"borderlines" poems
Isolation within my mind,
Stuck in my kell, gasping at the heat
Working till death to finish my design,
Running late, borderlines to meet.
A hero of management,
An Hr call left at the tone.
Stuck in my cubicle fortress.
The place I'm forced to call home.
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 2:30 AM UTC
*I am not a woman
No, not a man either
No flesh so keep shush
Crossing borderlines
Of love and hate
Through letters
Perfectly distorted
By motion of emotions
Spilling ink through papers
I am born free to wander
My body is a story
Of pain and pleasure
Slipping through time
Yet keep sailing away
From oblivion*
-I am a poem.
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 5:53 PM UTC
~for the one who will know it was written for her~
muddy verb and adjective,
muddling and muddled
have you ever seen a pas de deux/deluxe,
one dancer, proscriptive,
and her partner, prescriptive?
the stage, of course,
exactly the width of your head,
from ear to shining ear
this couple o’muses dance en concert,
though their very natures are anti-logarithmic,
the value of their exponential activity is a
descriptive nomenclature
I am overly abstruse this Saturday morn,
mushing mathematics and ballet, verbal word games
as is my wont wanted,
everyone sleeping while I rise at 6am,
doing ablutions, seeking absolution,
pulling weeds from our respective gardens,
answering old friends I have yet to meet,
to whom I answer,
“still here, though long time no see,”
which is of course hysterical funny, inherently contradictory,
as the brain grasps well my
Red and Dead Sea brain cells, a splitting motif
muddling and muddled,
proscribed from getting on transport,
to deliver to you the proper healing prescriptive,
as if I had in my possess to diagnosis and correctly assess
even though one of my many passport names,
a requirement, to visit,
this inter-netting ether, that both combines and separates,
permits me safe passage,
over the historical lineage of borderlines of land and sea,
to deliver this message,
to you
woman
*I am here, waiting patiently, though long time
no see
like ever,
absentia, dementia,
both self-censure:
here, then, my cadenza,
dedicated solely soulfully for you,
as the sabbath sun rises over the East River,
saying, laughing unto me,
“still here, though long time no see,”
for though I cannot look upon her,
my sun, my sun, my son,
yet she, as well,
is everywhere-inside of me,
warmly illuminating
my muddled mind*
Mar 23, 2019
Mar 23, 2019 at 7:57 AM UTC
I've been sedated and sold
bought by gypsy ways
my inhibitions have been stolen
by mundane sober days
I've been troubled and wandering
trying to find a place to lay
but the sleeping don't bring rest
so I found a place to play
shisha smoke fills my mouth
MDMA rolls hard
in the back of my eyes
and there's no feeling lonely
no hours to own me
no imperfections to hold me
in knowing no place as home
in my eyes
child fires
bright with delight
and hunger for more
my memory written down quickly
in thin white asp bite lines
crimes of the right mind
the creative souls borderlines
sweat rolls over my body
my arms find the sky
I can't see the ugliness
spying through childs eyes
with my hands
razor blade shakes
my poetry's written
one line at a time
and there's no feeling helpless
no reminders of distress
wandering free and careless
in knowing no place as home
in my eyes
child fires
bright with delight
and hunger for more
I hear music even in the hush
MDMA lusch, I crave life
with a violent crush
with two wide lines
and the life of one white pill
my life is filled
with more beauty than I can stand
until I can't even stand
Apr 26, 2012
Apr 26, 2012 at 4:36 PM UTC
when you love,
you’re a country,
pierced by daily border
exchanged crossings,
to your closest neighbor
and though,
one rerun~returns home by night,
to your prior defining borderlines,
somehow
the externals of the container has
had its internality's modified
for the lines that prior defined
have altered
by passing the
point of prior,
now by thousands of
tiny holes breaching the
thickened protective lining,
by love punches ‘n kisses of
pinprick punctures
the resistance,
pulverized
<>
you are changed,
new language combos spoken,
embrace another with a
bilingual tonguing,
a real treat
to entreat each other and
that hyphen,
that little tiny
linear
~
punctuation mark is
reflecting your creativity of a
Singular Duality
it is mark that
speaks to a new
U~no individuality,
blended and connected
somehow a duo of
someone’s pulverized lines
forms a single stronger
chord
first a puncture
then a patching
finally
an adhesion pleasuring
and a new working word:
composite
the opposite
of
opposite*
Nov 14, 2024
Nov 14, 2024 at 7:26 AM UTC
There lived, amid the common folk
A seamstress of renown
Tucked away most smartly
In a quiet sort of town
So perfect was her needlework
And delicate her hand
That all and sundry sought her out
Her skills were in demand
To gain a moment here and there
She took a silver thread
She deftly put a stitch in time
And curled up in her bed
For she was such a busy girl
Deserving of a nap
But as she slept one evening
The stitch in time went 'snap!'
