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Laokos Feb 2021
shirtless screaming through
the heartland and I used
to smoke cigarettes
too.

she never wanted
to stay: the youth
she had
left demanded it.
now, I'll wager
she's somewhere
in an apartment with
some dandy that
wears sweater vests
to Thanksgiving dinner.

maybe she thinks
about me and my little
twisted heart every
now and again:
like when she's away
from the sweater vest
on the toilet
behind a locked door,
"be right out, babe!"
or toting groceries
through a parking lot
to her car,
or signaling a
left turn before
changing her mind
and deciding to
go straight instead.

and
maybe I need to
stop thinking
about her
especially after
three years
incommunicado

but what can I say?
I've never slept on
a bed of nails
I couldn't
dream on.
Connor Reid Apr 2014
A duality of elan vital, two people
Spectres of emotion
Intertwined by a fuselage of bruised skin & tendon
Tissues become orbital, gushing towards grafts
Helixes of snot, **** and lymph
Boy & girl
As they embrace the animating principle and eachother, they fuse
A one piece tapestry adorned seamless with no hem, beginning or end
Always was, always is
Patiently turning to liquid as their being unzips
Lying figures of runny makeup and genetic *****
Quintessence, a texture of synaptic potential
Corpus Callosum
An entirety of self, lost in imbued disintegration
Theory of mind, looped & bound
I will water the thought
Roots envisaged in dystopian amygdala
Piercing data packets with a frost-like intensity
Forgetting our obsolescence moments ago
A neuron dipped in nylon
Theta waves and the non-euclidean crux of dissociation
Ghosts in the machine, your macro god
The sympathies of fractional distillation
Digitised/assimilated unto the nanosphere
Cold hands and brass backs galvanised in oscillated tears
Commodified, sold out and bought
Stretching, from purple, white and black
slowly losing its colour, amorphous in shape
brushed across a smudge, ambiguously chromatic
Monetised flesh god
An eternity bathed in starlight
Cutting an incision in the sky to allow entropy
Divided dimensions of energy
Fleeting and intangible
No longer a delirium of seperation
All semantics become light
As a rusted vehicle passes overhead
And all the worlds questions fade out of existence
Flutters of red tape and foregone growth of practice
Sinew flayed, integrated towards information
Our minds shared
In circuits and resistors
Photons and electrons
We radiate
K Mae Jan 2013
You know what I am
One side and the other
Dawdling dreamer to the left
****, do it now by right

Separation by design
How clever safely kept
Yet merge and melt the magic path
when hands are clasped voice rings from center
Surprise result
Human roulette.
Chris Lazzaro Feb 2019
Wandering under
woodland leaves,
my mind confined
to winding suture lines.
Paths of pink nerve tissue
cherry blossom trees,
dendrite branches wave
in a heavy breeze.
Myline bark, an axon stump,
rooted contents of my skull
continuously growing,
a tangled plexus of
neural connections.
Twisting, turning,
a knotted blockage.
Pathways, rippled in roots,
a crossing synaptic stoppage.
A suffocating strangle,
choking corpus callosum
decaying mangle.
Branches atrophy,
shrivel and scar.
Root terminals suffer
hormonal harm.
Forest trails quick fainting
when lost in overthinking.
Erin Melody Feb 2012
my mind is at the boarder of two places at once.
one half twists and writhes like smoke in a glass,
the other is still and rigid and heavy.
i walk alone under a canopy of cornstalks
smelling my childhood,
bewildered by the way i've changed.
it feels as though i've been shifted to the left, just a few inches.
nothing looks the same
even though it's just like i remember it.
all i seem to do is wish for things the way they were.
i can't remember how to love anything other than dreams and faux realities.
i can never have my only desire
as long as i keep killing my own ambition.
i can't figure out how to feel anymore,
still just learning how to hide from the connection.
Glen Brunson Mar 2013
our sky is spectrum

there is the peace of
a lake’s night-face
in our presence,
the ratchet of a thousand
orbits encircled-
wholly intersected through the palms.

a collective vibrato.

