"boneless" poems
i'm your o so wanna be lover
I'm afraid not what you would expect though
i admit to being a difficult pleasure
perhaps
a tad strange looking
squishy with long tentacles
half man half octopus
with a winking cycloptic eye
i entreat you
looks can be deceiving
how many pretty boys have you loved
crawling worms for a soul
that have left you a ruined creel
a jagged cry chattering tears of desolation
have you ever asked your self
who adores you
who would give all to protect love and cherish
i'm waving my eight arms at you
from the center of the universe
i eat black holes to kiss your ***
am i not a cosmic horror
with my big Cthulhu smile
quivering with tenderness
do you hunger for butter **** lollypop
i have two big **** heartbreakers
with teardrop curves
a feast for your ravenous holes of emptiness
and many armed tentacles to hold you tight
to slither all over your tender woven caves
to pull you into me
with suckers that thrill
during swirling inky *****
i will unravel your mind
your soul tilthed
if you can get passed
my
gray rubbery boneless head
i can push this shape-shifting balloon face
through your annul tubular contours
all the way up your beautiful ***
licking
salivating
tickling into your
tender bowel and throat
like a great dancing tongue
a stretched waving goodness
entering your mouth from the back side
can pretty pretty do that?
come slowly unto me my beloved
i am all chromatophores
endless glittering nightlights
incandescent
so we may wander our way through long dim nights ******
in the deep deep dark
with tentacle ***** galore
an infinity of entertainment
for every crevice and desire
and one winking cycloptic eye
that pierces your soul
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 3:31 PM UTC
Ragnar Lothbrok world became half shook, throw a hook, stole and took, solid gold, sacrifice for Oden sacrificing for all your homes, Bjorn, Ivar the Boneless coming like a storm, wakeup and absorb, praying to the gods, going to conquer lands, watch out for Floki he killed Athelstan
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 8:53 PM UTC
Dung trampled upon
Though soft, boneless and painless
Cripples a good leg
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
I am the unnoticed, the unnoticable man:
The man who sat on your right in the morning train:
The man who looked through like a windowpane:
The man who was the colour of the carriage, the colour of the mounting
Morning pipe smoke.
I am the man too busy with a living to live,
Too hurried and worried to see and smell and touch:
The man who is patient too long and obeys too much
And wishes too softly and seldom.
I am the man they call the nation's backbone,
Who am boneless - playable castgut, pliable clay:
The Man they label Little lest one day
I dare to grow.
I am the rails on which the moment passes,
The megaphone for many words and voices:
I am the graph diagram,
Composite face.
I am the led, the easily-fed,
The tool, the not-quite-fool,
The would-be-safe-and-sound,
The uncomplaining, bound,
The dust fine-ground,
Stone-for-a-statue waveworn pebble-round
4.2k
I'm going to clone myself like a Jellyfish
and stray far away from this hideous place
where the grass isn't green and trees are inexistent
I used to love it here but now I can't help but hate it
so I'll go deep into the ocean and see the only beings
that make my heart flutter as if I were really living..
I'll be with the Jellyfish forever, after all nerve nets
are better than brains, they cause too much stress for me.
I'd rather be heartless, boneless, maybe transparent too
I'm already invisible and if someone were to mess with
me all I'd do is give them a sting.. no more crying, denying
my depression or worrying about people that don't worry
about me. I'd be a part of the ocean, and the ocean would
contain me. I'd basically be a type of melon with tentacles
considering they're between 95% and 98% water anyways
I could be immortal or live up to a few hours..
so let me drown already.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 2:50 PM UTC
A boneless,soft,small flesh,
Most beloved to God,
A truthful tongue,
Most hateful to Him,
A lying tongue.
It is the sharpest thing on Earth,
Can be deadly,
Pierces deeper than the spear,
Leaving scars forever.
It is the most difficult thing to control,
Think before you leap.
Like a ferocious lion on the loose,
It will wound someone,
So put it on a leash,
Reap its fruits.
The most powerful and dangerous weapon,
Explodes with expletives,
Lucid and sweet, a lullaby,
Can take you to great heights,
Bitter,vulgar and full of deceits,
A heart is wrung,
From a pedestal you fall to doom,
It is the taste of your kind and tender heart,
Pours speeches full of grace,
A medicine that heals,
A balm that soothes.