Time unravelled rapidly
From 'will be' to 'before'
And coils of causality
Were all over the floor
But fortune is a canny dame
For a needle was at hand
Still threaded up with silver
At an artisan's command
She bustled in a flurry
And rummaged through the ages
She sorted out the centuries
With diligence, by stages
While shoring up the borderlines
And patching up the wars
She darned the holes in spider silk
And trimmed the dinosaurs
She hemmed the mighty oceans
To snuggly fit the sand
Then zipped up the horizon
So the sky adjoined the land
The night was stitched in situ
In between adjacent days
And time was mended seamlessly
And better in some ways
She locked away her needle
And her strand of silver thread
Her work would wait 'til morning
And with that, she went to bed
So next time life is hectic
And leaves you in a flap
Allow yourself an hour
For a cheeky little nap
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
They cry turmoil thru my web-pages,
pages on pages of Tribunes and Suns and Times
and Quarterly
"Free Burma!"
it's all turkey and pig-latin to me,
just "dunno!" like a dunce-capped miscreant,
inept of their vitriol
as i was not so great at geography
i got by before junior high.
Where-the-tarnished-nation is it?
"Free Burma!"
Notice the elephant in the room
like a whale named *****
attempting to escape
brothers of all of ours
engulfed in war
some ocean somewhere someone is dying;
notice that elephant in our laptops
ivory and blue tooth and iphones
telling me, showing us
to care
i do / want to
we should and we must
yes
"Free Burma!"
will i need to donate a dollar,
two, three? will i receive
a correspondence
of a child i am saving
a face of a country
i'm ignorant to...
will it's big sad puppy eyes be
commercialized?
i am no less as educated for not
following the strife of thousands
my own is as heavy here as an orca's leap
"Free Burma!"
what cage, bear or mouse trap
have they gotten themselves
and ourselves into?
if it's anything like Yayo or Martha
business
i have a better "good thing" to do
but if it is
like famines in Africa,
Mendelson, or Tibetan Monks
on strike with kung-fu skills
i will join U2,
(and if she's aware) with Oprah power
activate!
(fist to fist)
"i will be a well of spring-water!"
and she a holy cow, a worshipped saint
"Free Burma!!"
free water
free of fear
free everyone, i pray,
under this sky
wipe away all tears
free you of your worries
free of all chains
free of mines
free of lies and borderlines.
Free to be
together
free to live and choose to see
A planet a place
A peace
"Free Burma!"
Freedom
as one
community.
For you, for me.
Home.
Free...
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
Orange skies alight above urban blight
blinking motherboard of these city lights
the circuits begin fraying
all these alleys lead away from me
I'm only out for the time it takes
for messy thoughts to catch clean escapes
at bus stops and in dive bars,
lonely strides scuffling on sidewalks
save me something
just one ******* bite
run-off melts were raging,
I aged fast floating through city streets
at night
And I----
----Keep on glancing at my wristwatch
tugging collars, setting time bombs.
Doors are locked after the last call
I'll head home, turn my bed down
let my head assess the damage while I dream
Ashen nights are mine to walk borderlines
off-rhyme steps enjambed as the clocks unwind
I tick off all the checkpoints;
all the scotch sinks and the gin joints
send me something
call or text to just say hi
arctic fronts converging
I'll be excavating frozen feet
all night
Slip and fall out on the sidewalk
on a frozen pool of puke
I'm growing
Old and so detached
and I am
losing all context
But, when the Springtime rolls around
I'll shave my face, stick out my neck
until again I'm winding watches,
strolling sidewalks, naming faces
and the lines
erased
tell tales.