this unmasked, awesome wave of
silent happenstance
gathers kneading masses
to lay deadly beneath
oaken inscription,
cast about the heavens
in splinters of light.

our shaken, fevered dance
does not separate the halves
we are corpus callosum,
a passing stab embodied,
writhing jazz rhythm
untouched from pre-production.

so slice us into maps.
paste our highwayed bodies
in the grinding gloom
we will be your compass rose
when the pedals
are no longer smooth.

we will grace the dirt
when oceans are no comfort.

the palm-lines of healers
and street urchins
are the same.

child,
this anthem is your name.
if blood runs black,
a frame collapsed,
will we sing over your grave.
David Barr Feb 2014
Run your slender fingers through my desert storm, whilst tumbleweed blows past mechanical vineyards.
Although it feels like heaven, it would be fitting to acknowledge the indulgent nature of our deprivations.
How diabolical are our interpersonal dynamics amidst customised motorcycles with forked tongues
where the societal corpus callosum facilitates communication between hemispheres of cultural polarity.
Let us expose the violence that is submerged within suave guises of sophistication.
I am already seated in the dunes of contemplation where the sky at night reveals mysteries of silent amazement.
Riq Schwartz Oct 2013
I'm slipping,

stepping silently through
mountains of air
wind
whipping this clay shod body
earth and sod and
stones to small to see


I'm stuck,

this pen wedged within
my corpus callosum,
not big enough to handle the task
not up not *****,
doesn't have the stuff.

I'm all.

Honest, to the tip of each hair on my head
cut and styled, and put into place;

truth bubbling out
from behind crimson painted lips;

but so that I may not mince words, / there is nothing straight about me
save the razor's edge / with which I detail my semantics,
my words cut with conveniences / resilient as talcum powder

you / we have so much to look forward to
Vivian May 2014
she smiled at me
through lab goggles and
a light, latex-gloved touch;
I blushed, looking down at my feet;
I caught sight of
the unseemly lump of
flesh on the table between us.
strange, that this dissection was so
[Russian Nesting Dolls]
meta; two brains with bodies
dissecting one without.
technicolor dreams drenched in
formaldehyde leaching out
upon the stainless steel table
parietal lobe corpus callosum Brocke's
area god I think I love
this girl I
K Marie May 2015
I never had much of an ability to be anything except an emotional disaster. I didn’t spend a lot of time outside of my head, and when I did it was usually to dive headfirst into the head of someone else. I spent the vast majority of my daily life in a broken-down shell of myself masquerading as someone that had their **** together. For some reason, people accepted the facade. That’s what they usually ended up liking.
    I always regarded myself as a disease. I had an incubation period that was relative to how long it took someone to get me to trust them. After that, the cells of my disease would rapidly multiply and explode, permeating the membranes of all of their senses and rationalities. My disease would break through the double-helix of their DNA and integrate itself in the fragile bridges of their nitrogenous bases, reflecting adenine for their thymine, cytosine for their guanine until finally the helix reunited, delicately interconnecting the chromosomes as I spilled out all the worst sides of myself.
    The infectious agents of my toxicity would then slowly descend the ladders of hydrogen bridges and filter back out through the phospholipid bilayer to swim freely into their bloodstream, swimming through their veins to seek out the nervous system. Freely hopping along synapses, my disease gently touches neurons and triggers proteins buried deep inside their nuclei, causing the slow degradation and eventual apoptosis, killing off the ability to recognize that I am not a normal person.