An evil heart,
That spits fire and crushes spirits.
Lastly it is the companion of the lips,
Seal and zip the lips so no unthought words escape,
Imprison the tongue with the teeth,
Lest venom pours out,
To break strong bonds, and powerful relationships
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 7:32 AM UTC
Sitting in a restaurant in cottage country.
with my parents, my friend,my sister and her two friends.
I'm eating these miniature boneless chicken wings
I feel a pain in my chest,
I take a sip of my ice tea through a straw
And sit there holding my chest and closing my eyes
--
In my head is a jack hammer just pounding
My whole body feels pinned down
but also moving like the jack hammer
--
Laying on the ground I see my father leaning over top of me
I am on my back
He is pinning me down
My vision blacking out and head still pounding
"Call 911, she's having a seizure"
The only thing I can manage to say is "no"
"no. No! no! NO! No? NO... no no nonono...."
And the only thing I could think of was 'I don'y want to be a seizure person'
Epileptic is what i meant to say, but the word didn't come to me.
Tears are rushing down my face, terrified.
I can only hope this is a one time thing.
As I am helped up by my mom and escorted to the bathroom
I see all these faces looking at me
Faces of sympathy
That is the worst feeling ever.
Being stared as you are leaving the room after a seizure
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 6:18 PM UTC
Stand up for what?
To collapse back down
my ankles turn to water
whenever you're around
I can't stand up
when i don't know what i stand for
like my brain is in the clouds
but my heart is on the **** floor
or a platform
my face is in a sandstorm
and i can't form words
with my lips between your teeth
our bodies now declare war
and my throat begets a siren
that your backbones can't ignore
your shoulders hold me down
while i beg for
just
a
little
bit
more
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 6:21 PM UTC
I exist in the space between worlds,
never truly a citizen
of any one of them, just
a wanderer passing though, looking
for a home
I will never find.
I live in the gray that
separates night from day,
weaving and bending my existence
to blend into the background.
I am the static you despise,
forgotten in the silence between heartbeats,
stalking the shadows
of your imagination.
I am the fog that bridges the gaps
between realities,
formless and boneless, I
smother the void between the light and the dark
so you need not fear the sight
of the abyss.
But, I warn you,
be careful in your step
for I only obscure the in-between to
safeguard your sanity.
I cannot keep you from falling
into the fate I have become.
Though I grow weary of this listless journey.
I am but a ghost
stitching together the worlds
of the living
and the dead.
May 13, 2019
May 13, 2019 at 11:27 PM UTC
For me, these things don't seem to be matter of questionable choice
If you understand my face, then there's no need to hear my voice
Like a beautiful bird's everlasting melody it sings
Never wasted, for all the joy that it's song brings
Until the grim reaper's phone call eventually rings
And I make an obvious decision on boneless wings
Ride me like a horse, and return me to my stable
Use me then divorce, just like you're stealing cable
Oh no, I broke my leg, hole in my head like a bagel
Is it chicken or the egg, either way life is a fable
choices that we made, until we're no longer able
No brainers weighed, don't ask me booth or a table?
So don't come to me with questions wasting time
If the winds blowing might as well hang a chime
Karma will always cleanse even the perfect crime
Deserted island, poetically just reached my prime
So much to say, but just became a professional mime
Always had two nickels but really wanted a dime
Life's pointless questions, like should a poem rhyme?
To me if you don't, you"re a mexican beer, w/out a lime
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 3:32 PM UTC
It’s not about the hand you were dealt with,
It’s about how you play the hand you were dealt with.
But
Imagine that the hand you were given
attached to fingers
with blistered pads and splintered prints
that wound in swirls of blood soaked skin.
Imagine, that the nails of each finger
crucified you to stars
willing you to brighten the night
for children who fear the dark
regardless of your burns.
Imagine, that your palms
were crumpled pieces of paper
stuffed into the back of a trash bin
on fire,
the burning smell of garbage and secrets
indistinguishable from one another.
See
Some people,
they are given hands lined with rings;
diamonds, silvers, and golds
not a single callous and well-manicured.
Some people,
they are given boneless pieces of plastic
that fail to do so much
as curl and unfurl themselves:
hands that are growing desperate to feel
the things they touch.
