"benzene" poems
A Mean machine in obscene gang green
The Candlelight flicker in busted T V screen
Scream queen Ilene in paralyzed dream
Dean Irene exploded her spleen
It seems when she ate some beans
Kathleen drank from a canteen of benzene
Said sardines soaked in saline make the best cuisine
Eugene came between Kristine and Janine
When they went to the ravine in Racine
Teens hopped up on caffeine convene
With Thirteen marines on Halloween
On routine to clean and preen the latrines
I’m keen to notice the things that you’ve seen
?
? ?
? ? ?
? ?
??
? ?
? ? ?
? ?
??
? ?
? ? ?
? ?
?
What if you could unseen what you've seen
Apr 6, 2012
Apr 6, 2012 at 9:54 PM UTC
With brain bashing into head cavity,
the gelatinous mass of neurons screams out
to white blood cells swimming in eyeballs
to evacuate before drowning.
"Quit clowning around in there and
save yourselves!"
The moody mistress creates her own hells:
congratulations!
Sleeping alone in a sweat covered bed,
she spins saccharine thoughts and pollutes her head
with taffy, thick like molasses,
cooking sugar in the kitchen with
the wrong end of a spoon in her mouth.
Dried up *** stains litter her couch
as she wakes up to turn the cushions
and search for loose change
to fill up her coin pouch.
"Ouch! Ouch!"
She calls out, clean
sheets on a new day,
his fingers firing in a frenzy
and introducing the fusion of
pleasure and pain.
He smells of benzene and
she's afraid of burning,
stomach churning and
using gasoline as lubricant.
He hit her, she said, and it felt like a kiss.
She misses him at her day job
when she runs around town
robbing banks and
picking up handkerchiefs
that grandmothers drop on the ground.
He would pound
his manhood into a brick wall
if it moved like her,
but the skin-and-bones combo
woos him to coo at her
as swarms of sparrows
nest in her ***** hair.
Spit shined shoes and
riding leaves blown on the air,
she dreams of him awake,
listless eyes alive and pulsing
behind a film of glassy, viscous mucus.
She makes magic potions out of the scents
left over on one of her
mismatching pillow cases.
He tastes like roasted red peppers
and lingering mace:
her eyes water as she
chokes back ***** daintily,
like a queen.
His eyes gleam mean as
he steals her breath to
add it to his bursting bank account,
releasing her to give her back only gasps,
the 2% interest.
She crafts road maps of his back bone while he sleeps,
but he sees her as a phantom,
creeping through the floorboards,
a faceless specter with an ace up her sleeve.
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 5:10 PM UTC
When will I understand,
And learn to live and work,
Dear school will you teach me,
In these textbooks I lurk.
While Rosa Parks sat still,
And Fleming found penicillin,
Remember how great they are?
Raise our standards, cross the bar!
Studying twenty-four hours a day,
All work and no play,
Why do we do this only for marks,
There is knowledge, in the dark.
All you make us do,
Is derive this and that,
In the future in my cubicle,
I'll being having पराँठे to get fat.
These egotistical teachers,
They make me cry,
All I hear in the staff room,
Is पुलाव and दाल fry.
You go on with the system,
You go on with the lies,
Why don't you let us think!
Even we have minds.
These benzene rings and oxidation states,
Will never help me with taxes,
Theoretical imaginary waves & motions,
Make me a complete राक्षस!
Five thousand equations to integrate,
But all we do is differentiate,
This religion and that religion,
"It's all in my fate!"
Why don't we do something,
For the ever growing community,
Yes, the same society,
That doesn't let us break free.
Do you ever wonder,
Why our country is so poor,
There's a shortage of lawmakers,
And the government is run by actors.
My whole degree will be,
A complete joke,
No matter how much I study,
I'm just the "fresher" bloke.
I got ninety-seven percent,
In the prestigious class twelve,
Yet my IQ is,
As much as a बैल!
Why do you think eveyone is stupid,
And engineers smart,
I think studying Humanities,
Is a work of art.