    The electrical impulses spread from axon to axon, igniting a ridiculous idea that I am no disease. The toxins follow the impulses, riding along the shockwaves. The toxins arrive in the mind and slide off the branches of electricity to hold fast to brain proteins, forcing them to take on the shape of the toxins and eroding holes in all the neural processing centers that govern reason and logic, robbing the person of the ability to detect all the red flags I wave frantically in front of their faces.
    The toxins slide into the erosions and stand upon the corpus callosum, the delicate connection between the cerebral hemispheres, and wonder at the magnitude of the destruction they cause. They take a running start and leap from hemisphere to hemisphere and back again, skipping between the associative areas and primary cortices so the immune system cannot ever catch them.
They settle in the prefrontal cortex, the seat of neural power, the orchestra of complex thought. The toxins settle deep into the gyri and sulci, wedge themselves into the folds of all the grey matter.
Once infection is over, once I have eroded the very cytoskeletons that hold their cells together, they breathe, “I love you.”
Hayley Neininger Apr 2013
They say we have two halves of a whole brain.
Two sections that govern our actions
Like tyrants that ride horses with reigns made
Of nerves and weald weapons that shoot out sparks
Of neurons across our synapses
The lands of our minds that dips and rises like the Andes mountains
Amoung cerebellum fields
Where nervous horses hoofs trample
Nervous systems flowers and bend their stem
Into an L shaped pendulum that swings
Unevenly over corpus callosum oceans
That separate left and right.
Art and reason.
Two separate sets of war torn warriors fighting,
One with methodically measured maps
Marked with red flags between concurred lands of logic
And one with holistic metal armor that clinks and clanks
Around soldiers making music for them to march to
They fight over proper ways of reason
And creative formulations
Of treasons that ought not be crossed
Their trenches the rivens in our brains
That wet rot their feet with slimy blood and
Membrane juices
The left speaking in tongues
That right cannot hear when not
Set on staff lines
Or painted onto animal skin canvas
That once covered similar brain battles
Between right and left
Only to be cut and sectioned off
In improper fractions that yearn to be whole.
If only the sides would sign treaties of peace
With pens that pinch fibers together and bind
Halves into wholes.
The meaning of the trustees and the ablution of the signs respectively were based on the word ficare "in the proportion of providing signs and building", as a complement to the concept, in the case of Zefian's Virola, it is given to the ring that rotates in its elliptical as a virtual particle, similar to the Muon. But always in a semantic ring or circle look. Linguistics will attribute both the Virola and the Fero; in this case "leading or leading" The dissociation here is the semantics in the object not entrenched to be used as a common kind of language, but rather as "Virolifero", it is understood that this word will forge the Zefian Arrow into the amalgamation of the ring that leads, to abduct all energies towards a Central Whole. The product of all this energy will be called channeling of the mental representations of the "sign" of signifying, evoking independence in each terminology by itself and represented, rather in the theological physical elementality, associated with the Virolifera plane.

