"boning" poems
claude: battles tabletop.
reaches for maple syrup, into breakfast,
& breaks down puking.
the girlfriend/abortion situation.
the cash
& cream corn.
smells of deeper spring.
grandma & her bible.
to pray.
to eat lunch.
to television &
honey blunt the relief of a sunday night.
lily: into decay.
into dark days of her america.
detox: she breathes on vapor. sweet leaf.
sweats the heat & dead-dreams off. off on wavelengths &
resonance::: sound therapeutics,
at 528.111 hz,
enhanced dream frequency. she falls
into bliss. into
unopened codons & the rigor
of vibrational analog.
love cassette.
achilles: wheelchair-bound & boning
still. gripping ***
the girl & couch.
the couch & modern warfare.
old warfare: harvest of limbs.
he crawls across the lawn to pick strawberries.
thumbs the dirt for entrance
to another world. smokes a jar
of roaches, as monument
to his second generation revival.
cool.
wallace: & the zebra jeep.
red rock monkeywrenched billboards & the ****** of flame upon milk factory.
chemical factory.
fertilizer bomb///return/
to town & grotto.
porch-light wood & breath of bong-rotation.
the babylon journeyman,
embroiled in plots against the order.
to simply disappear.
to portal away.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 7:29 PM UTC
I stjärnornas ljus
utan boning utan hus.
Hör vindens svaga sång
livet tystnar på en gång.
I luften viskas hemligheter
resandes i evigheter.
Världen är blott en dröm
djupt i din sömn.
Stig på i nattens famn
följ med oss om du kan.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 2:31 PM UTC
We were caught up in the moment
I was hot and heavy, his guns were loaded
He didn't know me from a can of paint
But, sorry, it was too late cause
He had already hopped up on it
It was crazy cause ,
he didn't even know my name
Such slight details wasn't needed
We were already boning.
And what's strange is that
He didn't even reach for the ******
That I was tryna push up on him
He was like "nah babe, we straight"
Didn't hesitate to start stroking
And me, I'm just as bad as him
I know I don't know him
But he's ready and im ready
And god ****** I was soaking
He embrace and caressed me
And I proceeded to bust it open
But, there's something I was holding
I guess you can call it a secret
It wasn't like he gave me a chance to tell him about it
He was moving so fast, he practically begged me to keep it
It aint my fault he was more concern
With what's underneath my Victoria Secret
Than for him to know what he was getting from it
He should be more careful with whom he sleeps with
And I heard he had a girl....
Well, he should be more careful with whom he creeps with
Cause you can get burned in more ways than one
When you 'pop up' in 'em sheets quick
That's the same thing that happened to me
And on my first time,
Can you believe it??
I didn't kno what man had 'IT'
I was too busy focused on " Darm, that man is fine!"
Hence the saying " looks can be deceiving "
The same thing that happen to you
When you focus on me *** breast and thighs
You now gotta learn to look at life with a different set of eyes
Well, now you have my secret package
To take to your girlfriend
To share for the rest of your lives
SURPRISE!
La Vida Love
Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 9:19 AM UTC
oh tell me dear father
how do you use your scythe so smoothly
cutting and boning
your foolish apostles.
how do you lead
your little addicts
not overdosing
but subtly
killing.
oh tell me dear mother
painless death
how can you be so sweet
honey dripping
ethereal paradise.
how can you be so loving
for your ****** up children
with gouged eyes
sleepwalking through their
last judgment.
oh tell me dear brother
how different would it be
when it's all over
how blind you were
going into a rabbit's hole.
how hurt you were
when you lost your voice
screaming cacophonically
into the dreadful void
"i am alive, do not bury me yet!"
oh tell me dear sister
how lovely it could have been
if you never got married
if malicious goblin
never came to our house.
how tired you were
with ****** eyes that
once were golden
with sliced wrists
and broken nails.
oh tell me please
what did i do
how yesterday i had too little money
and now too little hours
to fix everything.
how did i end up white
with all sad colours
knocking into my mind
why can't i be black
reflecting the world.