Some people,
they are given scabbed knuckles
that shake so bad
they can only find comfort
in scratching themselves henna tattooed scars;
digging six feet into their skin,
creating burial sites out of their own bodies.
Tell them anyway,
It’s about how you play the hand you were dealt with.
It may never make a winner out of them
But it will keep them from leaving the game entirely.
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
A laughable matter, how hours seem to change you. Not change you fully, at least not in the way a metamorphosis occurs.
It changes the signs of irritation, the raising alarm and mostly it adds a deep longing.
A familiar feeling weighing down each breath.
It feels like a numb explosion. Like there is more to it, but it never peaks.
It taunts with promises of relief, but leaves you boneless. Instinctively you mark it as an unsatisfying end.
Could be labeled pessimism or rationalization.
You hope for more, you always do.
Maybe it's the stop of the turning clock, the one that resounds heavily each night.
The disappointment will dissipate eventually, but it feels like centuries until it does.
The memories that keep flashing are like salt; the familiar sting of the shame from fresh wounds.
The wind you always carry with you, it drifts you off to foolish daydreams. It helps hold back the inevitable shame and guilt.
Soon you understand, this is all erratic. It must lead to an origin, but it is one you cannot find.
You realize the attachment to this coldness is horrifying. You never plan to be cold, it just catches fire.
Time takes its toll. It takes away the chance of ever amending; of retribution.
The obstacles are clearly organized to hinder much needed evolution.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 10:23 AM UTC
early after-noon, she quizzes,
“would I be ok with
skinless boneless roasted
chicken breast, with sautéed
mushrooms for our dinner,
ce soir?”
so smile I,
for it is a favored menu
of pleasure,
from one who has never
presented us a meal
that is less than perfect
later, she shyly inquires,
“would be ok if we to eat
a little early, I have a salon,
followed by an
Argentine Tango dance milonga
tonight and one starts early (and
tango parties
end typically
the next day?
(no|si, me, don’t dance)
of course, respondez in
the affirmative, thus
confirming our love with the
consideration that veins
out affection mutual
and then I add:
“instead of an hours food prep,
which distracts you from the hour
deeded for dressing
for dancing motivation proper,
and add a little kick-her:
*I love you so much,
would happily consume
your tuna fish salad sandwich,
every night, for the rest of our
lives together, it’s fast
and simple, a dis-less-stressing
concoction, that we both enjoy*
she (s)miles a sweetened thanks,
after numerous reassurances,
that our love only grows
stronger with acts of smart
sensitivity to each others needs,
no standard of care breached,
au contraire, meant sincerely,
earning me a secondary
whiling smiling
and this true story is a poem,
has been writ a thousand times,
in a million different tiny gestures,
of which, I am proud
she exhales a breath elongated,
a release of an admixture of differing
pleasures released, and goes into the
night to dance in the arms of strangers,
which concerns me
not at all,
after all,
these many years,
aware she moves exquisitely
in a dance that demands years
of practice, for it requires
intangible silent of the merest
slight finger pressures to guide
the dancer what next steps
are coy coming,
and I have stolen this
knot of knowledge,
for mine own purposes,
secretly & selfishly,
employing these techniques,
for most of the time we’ve
been together
this poem of
tuna fish sandwiches,
becomes a dance of words
which is
my specialty, which she will
read in the morning l, maybe,
if I send it to her,
though obviously,
that is unnecessary 😉
as she returns to our bed,
me asleeping, she,
exhaustingly satisfied,
sleeeps deeper
secured by the knowing
that we, are both,
the beneficiaries of:
my learned dancing
practices
for such is
the ways of the poet!
Dec 14, 2024
Dec 14, 2024 at 10:39 AM UTC
Can I be loved?
Or is it overrated.
Is self love enough?
Or am I walking on a thin rope, my eyes, shut closed, I may die in my misery, a façade of continuous joy.
Am I to be loved, in my embodiment of Aphrodite herself.
Maybe I am too closed off.
Or maybe I am too pure.
These contradictions are my addictions and I can never seem to pick between the two.
Maybe love is too good for me, like a curse that strings me to the depths of insanity where love cannot even be justified.
Maybe I am a monster in my drowning tears.
Or maybe, just maybe, I am juxtaposed.
Once they fall in love with me, they fear, run away like cowards with boneless spindles.