As the treatise of this codex suggests, a term between terms, to assign mnemonic and etymological chaining of meaning most of the appropriation of terminologies attached to a properly vernacular word. The horizon that is stipulated is of a Vernathian nature, where the average life-turning receptacle is of enormous proportions in its multi dynamics, especially in the moral, ethical and theological, especially in matters of emotional articulation associated with a significant meaning. Vernarthian dreams are of Speed of Quantum Physics, therefore they are pure metaphysical and meta-biological, appending to restricted spaces of stimulus and impulse speed, hiding in the residual mass of the unknown, to attribute to them chromatics that is settled in the Corpus Callosum of both hemispheres. Neuroscience yes, but that deposits physical values in the concentration of rest and active energy in areas of the cerebellum, to unleash a choice of names or anthroponyms. Where all the names with a certain alacrity of reason, meaning is attached according to their toponymy, in this case, Virolifero, could be a factor of canceling choices and adaptation of higher energies, on the universe, as a patronage of the Universe "called Rings of Zefian ”endowed with electron elliptical Muon particles.

The signifier of Virolifero will be its phoneme, perhaps more associated with the subject being the ring, associated with its mental representation. This force of Vernarthian thought indicates semantics and phonetics of speculative endowment, for becoming of building rings associated with an eco-physical and eco-environmental scheme. The entire philosophical Vernarthian range has a Sacred Geometry in its verbal and numeral composition, either in the connotation of concepts-ideas and of signs that represent the mental cultural heritage.  Literality will advocate the chronology of gap and verbal-linguistic space, contributing figurative, Greco-Latin barbarisms, such as Virolifero's verbal vigor if we place it in the reference of a building ring, being able to be figurative as a ring that makes or leads according to its practical verbal use dialectical. And in context, it would appear as something sacred in what will be referred to in this Codex of Nuraga Complexes, where each fold of lithosphere will be of the geological relationship between Stonehenge or Nuraga in Sardinia, each one appropriating age in what could be more or less an archaeological conflict of origins, or of comparative aspects of the referenced union, for the end of times, nations, civilizations, political states, and generations of socio-economic persistence. Making an archaeological contextual fact as in these terms, of such references of reception or political exile, but also cultural, adding the terminology of the intracultural contribution of the region. In the argument of Pythagoras and his self-exile in Italy, it is said that he had been condemned to exile from Samos because of his aversion to the tyranny of Polycrates. Around 530 BC settled in Crotona, a Greek colony in southern Italy, where he founded a movement with religious, political, and philosophical purposes, known as Pythagoreanism, and which generated duplicity of context in his sacred mathematical pilgrimage, towards a process of exercise contrary to his own Pythagorean School, expropriating a persona non grata in internal conflicts with personalities from Crotona itself, where he had to flee later. Here ipso facto the verbal exercise exemplifies his transliteration by an unfailing fact, in favor of what emerges from a coercive task, abandoning the same in what placidly sheltered him, and virtually ostracized as an immigrant from Samos.

Hosted the Pythagoreans in Sardinia, Italy.  Being in the colorimetry of the 6th century BC. He was peering into a universe that wasted infusion, clinging to the unknown roots themselves, with undulating harmonies in what we inhabit as an ethical and religious wave and vibrational entity. The prefix Vilori will indicate sacred mathematics, adapting to the numeral and algorithmic harmony of three plus three + 1, which would be the suffix, Fero. The external exaltation of numerical sensations will lie in human sensations already pre-established as a socio-environmental existential order, towards a divine-human being. What is strictly formative is a sacred legacy, since its equivalence is composed of mathematical formulas and figures that all point to the creation of an ambivalent whole, upward and downward proportionate. Focusing on originality of thought and work, embodying the prose, prophecies,  and intensely solid parables.

Vernarth and Etréstles began the attached Rituals in these megalithic complexes. On each Solstice, they arranged sectarians related to this phenomenology, in such a way as to incorporate them into this millenary civilization. They always attacked the archaeological area of Orroli, which is in the center of the soft plateau of Pran'e muru, in a strategic position to control the territory along the middle course of the Flumendosa River. Normally here they performed twilight liturgies similar to those perpetually held in La Mandragora, Sudpichi, Horcondising Region - Chile. Vernarth, always got all the provisions and utensils off the sailboat. Pyramid Torches, Oil Fuels, Sacred Drums, Proved Firewood, Stonework for Obsidian Workshops. Mapuche  wind instruments such as Trutruca, Cultrún and trompe. Buzzers to repel zoomorphic beings of the Bestiary, Alchemy, and Esotericism. Etréstles, coordinated content and other related duties by illuminating all the souls who once lived here. To which Vernarth masterfully adhered, filing them with impressive themes of the prehistoric world. To consider more than five volumes by concept before departure, to then break into the sacred space and meaning, limpid and originating from the session of totem animals and trance with Navajo drums. Each oar looked like a Karibu daunting a maple or a conifer that wanted to change its bark skin for those of the goring of the Karibu or the Moose him. While the eagle with its claws dropped crashing down on the Rehue line to Gnegechen, on the Cultrun, whose plural palpitations of the mandrake wanted to seem to be more than a hallucinogenic thrilling herb.