These teachers think I'm obnoxious,
Just because I don't talk,
One day I'll prove something,
And on their face I'll walk.
I can't memorize these problems,
Don't forget, I too have a brain,
It isn't a big harddisk,
But at least, it isn't a grain.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 12:22 AM UTC
it's just the creature that goes bump in the night when the lights go out,
so please reconstruct my mind to create a type of innovated frankenstein.
it's not just about the longing and the crave for change but
it's also about the emotions and fingerprints i'll supply for your testing range.
so don't worry smoke another bowl and it's like your whole life will unfold.
but you won't even need that thc to realize your thoughts aren't completely free.
so let the dopamine soak in until you become the fiend
pop your benzos and snort that line, parachute that powder until you reach cloud nine.
is that what you need to survive your recreated scene?
at least before your whole body morphs into benzene.
what is it about becoming a monster, is it you who creates the tragedy or is it your creator?
i wish you could tell me where we go when we die, but you can't open up your subliminal mind.
now you're nothing but a sweet smelling liquid, so drip your thoughts onto my own canvas and lay it out for me.
Mar 22, 2012
Mar 22, 2012 at 4:28 AM UTC
I sit down and smell innocence
Sunday afternoon, playing
Hide-and-seek on bikes,
Climbing over heaps and piles
Of extended-backyard-adventures
My friend looks at me scared
Worried about crashing mid-air
I only think of home
Sticky black poison that
Almost strangled me to death
Once, when life was simpler
Despite all that I smile
At diesel and benzene
Exhaust smog and fumes
Turn blue skies even brighter
High on childhood dreams
If only I inhale, deep enough
A scent that takes me back
Over miles of detachment
And oceans of growing up
A memory fuming of
Family and safety,
Only needing a engine
To move forward in life
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 2:39 PM UTC
A door in the mind blows open -
It floods with grey matter
And hot stares.
Ashes of darkness
Coupled with
Tears of growth
This is incomparable.
Roller-coaster rides
And unrecognisable mirrors;
We've steeped into a portal of surrealism:
With sins and judgement calls that question
The very essence of our hearts.
I really do not want to grow up.
I'm a pair of pigtails who can't
Climb up a step.
Push me, push me, but I can't reach.
When I feel my faith restored
In the overlap
Of green scenes and dental dexterity -
I can only think of one line to combust me:
"He's just being nice."
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 5:33 AM UTC
Circle ****
A benzene ring of the most powerful
Viral assortment of the worst kind
Accountable to no one,
Secrecy rules this cabal.
Only fire can extinguish this conspiracy-
Burn the rich.
The poor don’t need middle men,
Lawyers or intermediaries
When there’s an obvious infestation
To be dealt with quickly-
Before they change all the rules, again.
Aug 9, 2010
Aug 9, 2010 at 8:26 PM UTC
You named her “best friend”
And she became the twitch in my eye
She became the wall I began to hurl myself against
Praying that I wouldn’t shatter before she budged
You named me “baby”
And marked me down for what I am
A child who doesn’t like to share
A jealous girl clutching her favorite teddy bear
Who’s one temper-tantrum away from scratching at anyone who’s ever touched him
There are parts of me that I’m afraid of letting you see
Pieces that I cracked in other girls’ mirrors
Trying to be all that was desirable in them
Lately I find myself
Crunched into the corner of her looking glass
Desperate to know how she commands your attention
She seems so harmless
Small and smiley
But I’ve watched her gaze
Seen it try to tear me from your side
So I named her “benzene”
Sweet and cloying
And toxic
I’ve been gagging on her name ever since
Felt it clawing at my throat
Forcing me to either acknowledge her presence
Or choke
Still, I named you “dearest”
And she has been watching me with liquid nitrogen stares
Unreactive but deathly cold
Leaving me goose-bumped and panicked
You sing her name
Oblivious to how it knocks against my ears
How it squeezes my skull until I’m retching
So I named her “migraine”
And every time she is there I am ill
Her name has me ripping out my insides just to stop feeling sick
Wondering how to rewrite myself
So that you won’t crave her attention anymore
How to make myself good enough
So that you won’t need her anymore
You named me “beautiful”
Sighed about getting lost in my eyes
But I noticed
Hers and mine are the same color
Sometimes I can’t help but wonder
When you’re staring into mine
Do you wish they were hers?
