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Thomas W Case Mar 2023
Sometimes,
I catch
myself Swaying,
like there is
an eternal metronome
that my spirit
hears.
Or,
A song that my
soul must keep
time with.
It beats to the art
that surrounds me.

Such a delicate balance,
between the cactus and
the sun.
Between the dog and
the bone.

When they autopsied the
Tin Man, there were
irises and orchids and
Neruda poems where
his heart should have
been.

Love is an overused
word,
but an underused
gift.
Sand Nov 2013
He’s disembodied
Lives solely in his head —
His dance is chalk against a board
His feet are autopsied and tagged “dead” —

Science is
His beacon
His faith
His love
His life.

But what good is just a mind full of formulas
When not mindful or exposed to other arts?
Appreciation stems from sentiment
Making subject hierarchy harassment.
Vanessa Nichols Nov 2012
It is too easy.
Much, much too easy
This falling and rising we do.

It leaves me hollowed.
Empty, like an autopsied heart, chambers no longer pumping life’s blood;
Or like the distended belly of some pathetic half creature fevered with hunger.

Don’t you ever feel that way?

Or do you glutton yourself on the rolling and rocking,
Feasting on the tides until you are consumed by vomitous pleasure?

This falling and rising.
This rising and falling.

This and this and this.

I am so tired of it all.
No more bile drenched lust or hearts seized by rigor.

It is simply a strange and listless pantomime of a thing now
And much too easy
To hold any worth.
My first mutant friend clean his right hand bugler, to sail the massif of thousands of mountains like thousands of sheets to be pasted into the largest history huge book. The one on the left, is like palm Nosferaticus bone, moving the curtain of his prodigious window of a freeze morning, my good friend wistfully, his hand trembling before taking his belongings before leaving ... :, feel as if it were something as the head of zen in an Islamic republication would be a zen  serious little temperance that preys with braveness the editor slumbering in his bed -. warrior earth, a stripling warrior , who lost his gang which still hung in trees as if they were over a hundred thousand crows on all the trees near the horcondising.


In the midst of them, trying to finish my last project of life and spirit, he was in the financial phase, trying to finish points balance, like the mesh to receive my body in freefall after traveling so far trying to measure the radius of the universe personally.,., but my comrades forgot the fruits of measurement.

When I speak of them I speak of their contracted forms, their hands clear arteries and hydrogenated hands, green as the strain of a vineyard in hectares of saturn energies. When one day I thought naively go up there to the Saturnian vintage

For my ship that looked like a scorpion stings had stoked hydrogen, of forces that were, forces were ...

My Cosmonaut scorpion the right hand, I said to rescind my project my ramadanic project, my upheavel voyage prior saturn born again infected with stars collided in her autopsied heart center.

beam having me horcondisis, beam receive me then bathe your transacted valoric object, I have to go through the orthogonal morning, then be under the sun with his best face before deal thousand legions of spiritualistic forms of adhering spirits in my vitrubio’s arms, equations mastics, typical of souls migrating souls of spears never embraced by some vegetarian cell bodies.

We are at home horcondisis appear hordes armed licking contrails snails bees in their hive little more than their laborious phases snail suicides honeycomb.

He went up its slopes, thousands of hidrogens green lights, souls light years pouring their breaths through the peaks of horcondising, where misery is empire gold empire abundance of thousands of millions of prayers sent millions of years by lovers wise to be heard by the mountains and not the hommo sapiens, is mucus in the handkerchief northern gambler ..

Since crying infant, infant biological matter and not moved, the hommo sapiens rages as a detergent drapeability torn flood of destruction.

Horcondising is the Olympic platform scene securities by deal catafalques free vision to beat the triviality. - the three roads.

The three causeways to be more invisible all guilt, no stranger to inherit anything, nor himself only what gives me a fleeting morning light of my love for you lord of light,

The sun transpire, almost obese up the last few steps to fall like a diamond to the orbital of the earth's solstice, almost like a intimidating rappel on stage to see how to get to land, after climbing son long or so much mind.


My lord solstice never thought it was so chilling rub your back when I fall upon you. And the littoral, scabby and stellar explosions, constellation Orion and others, who will dress the unclothed souls, headwaters of the new sun.