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 1:10 PM UTC
i often find myself dreaming of a place
with colorful skies
and stars on the ground,
with thousands of flowers
littered all around.
i hope to see caterpillars dancing among the leaves,
and butterflies flying out of the trees,
as well as fairies frolicking throughout the forest,
and a group of fish in a big city chorus.
i wish to only eat sweets,
and have gumdrop seats,
along with long licorice vines,
and silly string borderlines.
maybe even a boy so beautiful
the angels cry.
he can take me swimming in the lakes,
and on pop rock mining dates.
where we'll laugh,
and we'll cry,
but not worry at all.
and inexplicably, fall in love with one another.
too bad i wake up eventually
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 3:11 PM UTC
I’m borderline introvert, extrovert
Don’t try to tell me who I am
Through a test
I am nothing you’ve seen yet
Apples and oranges
But I’m a tangerine with a slice of green
And I’m borderline upset with the world
I try to understand
I try to make it right
Go and feed my cat
Fall asleep at night
But you can’t tell me who I am,
'Cause I’m sitting on the borderline
Going every direction
There’s no end
Are you gonna pay for that ********
Count my tens
Then start again
This is a metaphor for your mind
But let your soul think free
I’m just a ***** for your hind
Come and get me
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 1:12 PM UTC
*dreams in colors that don't exist,
and 'mares re dear sir, deadlines missed,
wrestle~arrest poet,
instant awake
in the wee time,
pouring liquidity,
fluids and words,
puddling, stinking,
coming,
from the
always dangerous,
always interesting temple inner inside,
sanctimonious no more sanctum*
this particular sleep,
shortened, irretrievable,
bookmarked "closed,"
chapters,
hours too soon,
this rest business,
arrested
filed in an ugly
grey metal file cabinet,
in an unfinished manila prison
with your other unimportant poems
*the dark room universe
populated by
hints, shadows, voices,
waiting, welcoming,
mirrors on the walls
unified in one voice
deep, obtuse,
demanding recognition
"hither hither come"*
forced march
to a visitation,
to the the parition,
of your reflection,
clearest ever seen,
in the black pitch,
uncovered by guise, feathers
the clothes of normative pretenses,
the man-made borderlines of
preservation falsehoods
*seen your own semblance,
parts rearranged,
uncanny,
the mirrors are screaming:
shameful lovely,
this, our artistry,
your apparition,
now accurate,
reflecting your under-
lying
condition,
at last,
an accurate portrayal,
of your inaccuracies*
do you find yourself attractive?
this new balance,
the unregulated pieces
of you
before your dissembling,
discerning,
dissecting eyes?
*feeling the valence,
an introduction,
a physical magnetism
any attraction
any resemblance
to the semblance
that writes
this s.o.s.?*
answer us thus,
do you up
and like yourself
unvarnished,
grunge, swag,
truth trammeled,
don't you want to kiss yourself
goodbye,
or better yet,
fare thee hell?
*go ahead,
ask yourself now,
that one question
that prevents conception,
from your inception,
what is it that
makes you exceptional?*
don't you realize,
everything about you
ends in a question mark?
*how dare you write poetry?
you are the false poet,
you live on the division
tween artifice and self-deception,
this, your only precept,
and now that you are
clarified,
answer this,
knowing you know
nothing
but artifice,*
how dare you write poetry?
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 5:07 AM UTC
are you the pieces put finely together,
or are you a togetherness, pulling apart?
and what lies in the in-between,
the borderlines, the crevices?
those things that bled
from your mind into hidden places
what did you lose in the battle of wits,
what did the darkness hide?
Dec 15, 2018
Dec 15, 2018 at 10:28 PM UTC
heart weighs heavy like a rifle.
scope vision obscured
shades of humanity,
blurred peripheral targets
in the near distance.
loud foreign frantic phrases,
similar tones back home,
borderlines, checkpoints to pass
to get back to your own.
Long way to go.
bullets, bombs explode.
shrapnel brings us back to task.
in a flash,
bangs - commonplace,
comrades mates,
a fine line,
between me and the enemy.
Take me back to the catacombs,
Crushed skulls, broken dreams.
Declared conflict, conscripted kids.
Join the battle with me.
Are you ready to die?
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 3:53 AM UTC
I found a way to make it painless, to make god good, to make myself good, to make myself god—me—Joshua Jerome Hutton, sound familiar?
God I hope so.
I found a way to make it painless in the checkout line, while the bleary-eyed maidens of South Moore, one in front, one behind, talk 3 a.m. rallies and resurrections right through me.
I found a way to make it painless at the eternal stoplight, watching the eternal Vietnam veteran in eternal rags holding eternal cardboard, summoning crumpled bills from anyone other than me.
I found a way to make it painless during the photo shoot, a way to place my chin so thoughtfully in my hand, a way to look into the middle-distance, a way to imply self-deprecation, a way to find near perfection—only under ample light, of course.
I found a way to make it painless in the soup queue, amongst my fellow unshaven, shamed naked, shamed to the bone, shamed pure, shamed to one flybuzz drive: I must consume.