Describes Vernarth in Regression of him: Theater and Aeschylus, Dance and Athena, gifts from Stonehenge and Borrehaugene in Norway on Viking ships. They walked over the suspicious stones of the Nuragas.  In each ritual in these sets, they concelebrated next to the gorges, through which said river ran, being globally submerged in two artificial lakes until today. A territory deeply marked by man since prehistory, confirming the extraordinary concentration of remains found; from the Neolithic to the Bronze and Iron Ages, Roman times, and the Middle Ages. The Arrubiu was the main bastion, around it, satellite Nuragas gravitated, dominating strategic points and access roads. Near the complex is the tomb of Giants from the Sword, here they would consecrate their dynamics of the Xiphos Hoplite sword, to develop the bronze rites,  as a heritage from the linear insertion of Sardinia with Patmos,  to which they will go after the Solstice from the Nuraga complex. In his prehistoric speeches, he always had to stand out and go back to years prior to 1000 BC. Today it has become the symbol of Sardinia and its distinctive culture. The typical Nuraga is located in a panoramic place and has the shape of a tower with a geometric shape of a truncated cone or divided in half, some higher, others very low, reminiscent of a Tholos (Ancient Greek circular construction). Right here Vernarth, they poured milk and Pranayama, to delineate the points of the Sun to align them with the whims of Brahma and Xifos; swords that are gleaming over the eyes of a stingray. Vernarth, as post-frontal poetry, in treachery that decorated such a hendecasyllable, undertook to rescue the largest real estate fire, from where his own subsistence will hang. In the main protocol, in a drumming trance, he pierced the brains of all those present. Fragments remained everywhere ever imagined, on the timeless Nuragha ruins under the treetops and their Templum. Misleading beings that attacked the underworld of Persephone, and the Nuragic Gods who were elemented, by prevailing in this ceremony that they did not know if it was their own, not knowing that they were included.

Isaías sings (bis): “The presence in the corresponding versed folio makes it relative to the prophecy of the Immanuel born of a ******, which is associated with a similar Virgilian prophecy of Cumana, justifying its prophetic symbolism. Here is the warning that blackens the skies where the light retracts, thousands of attendants in the Nuragas are chained during the announcement of a thousandth that climbs abysses like the fateful Strigoi, and only tribulated pasture will have to transplant rebellions, which lie asleep for the wind of the ideal of incipient spiritual ******* dressed in execration. Has the conflagration of the heart that resists death and agonizes several times in the Templum ritual been unleashed ... The conditions await for the apostates when they refuse the water that does not make them optimal, and makes the radius of obedience of the Vernarthian heart elliptical, full of granules of lumpy Physconia, whose frequency will become embedded in bodies of treacherous, kingdoms and fungal lineages. The reign of the saints will judge diversity on the thrones with devastation in the fatuous beatifications in Pergamum, already admonished by me also in Sardinia”
Codex XIX -  Ultramundis  Nuragas
Gadus Jul 2014
Summer lies while river rats gnaw on posts
weathered from the reverence tides.
Hunching over limestone slate,
picture ******-eyed states of the caricatures.

Loss of limbs in dissociative fugue.
St. Anthony's fire up along the coast.
Ergot Dreams: Such splendid things!

Waking up in a pool with callosum yarns
spinning words of concern.
And i've come so close
time and time
to find the pinhole tube light.

Words keep seeping out,
I hear my mother holding me here.
Frozen solid.
Stuck in a cot.
Letting the little ******* off his chain just to
hear him stream

How many lives to burn in the ecclesia pyre
while jesus sweeps the remainders
off to sea?

Maybe I have died again,
living in this ferrous skin.
Seeded fledgling after all.
Harmony Sep 2014
written November 19, 2013

"Why do I feel as if I'm going to burst into flames - a growing spark that even the slightest bit of wind can't put out
The stress boils through my blood
The assumptions I branded into my brain have taken over me and my heart is racing
And so far I'm in first place
Because I can't focus on anything else but the presence of you and your little mind games - are you trying to make me fall in love with you? Or fall into your bed where you can make love to me?
These two questions jump across my corpus callosum
Playing hop scotch back and forth and back and forth
You see I can picture it my mind but logically, it makes no sense
That you would ever have feelings for me
So I'm torn between the ideas of love and lust and that **** you pulled Saturday?
It's got me contemplating my feelings constantly
My mind is supposed to stay present yet it wanders to the past to where my heart wants to be, back in your arms snuggling on the couch watching a movie
It's no doubt I want you
Yet, I lie to myself and say 'at least he's being a gentleman about it'
But no matter how many paid dinners for you to see the artisan in act, it will never pay for the amount of love I have for you
So here I am, type type typing the words into the lonely phone awaiting a simplistic three letter message saying 'hey'
Three
simple
letters
would make my heart grow
three
times
fonder"
Message me for the full story if you're interested!
Psilo-Cybrans [bear-headed-cybernetic-humans] experience cyberdelic information via symbiotic cybernetic augmentation.
By substantially replacing many parts of the occipital & parietal lobes
and installing a complex biofeedback device in the corpus callosum
the user can moderate the flow of information (between the brain's hemispheres and a reworked central nervous system) in real-time. The biofeedback device is a two-way interface which enables the user
to supplement internal calculations with those of an onboard computer.
Using this device one merges consciousness with artificial intelligence,
Overhauling most mental faculties while retaining complete autonomy.
This is known as a 'twined-A.I.'.
In addition to data moderation one can qualify feedback excitation and quantify signal-lag, this allows for superior diagnostics and analysis.