Still, you named me “dearest”
“Darling”
“Girlfriend”
You named her “best friend”
I am afraid of what she names you
Aug 24, 2011
Aug 24, 2011 at 11:51 PM UTC
And it clicks
much like a phantom
and sizzles through
as it fills the air
with a warm grace
smothering life
Jan 23, 2010
Jan 23, 2010 at 1:06 AM UTC
I wanted to know what was real knowledge,
so I went to the wisest master, God,
Not to learn things of school or college,
But to go where no foot has ever trod.
.
God said," I know what you seek, child,
But if real knowledge is what you wish to gain,
You venture into mountains dark and prairies wild,
And go through joyful hurt and honoring pain."
.
I was ready to put up resistance,
Said God," To men you shall speak,
Who are the wisest of this existence,
And at the end you shall get what you seek."
.
And so I went to the Physicists,
On whose principles this world exists,
They asked, “Pascal’s law, Bulk modulus, Doppler effect, can you tell?"
I said," No sir, but like Newton, even I wondered why the apple fell."
"Sacrilege!" they said," You inelastic plastic, may your soul rest in hell."
But I remembered God's words and moved on.
.
Then I went to the scholars of Chemistry,
Who are the wisest in mankind's History,
They asked me," What about Dalton's law, KTG, inorganic Benzene, can you say?"
"Nothing, sir, but I wonder about molecules and atoms, night and day!"
"Sacrilege!" they said, " You miserable molecule, May in hell your grave lay."
But I remembered God's words and moved on.
.
Then I went to the supreme Mathematicians,
Whom I consider as God's own magicians,
They asked me," What on methods of solving DEs, LMVT, can you speak?"
"Nothing, sir, but I work on theorems of Euler, the mathematician Greek."
"Sacrilege!" they said," You rootless equation, may you end up in the Devil's steak."
But I remembered God's words and moved on.
.
Indeed, I felt sorry for their and the future generations' plight,
But at the end of the road, I realized God was right,
It’s not about knowing Pascal's, Dalton's or Euler's shouts,
Its knowing how to live life to your fullest, every time you breathe in and breathe out.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 10:54 AM UTC
I hear the crash of the avalanche. Some keep time to its rhythm, there's a lot to do before it hits. I catch the swaying of snowflakes. I can hear the roar of the wind. Before they found benzene rings in the well, I could say who had broken a whole in the oil rig. Some found themselves staring at their faces, picking their destinies away, smoking themselves into a methamphetamine oblivion, until they cleaned the skin off of their faces. I hear the submarines starting in the South Fork, God's Riffle is under, so don't try to join them. Some speak until their lips are the color of bruises, some never speak because they're afraid of finding bruises trapped in their hair. America is spending in darkness. Knowing in foul tradition. Burning at the testicles, and calling in sick. Go home to Wyoming, drink your nuclear family into a white courtroom with a fickle jury of out-of-towners. Be on your best most calm behavior. The denim is up in the air, the snow is coming in shingles, the grizzlies and black bears are choosing which young they ought to hide.
I hear the cruelness of amphetamine users, through and through. You don't want to know them, I don't- I doctor up my circumstances so I don't drive ourselves crazy observing and swerving up and down and off the road. I am the Prince of Bell-Air. I keep my pockets oozing with four colors of black and nothing darker. Something is sharpening the beats of a generation, and no one is calling. Where are my friends in the darkness? I can hear their sides when they cough, but there is nothing like laughing in glitter, aside from the wildness and toil of this dusk.
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 9:40 AM UTC
I was "hands are tied" denied
by a Bloatfly with two eyes,
four wings, six feet, and no *****
A gene splicing brainchild
high on the benzene manslaughter
fuming up from the shores below.
He was snooping through a kaleidoscope
Excavating my frontal lobe when he noticed
the furious drone of an active anthill catacomb.
