.
Yet I don’t have the means.
Now I just don’t have it, I need to amble over with mine
My beloved two wise figures of geometry, please understand this
There’s more than the framer of hand or eye, our hearts form imperfect amalgam.
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 6:43 PM UTC
Morning. Diffuse light
through frost painted panes
xylophone alarm quantifies reticent consciousness
warm sheets a Siren Song
or ****** Lotus beckoning
to stay in comfort and familiarity
crawling to a vertical orientation
jerking into up-right ambulation
the still tepid bed implores you to stay
Dredging subconscious anxieties
nebulous worries swirl; full blown gale
Lightning fears & thunderous uncertainty flash behind groggy eyes
Backhanded ocular rub
quells queasy qualms
life is ineffably uncertain
But there’s excitement in ambiguity
satisfaction in resolution
interest in intrigue
invariable inevitability
only begets; stagnation, complacency,
boredom & apathy
Uncertainty is positive, perhaps
a necessity even
but then again the bed is still warm
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 7:07 PM UTC
Check it!
Mind State Subliminal's
Never Ridicule the Individual
there Journey is of a different school
I find myself at the pinnacle
the point of which is so critical
It's a mind state That isn't physical
mental obstacles I often leap.
then find myself tied to Marry Poppins feet
I see the world and its obscurities are out of reach
I hide in pits of insecurities I guess I'm obsolete
Will I forever have cold feet? or will my motions cause friction, the conception of heat
My perception is keep, moving and keep trying, trying is just dying
an act of the weak.
Let's smash all beliefs and DO! then keep applying pressure to these modern hands
For my body is made of fuel and metallic cans.
How often does passion stand if where it lands is on a slant?
It doesn't, it slips and slides then collides with motions that stride
is this what keeps us alive? the ambulation of vibes, the infatuation to strive, dive and keep swimming
I'm satisfied by this life I keep living
My perception is interception I catch it all than digest it.
I consume all even though it may be septic
let theses words I eat pierce my inner intestines.
I left leftovers for my contestants,
I'm lethal like needles to a vain,
this game will leave you breathless.
I'll never do it for the fame or chains or a fancy neckless
Flow is too raw. cause havoc I'm too reckless.
You can catch me at the bottom pit, be spitting the hottest ****
I'm that hip hop-otimuous
That's no name anonymous.
Your frame is just picture-less
I hope you can picture this
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 1:41 PM UTC
and in the 12th my teacher grade tenderly grabbed my wrist
and said
what is this
and
I said
me
But
that was the wrong answer
he wanted me to say
my —-wrist
he wanted me to say my
MINE
He wanted me to take ownership
of my body
he wanted to acknowledge
Or
He wanted me to acknowledge
that I was
An inside
of a body
And
Not a body
He wanted
Me to think what I just
“mistakenly”
called “me” was just a vessel
To hold “me”
That is it was lent to me and would return
from whence it came
that I was barely or merely or some other kind of “erely” visiting
and
that me and mine were different when it came to body
Such a kindness and autono-motive restoration to remind a person that they are
More
That they are not their looks
or their actions
Or even potential ambulation
I know what he offered me was a kindness
I declined
I said no in my own way
If you’re wondering
What I said was “you are what you eat”
I still don’t know what I meant
If I meant
and I’ll ozymandius myself
If I claim to be more than this
I am crumbling, but I will stand tall on these broken feet
As soon as I can fix my posture
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 5:23 PM UTC
Intricate black iron fences,
chained in from turbulent ambulation
below.
Streetcar bells,
dim drunken singers pavement level.
Room for two,
crystal cut wine glasses filled
to the brim, Merlot hospitality.
Our faces illuminated by warm orange
from lighters and city glow.
Your rosy hands,
bitten by the cold and
connect the dots between my knuckles.
He speaks in sapphire symphonies,
grins with ash stained lips.
Only rays of violet radiate between
two charcoal smeared thumb prints.
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 8:05 PM UTC
i have not seen it in the
surge of the next moment. it arrived like a letter from complete anonymity to the familiar gape in the doorstep.
i wish sometimes, now that i am
full with age yet none the wiser,
i were a bottle of wine sitting in hermetic space, where no breaths could go in and out of, as disconsolate light trudges the finite spaces its fingers like a taut grip to a gun, able to drain completely of its poisons.
i have you in my blood
and sometimes its immortality
coils into morbid contortions.
a rally of aches, scraping the sinews well and accurate, paring them of their pretensions, this kinship.
i have you in my mind
and sometimes when the impetus
galvanizes me into stolid incitations, my voice lifts and then vanishes into its shy desolations and without sound,
i pass through the deluge of
all this - of i being you,
and you, being me.
i have you sometimes in my eyes,
when these two brown planets
wax in their postulations,
nebulae of emotions explode
into tiny aggregations and now,
i am a lone star in its celestial ambulation through protruding shards of our battlements.
i have you in this warm fount
and sometimes, like a dog
choosing its memory, i sometimes
wish to forget my station and elude its equanimities and only have in my dull mind, where all
the bones are kept and
guard them in the midnight where they shape themselves into
massive morphemes digging deeper to soft skin and mangled, looking
down on me like a prey caught in a hawk's periphery and lunged at,
where all aches are awakened
with recalcitrance, casting
me away from my own tenancies.
i have not seen this in the
coming of the next moment -
we were firstly, laughing at
the smallness of things, sharing
light and other affectations,
until we came in the way
of our trains and closed their
stations, looking for
a place to go now, anywhere
but home.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 2:32 AM UTC