"atriums" poems
a bean like no other
bitter and white;
a microscopic dynamite,
peristalsis using all its might
my cave so suspenseful and hollow
ridges lined along its curves
churning to my so-called mental benefit
those gastric juices now released,
microscopic dynamite
simply had one more muscle to defeat
a match at last perceived
microvilli yearning love ,
in, it took the dynamite.
yet confused it became as
micro relations only last a short while.
"Nutrients" absorbed,
betrayal on its way
the bloodstream sent in shock
oh such bloodless atriums
oh such vaulted ventricles.
oh how my blood flow met its end.
Although deceiving it had been
no promises were riven
the dynamite exploded
and at last
no longer was I broken.
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 1:06 AM UTC
perched in a thick mess of pine trees
my head rotates three hundred and sixty degrees
scouring for the vermin I make my prey
I own the night time skies
silhouetted against a harvest moon
death is coming in my dreams
and with it comes new life
wisdom of the self
aware of the lies which cover the world in its blanket of grey snow
the owl lives in my skull
The coyote stalking the empty desert highways
looking for roadkill
looking for the weak and alone
I cackle into the dead sterile air
for every pack member lost to poachers
manic laughter for every left turn which results in dead ends
stealthy patient
hungry and haunting
the coyote treads the territory of my atriums and ventricles
The hawk circles in the blinding midday sun
a deadly serrated dagger with wings
arrow let loose from the quiver of the Gods
impossible to tether and domesticate
finding ultimate freedom in the vast openness of the sky
lock on,
tuck the wings,
nose dive deep into the waters of the ****
a creator
a teacher
a messenger of truth
the hawk soars in the infinity of my soul
ID
EGO
SUPEREGO
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 10:29 AM UTC
If my blood could illustrate,
A picture to the world,
It will tell you the exact state,
How my heart pumps its hurt.
Each ventricle pumps emotions,
Pain, anger, hope,
Up to my brain,
And down to my toes.
Slithering through each artery and vein,
Blood carves my hearts pain,
In my head,
In my head.
Working through each capillary,
It forges anger and rage,
In my bones,
My aching bones.
After its done its work,
It fights back through each valve,
And pours back into the atriums,
Devoid of fury and pain.
It was used up,
Just like my tears,
My wasted energy for nothing,
It brought me no good.
Just more hurt.
And just slowly,
As the pain and anger dissipates from my system,
And fresh blood is packaged and sent,
From my bone marrows,
It brings along a slimmer of hope,
That this new cycle of blood would carry no more pain.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 4:36 AM UTC
Her fingertips loosed the glass
bottle, which had
of late
gathered rain like the
hands of paupers.
Glitter in a heartbeat.
to be collected by old battered shoes
or car tyres
and streetwise magpies.
it joins a city evensong
this oceanic roar of nothing
fusing chords of cars and smoke
and lonely dogs
with hacks
and throngs
of perambulating suits
and suitors
trampling athwart broads of concrete
As swifts in summer.
We swim in it
through open atriums
and barren rooms of
magnolia and magnolia and magnolia.
All the while if you look harder
you see through chinks a sepulchre
in each greying tower
ranging higher and higher still.
Machines and machinations
stacking life upon life to
build pyramids
to gaudy kings
in pinstripe or herringbone.
Flumes of fumes ***** like floods
Into and out of train stops
and bus stands.
Circling lungs like hungry crows.
Crows which haunt
Bombed out chapels made new
resuscitated with waxen ivy
and ivory lilies.
And the leaves of saintly oak trees
chatter in shrinking crevices of green
story telling
Of how people and things grow old.
And you can walk these streets
And dive too like cormorants into
The platitudes of city living.
Soaked to the skin in sound
to tell your story
like the shards
of a broken bottle.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 6:10 PM UTC
Cruel Instigation
of my heart
gave me less
than what i took
our eyes match
to light a spark
burning walls
in vein
my atriums Pound
the rushing sound
fills my sense
as i dash
through
cold
dark
hallways
alone,
but for
the Thought of You
i would fly
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 3:54 PM UTC
The sands of El Dorado
Lash my tongue under tarp;
Wishes born something golden,
Fried eggs under beds
And homes, abodes in progress,
One peso at a time –
A tale and tear with every grain,
An allowance and granted only
Broken window.