Using a twined 'A.I.' one can effectively manage information generated by The Psychedelion, reducing the accompanying data of Absurdia with ease. The Psychedelion is accessible through cyberspace or by conventional means, though the degree or level of access does have proportionate side effects such as
physical/perceptual alterations: e.g. increased local power usage, changes in pupillary response, yawning, ect.  / i.e. visual, cognitive, ect.

Some Psilo-Cybrans forego the growth of hair after cranial augmentation to simplify cleaning such implants (which lends itself to their name). A select few continually install more implants to better facilitate their cyber-immersion and often wear hooded garments/robes to hide this, they are known as Cybran Illuminate; these Others use Aeon techniques such as meditation or dissociation to further enhance or induce their immersion into a cybernetic or cyberdelic trance.
Quantum artificial intelligence can neither practically nor morally be twined to a human; conventional A.I. does not possess a will with which to challenge human autonomy, whether Q.A.I. may is unknown.
CharlesC Apr 2013
Chilly spring day
between winter and summer
winter bias...

Spring in the middle
seasons between
are good homes...

Those opposites
detract and demand
middle grounds...

Right and left
corpus joins callosum
I'll join you there...

The middle
is not muddle
is energizer..!

Between Awakens...!
LadyBird Jul 2015
A bug-like being crawled up your spine,
Its many feet clicking on your bones.
The movement was scarcely perceptible under your barely bulging skin.

The closer he got to your brain, the faster he clicked.
His anticipation was tangible, translated into your erratic acts.
He saw your thoughts, he smelt your love.

He hungered for your sanity,
With huge, dilated, droopy eyes and a salivating mouth.
It held a long sloppy tongue, that left its sizzling slime along his path.

Upon reaching your brain stem he used his sharp incisors
To take a mouthful of your rational. It fed him.
He rejoiced, throwing his head back in malicious laughter.

With new energy, he slithered around your skull
And barged into your frontal cortex.
Your judgement forever altered, now under his command.

His delight was overwhelming. In his pleasure,
He covered your cells in his hot, heavy breath.
It was poison, acting against all remaining sensibility.

As he devoured your corpus callosum, he spawned another head.
This one small and sleek, covered in slime,
With black beady eyes.

The new head drilled to the core of you and reeked havoc
On your amygdala and hippocampus.
You are gone. You no longer remember how to feel.

He is almighty.
The movement of your limbs is no longer your own.
Your words are first conceived in his belly.

He cares about nothing but consumption and destruction.
He is starved for pain, he needs to breathe in the
Cries of those who love you the most.