Next thing you know Jealousy's backbiting nag
is setting it's sites on his uninviting neck,
going in for a quick pulse check.
Ready for war, no need for cures attitude
he grabbed a scalpel and evened the score.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 7:44 AM UTC
i wasn't satisfied with the cartesian
cogito ergo sum...
it's not that i couldn't stomach it,
it was just: not enough?
people claim that maxim to be the source
of all subjectivity,
and there's nothing objective about
it.
all this modern talk of subject vs. object,
i had to employ a θήσαύρύς.
i needed a square... a solomon's star,
two squares encompassed against each other,
nothing akin to the star of david...
i mean solomon's star, of two squares
imposed on each other, layered
so you get an oκτάγωνον oktágōnon
oh **** a macron over an omicron = an omega!
oh k'tah goo non...
wait wait... i was going to write something
concrete, and yes, it was based on solomon's star...
6 things -
cogito sum
subjectivity objectivity king david (6)
reflexive reflective
thinking = subjectivity = the reflective
thinking = subjectivity = the reflexive
thinking = objectivity = the reflective
thinking = objectivity = the reflexive king solomon (8)
being = subjectivity = the reflective
being = subjectivity = the reflexive
being = objectivity = the reflective
being = objectivity = the reflexive
(alt. given the atheistic scissors of definite / indefinite articles
of the / a a reflex, a reflection)
what this means is, what's generally thought of as
the tetragrammaton, but it's not four letters,
it's the interpolation of the four main faculties,
that are now seen as tripling up, or call them: cubed;
a lament configuration representation.
thinking is subjective in that it is also reflective
(the narcissus bias)
thinking is subjective in that it is also reflexive
(i need a shave)
thinking is objective in that it is also reflective
(i am ageing)
thinking is objective in that it is also reflexive
(i'll just stop looking into a mirror)...
dear apologies for the geometry of the arrangement
of words, i know you'd love to see a tartan pattern
of interchange, but this **** seems rigid, in the way
that i wrote it... i couldn't find a way to write a b a b
as stated, it only came out as a a b b,
or a b c a b c rather a a b b c c.
but do you see what is even more fascinating than numbers?
the arithmetic symbols... arithmetic symbols
are very much akin to diacritical symbols...
i write an over-simplification of a concept using =,
and then all these conjunctional words pop up!
and yes, in terms of citing heidegger as opposed to
descartes there's a great disparity between
being and i am -
self-evident, being = the sum, a total, Σ,
while i am? it's a unitary representation of the total (sum / sigma)
of the possible mode of being -
it's also called ego interference / pronoun inteference
in the conceptualisation of the cascade that's ergo
into the basin that's dasein.
what philosophy call metaphysics?
linguistics call orthography...
what chemists call para- positioning on
a benzene ring;
or what non-chemists call the paranormal.
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 1:31 PM UTC
trans
is the new meta
and gender
is the new physics...
homosexuality
wasn't enough to deviate from
the standard of: the next
cobbler, or blacksmith.
clockwork of benzene...
ortho congregation,
erectus tangens...
transgender
is alias for metaphysics...
bow-tie androgyny -
juiced up death-cult
of Isaiah... burried with Jesus...
a 2000 year old argument between
the two prophets.
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 9:31 PM UTC
Halloween at Camp LeJuene
So those storage tanks
the ads of late-night-- all talkin' about
some thirty-five years a-leaking like...
some aplastic benzene-apocryphal river
Horror!
tastes like chemo Kool Aide
forever in the mouth
washing over parade route
seeping into boots and wombs
of cadets who can't hear the music
over a child's laughter-- ever
over failing livers
lined up like lawyers marching
onto glyphosate green
to Parkinsonian cheers
to Taps-solos echoeimg off the stone-
of mind and memory
Flags!
Flapping-angry!
“No (wo)man left behind
on the multiple ways to myeloma
Miscarriages
of justice!
A silence waiting
an eternity
of tiny infant cries
emptying....
into Love Canal
There will be...
NO JUSTICE!