The ragged lump of pillow
Where I now taste time,
Reeks of mescal with my
One white elbow
Tapping one bronze elbow;
Distant, under woven wanderings
And tattered dreams of parents
Wishing well – come subtle guilt,
Whilst the roofs of a prior Tibet
Tap atop my tether.
And while I ponder what strums –
Atriums, tempest and tubular,
I also reckon in what it means to be
Held and held alike
So that I can protect
And protect alike;
She’s waiting for me in “before”
And in Mexico, in the “now,”
So much sooner the past.
So to sooner, broken the future.
And so mothers will cry in kitchens,
Others laugh come the next fool
And yet others, abandon others
So that soon, recklessly soon, my feet
Make a wonderful twist toward away;
But at least I’d had this sunset –
Something to ride off into like the
Liquid dreams off a furrowed brow
And at least we’d had “we” on more time.
Just one more time.
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 11:46 PM UTC
your heart unmasks
to a dagger, already deep into my atriums,
until my muse is replaced
with the bleeding, and each stanza
is your shadow
in shackles. a poem is just a poem
until you perceive it
out of paper—in the silence,
scratching against your skull—until
it begins to burn, your body
bright-blue beneath, your secrets
streaming out like incense—until
it is a grave, with you
more alive in it.
a poem is just a poem until it bites,
until it howls, until it makes
our memory its metaphor
for midnight.
Dec 13, 2020
Dec 13, 2020 at 1:24 PM UTC
i feel you
in the valleys of my fingerprints.
i feel you
in the tissues of my lungs.
i feel you
in every wrinkle on my face,
in the back of my mind,
in the atriums of my heart,
in the pit of my stomach.
i feel you everywhere,
all over me.
you own a body, your mind doesn't even call home.
you occupy a heart yours is incapable of loving.
you overwhelm thoughts incapable of thinking about loving anyone except you.
i feel you,
but i haven't touched you in months.
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 1:06 PM UTC
I cannot do this.
I fear.
I fear repetition.
Repetition that I crave, yet also repulses me at the same time.
An internal battle between neurons and ventricles and atriums.
My chest burst open today when I recognized the face
under that mocked brim and,
for two moments,
the Doppler effect was just something scientists invented to make themselves feel better.
But it all came crashing down without
the connection of soul windows.
Blue? Brown?
Who remembers.
Remember is such a simply complicated word.
I fear the anger
and the holes in the wall
and the murderous screams.
and ripping church out of ears and heart and mind.
cause that hurts.
I fear November.
My best and worst two days in heaven.
And how badly I would...do...want that to happen again.
Next I fear the eyeless,
lipstick,
lover of hands.
The shallow one with a faux deep soul.
The hypocrite.
Her acid words that burn through screens.
They rip away the moment they penetrate my skin and touch my heart.
I fear her disapproval.
because she will disapprove,
this I know.
Silver tongue like the snake.
Venom pointed at me, her sister.
Betrayed.
So she will disapprove and that means much.
Then I fear giving half of my heart,
that is his,
away.
Well, it wouldn't be half, because is it still dipped deep in love.
So a sixteenth of my heart-his heart- and that is still much.
For us.
It is just a crush. and that is it.
But isn't that how everything starts?
Tender pressings on your heart until they become the pulses and beats and poundings and crushing sensations.
Once.
Once.
Only once that has happened to me.
Still is.
And even if it is unrequited,
I fear losing that.
I fear fearing.
I fear rejection.
I fear losing the one thing that I care about.
and I fear not finding something.
Or finding it to only lose it in a few months time.
So I will refrain.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 11:34 PM UTC
When I hold your hand I can see that I’m half.
A half of a whole that’s much greater than I.
Whenever we kiss, and our chemicals mix,
Our atriums beat to harmonious sighs,
Widened in eye with no how, what’s or why’s.
