"bisected" poems
1445
Death is the supple Suitor
That wins at last—
It is a stealthy Wooing
Conducted first
By pallid innuendoes
And dim approach
But brave at last with Bugles
And a bisected Coach
It bears away in triumph
To Troth unknown
And Kindred as responsive
As Porcelain.
23.6k
1738
Softened by Time’s consummate plush,
How sleek the woe appears
That threatened childhood’s citadel
And undermined the years.
Bisected now, by bleaker griefs,
We envy the despair
That devastated childhood’s realm,
So easy to repair.
4.3k
I
Half of the fellow father as he doubles
His sea-sucked Adam in the hollow hulk,
Half of the fellow mother as she dabbles
To-morrow's diver in her ***** milk,
Bisected shadows on the thunder's bone
Bolt for the salt unborn.
The fellow half was frozen as it bubbled
Corrosive spring out of the iceberg's crop,
The fellow seed and shadow as it babbled
The swing of milk was tufted in the pap,
For half of love was planted in the lost,
And the unplanted ghost.
The broken halves are fellowed in a *******
The crutch that marrow taps upon their sleep,
Limp in the street of sea, among the rabble
Of tide-tongued heads and bladders in the deep,
And stake the sleepers in the savage grave
That the vampire laugh.
The patchwork halves were cloven as they scudded
The wild pigs' wood, and slime upon the trees,
******* the dark, kissed on the cyanide,
And loosed the braiding adders from their hairs,
Rotating halves are horning as they drill
The arterial angel.
What colour is glory? death's feather? tremble
The halves that pierce the pin's point in the air,
And ***** the thumb-stained heaven through the thimble.
The ghost is dumb that stammered in the straw,
The ghost that hatched his havoc as he flew
Blinds their cloud-tracking eye.
II
My world is pyramid. The padded mummer
Weeps on the desert ochre and the salt
Incising summer.
My Egypt's armour buckling in its sheet,
I scrape through resin to a starry bone
And a blood parhelion.
My world is cypress, and an English valley.
I piece my flesh that rattled on the yards
Red in an Austrian volley.
I hear, through dead men's drums, the riddled lads,
******** their bowels from a hill of bones,
Cry Eloi to the guns.
My grave is watered by the crossing Jordan.
The Arctic scut, and basin of the South,
Drip on my dead house garden.
Who seek me landward, marking in my mouth
The straws of Asia, lose me as I turn
Through the Atlantic corn.
The fellow halves that, cloven as they swivel
On casting tides, are tangled in the shells,
Bearding the unborn devil,
Bleed from my burning fork and smell my heels.
The tongue's of heaven gossip as I glide
Binding my angel's hood.
Who blows death's feather? What glory is colour?
I blow the stammel feather in the vein.
The **** is glory in a working pallor.
My clay unsuckled and my salt unborn,
The secret child, I sift about the sea
Dry in the half-tracked thigh.
3.9k
The bad seed :: takes root :: roots extend :: in the head :: A constant branching :: budding bursting :: away :: and away :: and away :: roots branch and extend :: The Holy Schism :: Mother's breast :: bisected :: salt and milk :: curdle :: then settle :: into the nine creamy layers of Hell :: roots extend :: bury into Her pith :: bisected :: a honeysuckle rut :: Mother screams :: a poisonous :: foam :: spraying Her wither around :: killing :: the sacred cow :: :: :: there :: there She is :: the pretty blight :: the slit :: in the stem pursed tight :: down lower :: over two hills :: to a black and blue lagoon :: Mother in bloom :: Her putrid flower :: slaps open sloppy :: wide :: open :: for osmosis :: for curdled spore spew :: sucking flaccid :: with lips and teeth
Oct 29, 2011
Oct 29, 2011 at 7:55 PM UTC
Your absence has drawn
fractions on my belly. It's
bisected the axis of my
heart; it has split me apart.
I am charts and statistics.
I'm percents. You were sharp.
So was I; when I left, I cut
those halves into fourths.
I left one in your bed, now
I'm three quarters saved
and one quarter spent.
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 9:07 AM UTC
How does one start or finish?
How many times do you wonder
If you are only a copy of a copy
I am alone
Minding my own business in the white trash community college peeling dorm roof
Posters line the wall and I imagine this is not her bedroom
The alien posters on the wall
The radio is playing
A steady theta wave of AM static
Until I become it
Or it becomes me haha
...wait who is that laughing?
Said the black haired girl in the corner
"Who are you? (Although I know who she is) Whose bed am I in?