By the greatest oath that is written and promulgated human voice, I outline the hiperdisis galactic start the breadbox to distribute, as the true summit of summits where true souls will be traded, that cost will have expansive roles on the globe that both we appropriate . Unduly, almost as violating the energies that move the improper world.

When I get near the pace of the sun in its solstice, I go to horcondising almost like a star, anxious to wait for the balance to dethrone all vanities and improper grace of owning myself.

To around me desperate ran sapiens hommo throwing her back the last pieces of lost opportunities, their quick clothes were in quick gestures of conformity, before reaching the ellipse, on all heights in the world because they could not be less so, degrees difficulty, degraded fringes of understanding ....

Goes up, and those who come from my lords aside from around the world, are fanned to heaven passing their monetary leftovers others who never had by body that will fit, but now a spirit that only shines in her eyes, gold pocket which houses coins manure mud.


When Late afternoon in an ever lived time, run by terror hills water are forms of veils falling by  manorial sleeping earth, many whys ... for so many hours of feverish centuries of few transit hours of nascent lives disrupted in sleeping lives. When my last minute delay in releasing the penny soothes my wound, perhaps it hurts twice the beggar who want to cure your wound, tilling day, to love their steps infant who was one day, almost as needing a new  smack on her buttocks bone more than anything if it is not hidden the day as a poisoned shrew.


The barriers of the day, as night to jump higher thousands of souls who aspired to reach the plateau drains the water that washes break every lost soul. Each with its little faith to have his good deeds, only better debt for unconfined failures and hold for a second to reach the sun shining light that dwells alone for seven days in Horcondising to save our souls dilapidated. Decades of years lived, scrubbing my conscience to be better than a being who can not live without your tired lifeless body ,. a beautiful autumn day tells me a flower starting step of men who have defected from this immense mansion that pours joy shouting to the winds that run from joy to joy.


And stan the groans of those who rise from his bed with his head, not thinking but because they lack arms as levers huge cranes to say; I stand to play with all the walking endlessly until the arms of the Lord who made me, but it took me all the decades I wanted to improve the days that I could not, because the door was bolted he saw shine off the sun but the door said no one opened it because it was the minute arrive also close to others who ask because I also ask, receive me on top I look like a boy pursing his face to seek help from others get flexible the chain to continue day out full of hope and quiet after warning others more direct link between two sets divided souls, the tender embrace that carpet the land germinating happiness reigns on the esplanade never get tired of this duality, blessed the day of the ritual God made the sun strongly embrace the earth when dawns, even when it rains; because then whales water paths in ding **** sound, looking cheerful participate fantastic zig zag Pilgrim universe smiling suns on the ground that heals his wounds as a mask molten blood.

My multi machine wound weapon that fires projectiles caliber of egos, get tired because they leave rows driven, and traces his fallen weightless  ego and super ego without body. It comes my time to be measured by what never before lived and not lived in for good measure.
TRANSMIGRATED POEM, FEELING A SOUND BEYOND . THE CONSCIENCE FROM THE UTTER ALL ( UNDER EDITION )
Jay Aug 2019
Would she care if
I ate poison
To **** my self

Would she care if
I become road ****
To **** myself

Would she care if
I was autopsied to
Death

Would she care if
I was killed
And thrown out
Like trash

Would she care if
I refer myself
As medical waste

For what i have done to her
sandra wyllie Oct 2018
I’m Hollow

hollow as an unfertilized egg,
with nothing but the yolk-sac inside,
hollow as an unmarked grave, where some forgotten
soldier laid down to rest after he gave everything

he had when he was alive. Hollow as autopsied bodies
after the organs have been removed. There’s nothing
behind the slats. They’re stuck together by heat and
dust as most things are that never see the light. I’ve tried

to bring them to life. I’ve placed them neatly arranged
in kind homes, gave them a name, prayed and
hoped. And one or two of them out of the many
thousands got a little attention. For that I’m grateful for.
I chucked 14 autopsied parts, rather than seek my new life departed
& partial, after my kidneys, corneas, lungs & liver have been carted
I chucked 14 autopsied parts, rather than seek my new life departed
& partial, after my kidneys, corneas, lungs & liver have been carted

— The End —