I found a way to make it painless, to make it to the center of the white space, to suspend, inking out the worst parts of me, an all caps ATTRACTION, impossible to pinpoint, all for the review of books and the cabal of the slowed-down and insane still reading the review of books.
I found a way to make it painless by never breaking eye contact nor speaking a word as you talk yourself deeper into what you hate about yourself, and I stir my drink with a black cocktail straw, and I clear my throat, and I hahaha to myself, and I say these little issues just seem like problems. Just wait. You just wait.
I found a way to make it painless, to eek out of my own borderlines, to meld with the air and chemtrail across the sky, to observe from a holy distance the tightrope walker, the controlled demolition, the desperate young men lagging five feet behind the elusive loves of their lives, firing every clever phrase, hoping for one to land, to glean one little pause, a moment to catch up, and here, I must admit, it gives me great relief to be this removed, this far gone, this far god.
Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 12:13 PM UTC
Borderlines
of love and lust
crossovers from uncertainty
to trust
How we travel
vast countries
in search of living
We forget that taking in
is also giving
We strive to reach
and forget ourselves
our process breached
in heaven's wells
And I am drowning
in this murky sea
submerged in this place
of mystery
Sometimes darkly
Sometimes bathed in
sweet strata of light
Sometimes wrapped
closely inside
gentle tendrils
of night
All the while speaking
the language of
awareness and fire
my words heated-up silk
dripping molten desires
I throw to the winds
relics of ancient spells
conjure my heaven
to chase out the hell
Polish off the dust
and shake out my soul's fabric
air out my cells
Fill them up
with new magic
And as I continue
to break down these walls
and spin off into
the astral spheres --
I do my best to emulate
picking ripened fruit,
plucking sparks
from the cosmos
so I may live
without
fear
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 7:43 PM UTC
How it all started I cant quite remember
The only thing that's left, a fragment of memory, a piece, an ember.
I pleaded, I begged the God to think of a little child that is being destroyed, I begged him to react before in me the only thing that would be left was a big void.
But God remained cold, there is no way to cure the wounds of old.So I ve rotten for a couple of years, tried to heal my wounds with yeast and tears.
And nothing came abought, only a deep saddened drought. My soul was slowly crushed by a false mission, with a ban to sign my petition.
I've sat on the cold trone to know how it feels, nothing in that imaginary belief is real.
Witches serve the rulers that claim they're bold, pretending to be divine but inside contain only mold.
And this Earth spins, there is no other way, but for us, petty fools to be dismayed. Puppeteers pull their strings, so we can forcefully bow down and kiss their rings.
What kind of idiots do you think we are?,
Do you really think all schemes go that far?
Sad alone, abandoned, without any hope, We go out and accept these monsters only to be hanged by a rope.
Call them Psychopaths, Borderlines, Narcs,
They give a bad name even to sharks.
But every thing that rises needs to fall.
But before they do, they'll try to silence us all.
Jul 1, 2018
Jul 1, 2018 at 7:12 PM UTC
The darkness always feels so calm
before the dawn comes to life.
A beam of light
that ends the night,
but we move on...
Paper boats sail down the street
til' they're swallowed from underneath.
When we capsize
it'll change our lives
but we move on...
Our lives are all the living we get,
so don't waste your days with regrets.
We all make mistakes
trying to do things great
then we move on...
This land has been ***** by time,
divided by our borderlines.
We all clash our swords
and **** our lords.
then we move on...
It's a system for the greedy men,
while others die in suffering
If I could I would
and I feel I should
but we move on...
All they want is for us to conform;
to wear a smile with our uniform.
Life's a carousal
that spins us all
but we move on...
I'm trying hard to concentrate,
as the stars begin to constellate.
We'll connect the dots
and the truth will shock.
then we'll move on...
A people who bury their dead,
showing compassion without turning their heads.
But will all that love
send us up above,
when we move on?
And as the clouds roll in with the rain
it carries those boats down to the drain.
We all love to float,
til we've lost all hope.
then we move on...
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 6:05 PM UTC
I sigh to the dulling of the given infrastructure which borderlines madness.
The thoughts provoking an aspiration of enlightenment only seen in the corners of the eye.
The flashes of provocative lights only seem to dance when you look away, only to tempt and dare you to look directly in their dazzling gaze, denied by the subtle beauty of the dance.
I wipe the sweat away only to embrace the heat once more as it regains its clutches of my soul.
Why am I to be tortured with such subtle signs that only a glimpse in the right direction would unfold the beauties, only to be caught in the corners of my eye.
I wipe the sweat away once more only to be drenched again.