Time dilation thoughts and memories pool within me
And I soak in them
The great being
her voice floods over me
and black ribbons of fingers
Clutch me
Outside a bird sings
I can hear the mechanism of his respiratory system
"I am a bird and this is an exclamation of my instinct!"
I hear his lungs swell and the brass pipes drip cold water in his throat
I hear the compressor on the refrigerator two rooms away click on
I hear the sound of my blood pulsing through my veins
Until my own breathing becomes first nature
I see my own laterally bisected head
How my skull cradles the soft grey blue hue of my brain
The optic nerve branching like brown roots
A pupil perfectly dilated black and the great blue sea of my iris
I am lost in the shadows that reach in from the edges of my mind
Into the darkness my own laugh sounds musical in my ears
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 9:16 PM UTC
She differentiated herself from society, thinking that her life would never intersect with another's.
Her irrational thinking was harmful, she called herself odd.
"Think positively" they said, "the outcomes are countless.
Life is nonlinear, it's not as simple as x=y.
It may not always make sense but you will make it add up."
She had no proof.
She hated the sine wave of life, her countable infinity that she wanted to stop.
The probability of her meeting her congruent mate was 7,000,000,000:1
Until the day her life was bisected by a girl.
The girl was her complimentary angle, her stationery point, her happy infinity.
She was integrated.
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 6:15 PM UTC
art is bisected into three categories
and other subcategories
painting & drawing
poetry & literature
music & dancing
i happened to become an
martyr to poetry, logolept
and framed masterpieces
not written down on paper
kept inside of wires attached
to my brain, smoldering my
grey matter and my feelings
melting like candles, slowly
but urgently sweating out
unspoken power and ungodly
overwhelming thoughts need
to be shared, but only show
your passion to someone
worth writing about who
is just as complex as you are
- kra
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 9:53 PM UTC
Of lavender, golden meshes--discerning
Goddess gargantua.
Lamp of fig tree and Roman chorus...waves crest
in a moonlit white as to knit the sultry
gown of your being.
Never once did you recant the definitions of love
and beauty, they stay and fever...dally the same
breath to deliver.
Here and there, wedged in towering hearts
they sway and splay forked flames.
You are signaled blatantly, and in
secret as holds the tolerance of those
you madden.
Venus...crash landing, riveted Xs cringe
and ripple in anticipation--marked and
moving, your children pass the ardent
thorns of beauty...clump, swell and
spill ****** roses.
You'll always seem uncollected, unstable--
your constitution's chasmic rift
claims...those you've landed upon.
They mouth love and beauty, wound and
bisected, their livelong day thrashes
to unify that breath...just to
sigh as if to say they see you.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 7:31 PM UTC
Mediums,
I need mediums!
Incomplete mind, bisected by blurs
********* my sight, halting my stare
Corrective action taken?
Turn off heart,
Maneuver hips,
Eyes ajar
Moves made to past
We need to go back
Nakedness without regret
Willing to be the only one that likes me
She screams electronically
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 7:45 PM UTC
buttressed by bisected nebulae
our galaxies coalesce.
soft-spoken Andromeda hurtling
towards a somber Milky Way.
a slow dance plays
to the crooning toons
of Brand New. am i experiencing Deja Entendu
or are the Devil and God
merely raging inside us?
Christmas lights, distant as parsecs,
twinkle every which way we look.
multicolor displays flash
in dizzying arrays, winking in and out,
drizzling like dripping icicles. sad songs
spill continuously from the stereo as we drive
through one neighborhood after the next,
aimless in our contentment.
it's half-past-2:00
in the morning and i'm singing Panic!
at the Disco with (and for) you. i write of sins
and hope this doesn't end in tragedy
as Trade Wind shifts and entreats us
to drift listless as asteroids
rocked to sleep in the arms
of an ambivalent cosmos.
we may all be made of star stuff,
but we both agree:
there's no god who could love this world.
so as we lift crude gestures
to an apathetic sky, we realize
the task falls to us. we must love,
for beauty persists
in spite of all the sorrow.
i am happy to spin perpetually,
elastic and ecstatic in your orbit.
for every now and then your beams of light
filter through my prism and provide
another connection along
our wavelength.