Only billions set aside
for funeral-ic devastation
“Significant compensation”
--being read in a woman's face
in a woman's voice
“...suffering from any of these....
after drinking the water at Camp Le Juene”
at the hands-down
heads-turned
greased palms of
silence
being owned
by military-corpporate
“channels”
of secrecy
...of Pharma-to-government
medical-backwaters
laundered to-governments
of banana republics
Mercenery chemicals
Medicine with missile launchers
strewn
among military over-runs of...
…of high power rifles,
night goggles, and F-15s
What am I missing here?
...about the rubbery clots and myocarditis?
Has it finally come round to us?
How could I not see!
not recall?
How many years ago--
since I could hear?
the rapid fire!
“The toxic Leaks!”
“...suffered from any of these...”
...feeding tube terrors
Time's tumors
downgrade to errors
deferred...
Now beside the grief as amputees
--take the field of parade
While Misplaced Rage
pages through abortions of blame
in the chemical caldron
where they **** shower, and shave
...then towel-dry their babies
or not....
Where are the rapid-fire rats and bats
when we need 'em?
Semper Fi!
Nov 29, 2022
Nov 29, 2022 at 10:12 PM UTC
Morphine, gasoline
Make my head feel just the same
Scratching nails, quarantine
*Still doesn't **** what's in my brain*
Arsenic, benzene
Still no sign of life
My heart is made of static wires
Please steal it with a knife
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 1:58 AM UTC
Sadness and happiness is cyclic...
Like a snake eating its own tail...
Benzene...
Apr 12, 2017
Apr 12, 2017 at 9:21 AM UTC
She doesn't care, Felicity
Which side of the M25 she was born
But I do as the rain
Hammers down the asphalt
The poetry of the concrete collar
Exit ramps, overheads,benzene
Subtly turns me on
As she removes her high heels
'London Orbital' she slowly mouths
while lighting another cigarette
It has three 'O's
Not unlike myself
I watch her from behind the wheel
The motorway's pulse fills the space
Between us and the world
As we wait for the night.
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 1:58 PM UTC
The world is phenomenal
a chemical existence
filled with sickness
leukemia
anemia
The benzene
products of the wildfire forests
from volcanoes and the brontosaurus
now the ancestors implore
for the pollution to be no more
The end scene
from human production
comes the destruction
our own ignorance
becomes our Icarus
This is epiphenomenal
a by product of irresponsibility
a lack of grace and humility
we'll suffer the consequences
for our own operating expenses
Mar 28, 2019
Mar 28, 2019 at 12:57 PM UTC
the zeitgeist,
occuring in canada...
gender neutral pronouns...
and how they're not an organic
appropriation / invention / whatever...
given that gender is
not biological (organic) -
its language as its bias is
inorganic...
meaning?
the pronoun debate?
or how new langauge is introduced
into the common, urban sprechen?
well... it's not exactly slang, is it?
now, slang can overcome this
debate, any time of the week...
slang allows language to evolve...
what we're seeing, being, erm... "seriously"
debated in canada?
it's a stagnation point,
a plateau...
a dam...
perhaps it's the last
resort of western civilisation to have debates...
you have to create alice in woonderland
words, to just keep on talking...
i'm betting on this being the prime reason...
talk dried up... **** let's create
made up pronouns! but ignore
all the other categories of words.
well... with the made-up pronouns
of the trans-gender community,
i guess they are all in noun-sigma, just, plainly
it...
which is handy, since
in orthodox sprechen it, is a pronoun...
oh look! **** me!
we allowed a pronoun to transcend
grammatical categories... and become a noun!
i shouldn't be so vehement in my
ridicule, given this language, isn't the language
i was originally born with, to speak
to my great-grandmother (rest in peace).
in summary: well, if they want their
trans-gender pronouns,
i'll just invite meta- / ortho-gender people
to elevate the orthodox pronoun it,
to a noun status...
and pontius pilate
becoming o.c.d. washing his hands...
and the benzene ring
positioning of affixes (e.g. CH3).
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 2:06 PM UTC