Aug 28, 2010
Aug 28, 2010 at 2:50 PM UTC
they fight so you don't have to
crossing beyond borderlines
a noble thing
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 2:49 PM UTC
#the forming of substance 03
Stephan W
(fallen from grace)
~
*"I have just come back from a party
where I was the life and soul.
Witticisms flowed from my lips.
Everyone laughed and admired me—
but, I left,
yes.. that dash should be as long as the radii
of the earth's orbit ———
and wanted to shoot myself."*
~Soren Kierkegaard
~ ~
*It is not enough...
It is never enough--
we need too much
But, here on earth
we have to make it work
so we call good-enough, "good enough"
and with gratitude, we
learn to take in what it's available to us.
But the truth behind it all remains--
the fact that we need so much;
Where is one that is complete..
and if so, complete--
compared to what?
There is a perfection- cloud-hidden
within everything that is human
The spirit within the body that carries it--
b r e a t h e s out perfection's truth,
though- we may only experience it
in the moments between awake and asleep-
the human psyche is bent on survival--
and in a broken world, the thought of an
inherent perfection brings on too much--
our own condemnation even.
In our minds we fall too short of even the
concept of it.
Or do we?
The gravitational pull towards Muse
borderlines on that of addiction;
its stirrings touch what is primal in us--
once-inexpressible words, suddenly find expression;
And a Beethoven finds musical notes
that lead to a symphonic masterpiece.
"Words from Heaven" is not saying too much
concerning the poet, or lyricist.
"Music from Heaven" is easier to say,
when concerning a Mozart or Beethoven.
Or a Tchaikovsky.
Perfect reaching into the imperfect?
How about 'imperfect'- feeling, and then
expressing pieces of its own long-forgotten
perfection--
things experienced within the sphere-
made tangible again through the flesh,
simply in a moment of remembering..
and also that of a temporary forgetting--
of limitation.
The beauty of despair is in the heartbreak
of finding out that what is right in front of us
is never truly enough
or worse yet--
possibly even harmful to our own true needs.
What we need most is all and everything
that helps us remember--
That we came from perfection,
and were loved there first,
and now, within the imperfect-
are unable to be denied by the perfect that is
forever inherent in us--
It is completely unable to deny that
which is of its own.
If we were to never despair over what is in
front of us, we might never be compelled
to find the strength to remember-
flashes of the primal--
that of our own history, of perfection.
And if there ever were ever an evil,
or a Darkness-
it would be hell-bent on keeping us
from finding that very thing.
Sometimes.. just sometimes, death
looks just like love.*
#
Sep 27, 2020
Sep 27, 2020 at 8:29 PM UTC
When I tell my little sister I got a pet mouse
She's asks "why didn't you get a hamster like a normal person?"
Her voice poisoned with disgust
When the guy at the pet store says he didn't expect me to be a snake person
Says he didn't expect to sell a mouse to someone like me so quickly
I know he means little girl, breakable woman
Little girls are not supposed to be into snakes and scraped knees and oversized tshirts
But I, I always have been
And yet my friends who have the best intentions
Tell me if people saw my accessories they'd never assume I'm queer
But they don't say queer they say gay
But I'm not gay
But I'm not straight
And I keep teetering between too much and not enough
Always in this heat of this new game
And I was never taught how to play
I was never given a rule book to my gender
To my sexuality
Because they never tell you how to be in between
I never correct people when they mislabel me in one way or another
Because I've learned people hear what they want to believe
It means I will be wasting the already fleeting breath in my lungs
To explain something to those who will never embrace it
My gay friends debated over whether bisexual people are actually gay in front of me
And wondered why I walked out of the restaurant
They didn't see the lava bubbling with anger and shame at the back of my throat
I cannot even call myself bisexual
Because that implies too gendered
That implies too simple
For my hopelessly complexed identity
I find myself somewhere on the border
And some days this body serves its purpose
Other days it is violently trying to escape itself
Not quite enough to mention to anyone but me
Not quite enough to matter to anyone but me
But I see these binaries as a prison
And most days it seems like I am in solitary confinement
Too much, not enough
Always in between
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 11:33 PM UTC
*He is there
Lurking
In the trenches
Of my psyche
I can feel him
Coursing through my veins
He lives in the spaces
Between my words
Ravaged by the tyranny
Of want
Stirring in my desolation
On the borderlines
Of the graceful surrender
And the steadfast grip
For he is my tomorrow
My redeemer
The skeleton key
Opening me.*
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 6:36 PM UTC