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 3:14 PM UTC
You creep behind refuge, exemplifying human nature
The dearth of your kindness kindles my feature
Your tongue must flavor of dust or dirt
For your falsehoods lay with incessant inert
When God formed you he fabricated sin
Stitched with worthlessness that festers within
I know your deeds and will sing them atop the trees
And your precious pride will perish with my lip's ease
I would do a charity and release your soul from the earth
And make the pain as profitable as your life was worth
Death will wear you as a cape in the afterlife
He'll carve his name in you everyday with a boning knife
It is a sad dawn in hell when you arrive
But it was your fate son, you mustn't deny
Apr 26, 2019
Apr 26, 2019 at 10:58 PM UTC
A boning knife was found behind the bed
to keep my older brother's hands at bay.
The words would not be heard, so none were said.
The little brother, trying to hide, played dead
beneath her blankets in a certain way;
a boning knife was found behind her bed.
She didn't fight me off before, instead
she let me, never spoke about my play.
The words would not be heard, so none were said.
The father, puking till his eyes were red:
"When I come to, there will be hell to pay."
A boning knife was found behind her bed.
He came out, knife in hand. To her, I pled,
"Momma, please...". Her look caused me to stay;
the words would not be heard, so none were said.
My daughter's plea was ringing in my head;
my father's hands still linger to this day.
A boning knife was found behind her bed,
the words would not be heard, so none were said.
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 2:14 PM UTC
quick figurative brush stroke drawn out character sketch
(serendipitous verisimilitude)
i stand in awe
(with mouth agape) at elegiac, fantastic,
and graphic idyllic Kinkade magic
leaving breathlessness from craw
at such artistic talent oozing
spellbindingly, whatever
aforementioned noteworthy craftsman
didst paint or draw,
and chanced to comment
about sad affairs leaving flaw
in regard to questionable business ethics -
where press hee haw
contradicting, maligning, undermining, and jaw
boning sans said late talented mortal
engaging in sketchy traits of south paw
city when contrasted with a dog given gift -
ooh...such rah...rah...rah
when he first appeared on the scene,
where most viewers saw
utmost dynamic, fantastic,
and harmonic convergence
displaying such prosaic, rhapsodic,
titanic art show events
hum...and perhaps not surprising
his illicit in dull gents presents stark contrast,
staring hypnotized as imagination invents
experiencing peaceful, restful
and tumblerful joie de vivre espying
honorable mentioned nonpareil oeuvre
that placidly rents
craving to disappear into bucolic landscape whence,
splashed upon canvass,
attempting to bat
presumed "FAKE" rumors aside as nonsense - fat
chance prevailed constituting:
deceitful, immoral, unfaithful sly kat
nocturnal antics, despite scathing attacks
(cut him down to size), niggardly praises spat
out for me, I maintain cult of personality (his)
setting Mac Book Pro wallpaper
with exemplary landscape,
either authentic or copy cat.
Mar 6, 2018
Mar 6, 2018 at 10:15 AM UTC
I've seen the same roads,
those that lead nowhere
or cut into an end here,
reaching the edge of a mountain,
or to the lip of the sea,
or fading off into dust
and growing darker into
grainy asphalt—
that somehow hurts.
The roads straighten and curve,
and stretch and narrow,
and bend and break,
and crack just as it is filled
in between the seems.
They intertwine,
and meet in the middle,
and lead off somewhere,
like the t-boning of a barelling car,
going 40 on a 25.
The saddest roads are always short,
yet seeming endless in a moment
of brief contact.
The same speed,
the same view, and the same
edge by the sea, passing like
two stray boats at night.
The loneliest roads are parallel;
equal in distance, that can never touch. Side by side in meeting,
and always apart when leaving.
The loneliest roads taper off,
and stare at emptiness.
Paralell roads never meet,
and will always stay the same.
The loneliest roads between us
are just a few feet apart—
always infinite miles away.
Apr 19, 2020
Apr 19, 2020 at 11:43 AM UTC