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 7:24 PM UTC
I am formed to be yours
at the threshold of inception
we were molded together
bisected, to find rejoining
your every curve locks to me
as water flows to find its depth
my eyes are shaped
to see your face
my gaze is drawn to you
as the moon draws the tide
my lips are patterned
for your inimitable kiss
I can taste only you
my heart opens for your love alone
I am a bell tuned to a singular tone
reverberating with your voice
I resonate with the sound of your name
the key of your words
unlocks my undiscerning ears
that I may hear you
whisper to me of love
your scent perfumes my life
echoes of you in each fragrance
my fabric and yours interlaced
without seam or stitch
we fully encompass each
the other encircling
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 12:14 PM UTC
held is it if summer is most?
(and a bluffing manure ) finely a hotness
of unmarking serf. the beach
gambled with moonlight
errant frolicking cluttered foam
and a little sharp rock bruising your palm
which is unshallow purple
like the firmer shade
i am whereing
on optic
orifice . spring is first. a wig of new moist teeth
cranking tirelessly sore lean branches effort
lessly green voice shaking in a gorgeous
breezy plain. crumpling swift hesitant cold
floundering winter shes'that like a me
a stupid magic at feverish impulse plunging
haphazardly clinging impotent listing surge
over the hairless empire of a bud bisected
most perfectly at the twaining force
this godless holy impudent burst
this SPRING
Mar 9, 2011
Mar 9, 2011 at 12:39 PM UTC
Angels saunter down the aisle
They break your heart and **** your mind
It's in the distance where hope dies
You lean against the wall counting days and cursing life
You think its fate and everything's your fault
You maybe right and may be not
But you won't find the middle ground
And it's not just gravity pulling you down
You are in chains and there is no escape
You try to break free but fall again
You look at the world and look through
Your knees kiss the floor as you break down in two
Like love bisected you and seized everything that was good in you
Let it rain
Put your grief on display
And get out of your shell
Because SOMETIMES not hiding your weaknesses is being brave
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 10:51 PM UTC
The city sees deciduous trees
Sparsely populating
Their concrete streets
Barely brown remnants
Of formally great forests
That branched out beyond
Our small minded conception
Bisected by buzzing powerlines
Spindly fingers clench tightly to
Old empty robin’s nests
Until frost and rain
Dismantle those ghost homes
Once vibrant basking in
The sun’s brilliance
Now anorexic
Throwing up multi colored leaves
Bulimically
Before winter’s burn
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 10:50 AM UTC
led by a heart bisected by a decision
i have found myself here, in your room
months ago
i would not have imagined this
leaving all i knew behind, and you, leaving everything you never wanted
(i'll remove your sadness if you
well
uh
if i ever breathed that i was ready to depart,
"true love" would deter me
Truelove would bring the weapon)
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 1:13 AM UTC
__I:__
The drunk says he can handle bars— but I just
handle handlebars, chasing thoughts downhill,
gripping acceleration on life’s crooked road,
her words tasted like lightning—a storm reigning
in my chest. If the truest lover’s tongue can write
the truth, truth still needs a page— so promise
me this time I won’t crash in the margin.
__She:__
But darling, I gave you shape; I traced
your edges in circles, crossed out the shadows
of your past. You were a box caged in squares,
I bent the lines, bisected all of your fears—
in the middle, we met like intersecting skies.
__I:__
Your kiss felt like a riddle— a puzzle mouthed
in motion, syllables pressed against skin, body
language shelved in cynical libraries. I wanted
to read you without tearing the pages.
__She:__
I am neither saint nor sin, just a storm
pressed close to your skin. Claustrophobic,
yes— but don’t mistake that squeeze for chains.
I’m the thunder that reminds you to breathe,
the silence that steadies the wheel.
