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"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.
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Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 6:43 PM UTC
Amalgam
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
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Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 7:07 PM UTC
Waking
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
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Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 1:41 PM UTC
Off The Rip
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
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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
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Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 5:23 PM UTC
Stabile (of Mobile/Stabile)
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.
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May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 8:05 PM UTC
balcony
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.
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Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 2:32 AM UTC
Home
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.
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