Our love is an answer, a chance and a glance
Of the fact that our lives can be more than survival.
You, with your touch and your loves electricity.
Fertile and fierce, you’re my warm neon rose.
Vicious, your glows, which had soon overthrown
The darkness and evil I trapped deep inside me.
I can’t ignore it, my limerence foresaw,
It’s orphic, and it knows that you are for me.
Moulded by clay to a boring design,
Potentially scraped from the factory floors.
I’ve the conception that my own conception
Was callous and fallow, lazy, fugacious,
But mostly redundant, with one small exception;
As all would have meaning if I could be yours.
Caroline to Byron, Beatrice to Dante,
A muse can induce art much greater than I.
It’s quite right when I write I lose sight of sense,
As when I write of you sense need not apply.
My amorous love, my glamorous drug,
My muse of all muses, my honey soaked hug.
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 11:01 AM UTC
One morning, while sleeping right next to the phone,
I grabbed the receiver and heard quite a tone;
A beautiful voice was just ringing with glee.
I think it was happy to talk, and with me.
And she said, "I remember the way that you'd look
While you honestly laughed at the way that I took
All your ventricles, atriums-- all of your heart--
And I'd kiss it and innocence with us would part
To the fields where our wrestling wasn't a curse,
And the grass left no stain on our clothes or our mirth."
"I remember the way that your heart would kiss back
As if shyness and manhood and wisdom it lacked.
But your heart in your lips also spoke, not just kissed,
The words gentle yet firm, always smooth, never hissed;
You would speak of the white picket fence we would have
With your white picket teeth glowing bright while you laugh."
"To you the word marriage meant nothing but me
And the God whom you loved, in a song would agree.
With your heart in your lips and my heart in my throat
I would say, "Though your tongues' of an angel I quote
From my verse of the day through which God has revealed
That I shouldn't love you and here's how it was sealed;
"It is good for a man not to marry." so I
Think I'll take that to heart and I'll bid you good bye."
Here you cried and you said through a breathless exhaust,
"Does this mean that the love I have given is lost?""
O, if I could have seen her fair face through the line
And if one hazel Iris that used to be mine
Was just weeping a lonesome and singular tear
I'd have fallen apart, but instead with a sneer
She then gave me the wonderful theme of the call;
That is, "Laugh at your folly in love!" Then she hung up.
Jan 6, 2012
Jan 6, 2012 at 8:44 AM UTC
I've heard that love comes from the heart
But I don't quite know what that means.
My heart is a muscle, biological tissue
Pumping out blood into streams.
Aorta, vessels, atriums, arteries:
The anatomy, what its made of.
I searched and searched yet failed to find
The containment and source of love.
Scientists and doctors got it wrong,
Grey must have made a mistake.
If the heart is not the source of love,
Why does love make the heart break?
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
one night or midafternoon you fell asleep
and snored lightly in my ear.
i stroked your hair (it was longer then)
and thought of my love-lorn words
hijacked by this impermanent sleeper.
i started to laugh and you got lost in my chest
but you said it'd be "a good way to go."
and i heard the sincerity, cheap as silence,
like the first time you drunkenly called me darling
and it was steel wool exfoliating my atriums.
i would rather write about the frivolity
of a cigarette in a hot tub with strangers
and the absurdity of dripping sinuses
or a manifesto for the exasperatingly mediocre
but my words are full of you.
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 8:05 PM UTC
I held a real heart in my hands today.
I held it in my palms so cautiously
as if it were gold,
yet that didn't stop me
from feeling as if it were going to break.
I saw a straight incision
slice down the middle and
felt the eerie texture of its atriums
sit on the base of my fingertips.
And I realized just how fragile
this person's heart must have been.
I wondered if she ever got her heart broken
much deeper than some superficial carving.
I wondered if her heart ever pumped
faster or harder or
stronger or passionately
at the sight of another.
I wondered if maybe she gave hers away
thinking of it as a last plea
to the one person she loved most,
but it just ended up in my fragile fingers.
gd
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC
I tried making home of other men.