__Together:__
Handlebars shiver, storms bend the ride,
but still we grip, still we glide— every fall,
every bruise, a geometry of love rewritten
in motion. Here we are, pedalling into the
pulse of rain. _Handlebars & Hurricanes..._
Aug 28, 2025
Aug 28, 2025 at 6:10 PM UTC
Lovely name of mine
Hides a undefined mystery of sign
My mind was sprained and Tangled; bitten by the thousand reasons to struggle
Heart lies not in the soft and fluffy cotton
—But in a millions of splintered button
And was defined as an insect
Easily smashed and crashed into pieces
The fragments of my body was bisected
Haunt by beliefs and nothing to know with other races
Indeed, my blood flows along with my ideas
Uncovering the mask to see what's underneath those lies
Mesmerized you with those flowery words
Not with a smooth stem like blossom
But;
A flower surrounded with sharp edges of thorns
Lovely name of mine
Is a combined letters of a unsolvable crime
— She
Nov 3, 2018
Nov 3, 2018 at 9:30 AM UTC
I just saw
two faces
pain and apathy
the sea and the wall
crumble
The blockade is down
and there was much blood
It was both beautiful
and sad
The depths received the truth
gushing out from the remains
the ruins
of a once well-laid
and seemingly beautiful
barrier
that protected the broken
builder behind it
When I left
the sun was bisected
half of it obscured
by the horizon
whether it was coming
or going
I do not know
The builder was sitting
on the cold shore
shivering from the wind
that had blown over the cold waters
I like to Imagine
for there is not just one
possibility
Will the two rest
like a faded painting
rusting into antiquity
or will the ocean thaw
renewed by the warm breeze
now freed by the absence of the wall
and the builder
pick up the pieces
and build something worthwhile
I have imagined myself in that picture
part of me wanting the pain
and the possibility
but,
I am only a spectator
and I know my place
I ready myself
and turn to watch
the next eclipse or solstice
sunset or sunrise
I put on my mask
and carry my wall
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 3:35 AM UTC
I've been repaired
not like I was broken
knowing how and where
no ****** on the ocean
Vas Deferens bisected
as body re-assimilates
no longer to be connected
oh yes, it's much too late
No erected complications
and man it sure is great
no longer any creations
or fears too conjugate
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 11:11 AM UTC
THE SHADOW ON MY TEA CUP WAS STILL THE SAME,
YOUR BEAUTIFUL FACE HAD NOT CHANGED SINCE YOU CAME,
THE AFTERNOON SUN BISECTED THE CURTAINS,
FILTERED BREEZE HUNG AND THE TIME HAD MADE NO GAINS;
BUT MY MIND IS STILL THINKING HOW NICE IT WAS,
YOUR SMILE, YOUR MYSTIQUE AND I LOVED YOU BECAUSE,
THE GARDEN DOORS DID NOT MOVE TO HALT THE VIEW,
A RED BUTTERFLY HUNG AS THOUGH BORN ANEW,
I WONDERED IF I COULD REACH OUT, TOUCH YOUR HAND,
BUT ALL MY LIMBS WERE MOTIONLESS LIKE QUICKSAND,
HOLDIG ME, SCOLDING ME FOR DISTURBING THE STILL,
WOULD THIS EVER END OR JUST CONTINUE TILL,
THERE WAS NO EMOTION, TEARS OR CONSTANT PAIN,
THE SECOND-HAND ON THE CLOCK STARTED MOVING AGAIN.
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 4:23 AM UTC
dear, your lazy lips
- like two eclipses
and a sphere,
bisected by puffs
Mar 28, 2019
Mar 28, 2019 at 12:05 AM UTC
*
__NOTICE__
In our continuing effort to be as accurate as possible
We have upgraded the test lasers
__NOTICE__
After some difficulty with test subjects being bisected
We have decided that perfect accuracy is sub-optimal
If the process causes the patient to cease function
*
May 19, 2021
May 19, 2021 at 11:37 AM UTC
I am an afterimage. I am a bisected heart fluttering in half-felt contractions, pinned down to a student’s desk. Somehow there is no blood, only light. Light, softly spilling from my aorta, gentle and insubstantial. You shake your head to dispel it as you turn back to your teacher’s lesson, but I am painted in the space behind your eyelids every time you blink. Your teacher speaks but isn’t really saying anything at all.
Sentiment is one hell of a drug, cradling me docile in the back of the classroom. The box-cutter used to saw open my ribs is abandoned on the floor beside me. They’ll come for my vertebrae next, I think. They’ve already skipped over my eyes in the curriculum, but I’m okay with that. If they had stuck to the class plan, I wouldn’t have the chance to see you cradle my split, sputtering heart in your hand while you trace the inside of my left ventricle with the lightest ghost of touch.
In the back corner seat three rows behind you is an angel. I ask them why their wings hang so low, and they reply, the weight of human expectation. Their feathers twitch when the teacher walks out of the room, flinching when one of the students laughs raucously and declares in a half-heard conversation’s fragment, well, God can fight me behind the Denny’s then. The angel’s face turns pained, blurry, and they whisper for my ears alone, God has no wish to fight you, child. You, three rows ahead and still playing with my heart, are oblivious to their sorrow.
The aftershocks under my skin are a memory. Be gentle, sweet child, be gentle. Only old bones truly sleep.
h.f.m.
Aug 21, 2020
Aug 21, 2020 at 1:15 PM UTC