My walls so hard, can dynamite even be crushed?
To feel that feeling...
Sensual pleasures...
To hold, to actually feel...
I've lost meaning of the word.
Can I be loved? Or am I too powerful?
Aug 18, 2021
Aug 18, 2021 at 2:15 PM UTC
I just want to climb.
To remember the thrill
of freedom
as I race through the trees,
swinging recklessly from limb to limb,
unafraid of falling, yet
eager to embrace the pain
that drives the breath
from my lungs, knowing
it is a small price to pay
to find myself again.
So let me hang boneless from the wires and
revel in the weightlessness
granted by the unyielding embrace
of these ropes,
to memorize the gentle caress
of the mountain winds
on my skin,
pondering the complexity of my heartbeat,
wondering, if this is what it's like
to fly.
Jun 8, 2019
Jun 8, 2019 at 8:59 PM UTC
Acting is carried away and the dazed, wise boy is alone smoking viceroys. Without a word or a day to change the things that should be running down the shower drain. Wipe the sweat off his face and he could shave to the grain to make himself okay. Putting his act in place, but his special place is forevermore changing.
Sweet tastes of likely lead to an addiction for a boy who always runs blindly, but when the ground gets icy, the boy will break through ever so lightly and even after hopping the fence, love and lovely still has a big difference. So, the boy will keep on filling his bed, forgetting the age of his existence.
Maybe he is just homeless, scouting out a place to live. Jumping couches with people he loves and people he knows love him. Hardwood floors and springy couches aren't enough to break his back, but when the time comes he'll have to choose and face the facts. Business and opportunities can still make you homeless and the fact there's no love makes you almost boneless. This boy is bright and clever and will be able to rise up whenever, but without cutting off the extra cartilage, he may never find a home because home is where the heart is.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 1:27 AM UTC
mark of cain in my hemoglobin, i'm more open to repast on brains.
to dine on flesh enmeshed in baseball parks and homes restrained
by greed of the same. and the cry of the people takes great pains
to refine the message of a blank stare. a blemish, stark with catacombs
disarranged in harm honey. the ogre of pine. the amber pane
where we bleed. we name nameless, by the by,
to the finish.
but not
alone.
up your petticoat with my blind cleaver. my Occam razor to your stain.
a fine mess express in hateful art and boneless jade
we feed on the frame of our reference. skylarking harmonious curves dismayed
by their own mind. they confess it. at the statefair. replenished, they knish in falderal
disengaged from honesty. the poker blind. where the eye staid.
where we need. we need most ... tell ya why.....
to diminish
but not
atone.
and so it goes. i erode the continent. sneaky pete in the crease of all strange.
itchy feet. maimed in false lies of the ripple. made fake
to real love. unclaimed. a gangly part of broken promises made
we retreat at last. with our last mimes. we undress. with savoir faire. distinguished in our dashery
ill fated. calamity's bark. hard to define. where the mind misbehaved.
we're complete most where the hole resides...
to imprison
but not
hold.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 10:29 AM UTC
Getting farther
and farther away
from the shore.
Past the coral shelf,
Where a young boy
absorbs the warmth
of a peach cobbler sky.
With small feet kicking,
tiny bronzed toes momentarily
meet the tangerine sky-line;
Until the horizon cools
to a blueberry hue,
dusted by drops
of indigo dew.
Below the surface,
rocks, boneless creatures,
and bacteria seem so simple,
lining the bottom of a
soundless cerulean world;
They need only hydrogen
sulfide to survive.
Inside, mute and alive, these
parallel forms of symbiosis lie,
in a microcosm and macrocosm
of biorhythms which might never
be fully discovered, or recovered.
A nature of smooth,
yet callous motions
swirl and calm.
Too infinite to know
compassion, this place;
Where one predator strikes
through a layer of dark at its prey,
while another chokes on a piece of plastic.
At times, it’s difficult for the boy to see,
through the veil of the deep blue drink,
where a gulp of air and a gasp in brine,
leaves him floating amid the liquid line.
Still, he seeks – the constant baptism within his reach,
And with the torpid flow of the tide to teach – he knows,
Evolution and Being exist together, at his sandy feet.