Front doors of their sternums
Two story foyers
of their torsos
and porcelain stairs of their ribs.
Tracked myself
in and out of their memories
looking for space for my baggage.
Had conversations with
my echos as I screamed
I LOVE YOU
into hollow atriums.
Made my bed on diaphragms and felt
each draft of
inhale
exhale pieces of me to...somewhere.
I tried making home of other men.
Hang memories on occipital lobes
Affix my name to Broca's areas
so the world knew
I found home in another man.
I am tired of making home in other men.
Foundations thought solid
grow legs and wander way out yonder
Take my memories and love
leaving me nothing but my empty.
I am tired of making home in other men.
Tending hedges
shining floors
and making welcome for those
deemed worthy of home - not me.
I am tired of making home in other men
so I will make home in myself.
Put my hands on every crack
lay smooth my rough edges
and plant beauty in my own yard.
I am tired of making homes for other men,
so I will make this home for me.
Nov 14, 2016
Nov 14, 2016 at 5:32 PM UTC
oxymoron overdose
deadbolt atriums
intersected playlists
the unluckiest clothespin
a mailbox full of compliments
wallowing asterisks
carpeted portraits and
unearthed apologies
it all stemmed from backseat rattling complexity
lighthouse morphine
seventeen somber ached explosions
sipping acrylic reveries
cleverly blossomed illusions
thigh stumbling permission
clumsy german metaphors
thirsty chapter jigsaw keys
worried cities newfound screams
vision confusion and pity bottles
poisoned school affection
oh christ, darling
a deaf chorus
thoughtless phantom
seed eyed stranger
road scarred sighs
***** locked moths
velvet butterflies
a sweeter sleeping spine
growing began expression
storms lack protection
yesterday placed comfort in salvation
the vast presence of a strong man's island mother
hazel vacations
a shattered soldier
trembling girls in sorry gardens, limbs in full bloom
naive humming mirrors
children having mistook living
trees half known
whispered smiles and mattress lullabies
cigarette stories firework insecurities
books begging
floor stopping feeling
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 9:57 PM UTC
Human Heart,
Thick layers,
Exodermis,
Dermis,
Endodermis,
all make up
the outward,
appearance of
the human body.
hair follicles,
finger nails,
eye lashes, eye color
tiny details
unique to each.
Four chambers,
two ventricles
two atriums
Pumping fluids, of LIFE
to make up the inward,
appearance of
the human
Body.
Up top the
Cerebrum
the cerebellum for balance
some right side thinkers
some left side thinkers
tiny details
unique to each.
Systems of the body:
basic namable items
exact terminology
can define
the human
body.
Life time’s full of exploration,
Still no true explanation,
For the puzzle behind, who the human
heart will love.
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 11:56 AM UTC
Sometimes you meet people that you grow to love.
And then other times, you cross paths with some
that just click with your senses;
heighten your emotions so high everything else seems to disappear.
But beware of those who just snap into place
for they will inject their venom
into the depths of your heart
and leave skid marks on the surface.
They will plaster your atriums with Picasso murals
and sheet music from Bach
only to cover the walls with kerosene
and burn it to the ground for the sole soul-wrenching sake of "art".
And that's okay, you will live on.
But there will still be scars at the entrance sites from every drop of poison.
There will still be scars from the train tracks he carved
from the bat of his eyes and the pucker of his lips.
There will still be scars from the blaze
because when fire burns it does so
passionately
carelessly
wonderfully with furiosity
And you will find pieces of clay under different piles of ash;
You will find treble clefs and fermatas
hidden under every ember that was left to die.
You will still find beauty in the destruction.
And maybe it's still okay to admire the ruins,
even just for a little while.
gd
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 10:45 PM UTC
(In commemoration of August 9, 1945)
The tree will follow Hiroshima
and Nagasaki* winds by its hearts.
“Yes” if
winds wade up and down
“No” if
winds whip across and crosswind.