Aug 31, 2011
Aug 31, 2011 at 1:57 AM UTC
Inside this
depth of the perpetual,
I hold onto the light,
learning that
it is not an illusion
but a constant
fire within
hard as metal
simultaneously lava soft
no longer boneless,
lumped jelly
in a flaccid bowl
Instead I am bowled over
with new power,
plugged into
my own electric universe
in rushes of ******** voltage
that was always waiting for me
to see it
to allow it inside
the tissues of my body
to flow up and through
intestines, muscle, heart and bone
threads from
a glowing orb
that slake
and snake through me
like a river's glory
leaving the spirit on edge for more
and I am ever grateful
to take that light
spin it into a gift
unwrap it slowly
drape it
over me like
a flowing,
unstitched garment
pour its liquid-tipped velvet
onto my follicles, sensitive
tender luminosity
touching all the right places
its silvery essence
flooding me in
drips and slips
healing all the lost
and lonely places,
desolation's imprint
hollows of brimmed-over
despair
I have become
a quivering, stellar bud
bursting forth, each day
burning into new
rebirth in quenching torrents
ripe as ovarian silk
soaked in
cellular juice
inner seeds ready to be flung
unto the earth
into the wilderness
into expansion
ready to
bloom
and bloom
and bloom
again
Jun 24, 2017
Jun 24, 2017 at 2:10 AM UTC
I lead my cousin’s hand to the belly of a sleeping schoolgirl. the belly is six months out and could survive a mouthful of prose. cousin has kids of her own. cousin prefers the word listless to the word unborn. the schoolgirl reminds my cousin of someone I knew. a bodyguard. a bodyguard as far as school age bodyguards go. the recall puts me beneath a porch at age fourteen
giving birth to something boneless. I am trying to hear it explode in the present. I ask the lord’s television to lure my cousin from the scene. I ask the lord for custody of any tornado
warning
scrolling under
a muted
cartoon.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 2:34 PM UTC
The academy of hungry men
opens for business
only when
the night draws in.
The night is time for being thin,
Cholesterol is fat and won't get in.
I have a tin of boneless ham
A rich man me, in the academy and
where hungry men would hunger on,
I'd eat the ham
and then be gone.
No fees to pay
and words cost just enough to widen out
the mouth, which then tightens up a belt to say,
the academy is not a place to play.
The gravy train left on the boat or so the
hungry man in ragged coat
informs me.
Clever men in the academy
not me,
I'm just passing through and
on the way to something new but
the night drew in and
so I took a pew and with a pewter spoon
spooned up some watery stew,
it's what they do and when, in
the academy of hungry men.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 2:48 AM UTC
Low self esteem is cute, when
you’re lonely. Hovering about,
in some boneless pose. My invariable stream,
of thoughts
has ceased,
I wait.
Higher functions diverted, until
You’ve arrived. Aloofness abounds, it thickens the air
Awkward,
in the skin of you
towards me, cuts progressing
our bodies shrink,
everything contracts
Towards the invisible,
Except your eyes.
Beautiful and deep,
A different sort of infinite
They only expand
Feb 20, 2011
Feb 20, 2011 at 10:14 PM UTC
Mark of Cain in my hemoglobin, i'm more open to repast on brains.
to dine on flesh enmeshed in baseball parks and homes restrained
by greed of the same. and the cry of the people takes great pains
to refine the message of a blank stare. a blemish, stark with catacombs
disarranged in harm honey. the ogre of pine. the amber pane
where we bleed. we name nameless, by the by,
to the finish.
but not
alone.
up your petticoat with my blind cleaver. my Occam razor to your stain.
a fine mess express in hateful art and boneless jade
we feed on the frame of our reference. skylarking harmonious curves dismayed
by their own mind. they confess it. at the statefair. replenished, they knish in falderal
disengaged from honesty. the poker blind. where the eye staid.
where we need. we need most ... tell ya why.....
to diminish
but not
atone.
and so it goes. i erode the continent. sneaky pete in the crease of all strange.
itchy feet. maimed in false lies of the ripple. made fake
to real love. unclaimed. a gangly part of broken promises made
we retreat at last. with our last mimes. we undress. with savoir faire. distinguished in our dashery
ill fated. calamity's bark. hard to define. where the mind misbehaved.
we're complete most where the hole resides...
to imprison
but not
hold.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 2:32 PM UTC