The tree’s will is in the leaves…
All leaves are hearts by having
ventricles and atriums in their own ways---
even in the cactus and pines---
just watch carefully and listen astutely
to their bristly rustling…
All
leaves sway, sigh, and sometimes, sing
because they are the tree’s hearts:
open to sunshine and rain pour; blight and moonlight----
the true meaning of love!
Here, my love, I’m just a servant of
your branches, bark, and most of all
your lovely and deep roots.
*Nagasaki was the center of Japanese Catholicism by early Jesuit missions
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 9:07 AM UTC
my ears are silent
—i repeat—
my ears are silent.
i choked myself today.
poured my ventricles
dry to fill atriums with acid;
my lungs asphyxiated,
i'm dead, i'm quiet
i did my time screaming
and now i'm numb,
i’m deaf and dumb,
i’m sorry you had to see it.
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 8:45 PM UTC
we are two of a kind
yet separated by our own armour
pulling in our problems
just to let them go
full of life and sorrow
only to meet again
years later
the cycle goes on and on
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 5:02 PM UTC
arteries laced together through a daisy chain
and brushing fingertips
throughout an assembly room
of shuffling feet
and sniffling,
ventricles, atriums,
tears running down her face at prime muzzle velocity,
veins spell out what none of us can say,
in this silence that feels like it should never be broken--
how are we ever gonna be okay?
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 10:35 PM UTC
For G. H.
The secondhand smoke on your old hoodie
is tendrils of disembodied electricity
mercilessly carving through my diaphragm.
Somehow, I envision ivy climbing the side of an
abandoned house in unkempt droves of static veins…
My throat is cruel in the way that it seeks you,
like in the way squatters seek warmth behind boarded
doors that won’t easily open up.
If we ever kissed, I imagine them dwelling both of
our atriums and airways simultaneously,
and zero degree weather would use our breath
to leave crudely written IOU’s on the only
window still intact. I’d think an angry ghost would appear,
and remind us why we’re there in the first place.
Even then, I’d still like to believe
you’d give me a light all the same.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 11:29 PM UTC
Close your eyes and dream a dream where wishes all come true!
Faeries land on giant sunflowers singing as they do.
Ponies gallop over fields of swaying strawberry grass.
Butterflies reside inside tall atriums of glass.
Air so sweet, the water clean, it sparkles in the sun.
Gold dust falls from shimmering trees to shower everyone!
Children sit upon the hill, making daisy chains.
They seek shelter under giant mushrooms when it rains.
Baby bunnies hop around in luscious berry patches.
Mother birds trill songs of joy as each sweet baby hatches!
The sun, which smiled all day long, sets beneath the rolling hills.
Fair maidens set fresh loaves to cool upon their window sills.
The children walk back to their homes to rest after their play.
For now it’s time to sleep and dream about another day.
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 7:42 AM UTC
I feel you
so close to me,
penetrating
into my five senses,
into my visual field,
contrasting
my point of view
and
making me think
that I'm hallucinating,
seeing your contour
everywhere I go.
I feel you
in the vibes of my ears
leaving fingerprints
in my tambourines,
printing your voice
into my neurons,
like little whispers
which I hear them
so clearly
like a thought in the wind
that dance trough the
conifer trees
of this wisdom forests.
I feel you
under my skin
stealing my touch and
tackling my entire spine
with your velvet hips,
taking roots across
all the surface
of my epidermis
and
drawing,
with the ink
of your skinny fingers,
dreams and desires,
as if my skin was
a prehistoric cave.
I feel you
in my flavor
mixing with my saliva,
making me addicted
to the orchard essence
that you have
in your lips,
like an elixir
ready to envelop me
in his spell,
clutching my tongue
with your venom.
I feel you
even
into my two atriums,
into my two ventricles,
pumping my feelings
like sediments
through rivers on fire
coming from tall mountains
and
storing them
into my heart
who's prefaced
into a crumpled paper
I feel you...
I feel you so close to me
maybe inside of me.
but,
when it comes
the time
expressing yourself,
I find it too hard
to unleash you
into the outer world,
love.
#love #feeling #fivesenses
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 8:41 AM UTC