You can no longer notice the beauty in
Your daughter's smile, rather you smell the tears
Resting in her eyes still so full of adoration.
Diane Jul 2015
Love is supposed to set you free
I know this
Intellectually, I know
Chasing love stories and songs
Into blissful eternity
Crawling through the rabbit hole
Of my lover’s pale eyes
Puffy eyelids close down
Trapping me in
The moisture of tears
and bulging blood veins
Searching for exits in
Corpus callosum
These thoughts, those words, that smell
Don’t work
Neither does complaining
About who I should be
Generous anger poured over ice
Laughter covers the sound
Of eggshells crunching  
Make it through one more night
On the edge of the bed
David Barr Feb 2015
Let us refrain from the race against time, in order to avoid surpassing ourselves prior to our birth.
It is not dissimilar to an inarticulate promise, when Corpus Callosum damage interferes with communication strategies between both hemispheres.
In this age of seemingly superior wisdom and unreasonable demand, we must address the question of when we can truly interact.
Emotional are those chords of retirement and defiance in the face of a perplexed fret board.
Can’t you feel the electromagnetic field, where aquatic immersion avoids the accusation of political sharks?
Thankfully, there is a design.
Rea Oct 2021
i'm sitting on a purple bus, swaying back and forth and
didn't my mother used to rock me to sleep like this?
i'm going back to a dorm room with a twin-sized bed and,
at the age of five, wasn't my bed this small?
because you see, things change but not really.
the parts of our past just fall into different molds
and take on new purposes.
they run underneath every aspect of our lives,
containing bones and bruises and memories,
like catacombs resting in our corpus callosum.
you'll recognize the feeling like
it's from a different lifetime, a different reality.
but it's yours, it always has been.
written on a bus 7:09pm
Traveler Mar 11
The mycelium network seems to be connected
to my corpus callosum
just beneath my cerebral cortex.
I lay naked on bare ground to recharge and revitalize!  
I am one with Gaia!
Traveler Tim
Dream Fisher Oct 2019
You better make room at the top,
If not I'll push my way into the crowd
I'm not going to stop, not asking if I'm allowed.
They'll read my name in the paper, watch me.
I'll be the reason you spit your morning coffee.
That odd kid made a best seller,
That weird kid sold up and isn't so lame.
Unfortunately they still don't know my name.

I've been chasing a beautiful success
Long before you even had a cerebral cortex,
The problem with you is you're thinking backwards.
I'm a different sort of intellectual awesome
If you can't see that, I'll saw you in half
Starting right at the corpus callosum.
Or I'll just keeping being me
Tap the first domino and watch the rest
Scattering across the floor in a mess.

I joke about never making it there
I'm afraid I'll never get noticed
The truth is, I write everyday
Just to hope today is the day
That I wake up to minimal fame
And someday, someone will write me a letter
To tell me how something I wrote
Made their life change
But today I'll stay unnoticed
Onoma May 2018
winnowing grasses--
a workable blear of plotlines.
bore up your scalp--
segued with white noise.
the fine stitch of your
corpus callosum, threw down
ankle-length tresses.
black enough for night to take
asylum--
and spread ranging moonlight.
your return call to sourced sunlight.
wild as a phosphorescent
throat of kept peace.
nature's long sleep in simpatico with you,
drooled resin.
Persephone, that line you toe in
cavernous raiment... has brought
down the house
with your strange delectation.
pomegranate, your caesura--held
on to for dear death.
leathered by the singed petitions of last lights,
bloated with rosaries that seed new planes.
your walk abroad covers
enough ground to blow systematized
stars.
congregationless dimmer switches
of Hades.
what else... his trademark blatherskite!

While sprawled comfortably
numb upon davenport
Iowa daily dose of poetic mishmash,
thus yours truly couches, kneads, sports...
his imponderable matted
swiftly styled balderdash
noah intent to kindle
potential ark enemy, nor abash

please pardon your
garden variety philologos,
preparing himself for backlash
he spouts nonsense words
with chutzpah and brash
his logorrhea affliction begets
meaningless rot i.e. namely ishkabibble,
where scapegoated test dummies crash

inscrutably, dumbly, busily blankly
boxing, blinking, batting... eyelash
hijacking, flouting, disregarding... covenant,
not causing corpus callosum damage
basically self made edict equals hogwash,
within one North American banana republic
predicated upon fiat gnash
trumpets blatantly non subliminal,

subordinate, subtle... ** hum
messages cuz bosh to liberty we smash
with most popular refrain
"send her/him back" cash
hearing purported dispensable
deportee with swash-
buck killing bravado
marquee, where klieg lights
blindingly broadcast in a flash.

"FAKE" mania loosed doth stall
refugees, where desperation witnesses
land of milk and honey,
perhaps some heading to Broomall,
who if necessary crawl
escaping forced *** trafficking poverty,
persecution, violence... downfall,
viz puppet government

tricked out noble (no bull) border wall
configured as demilitarized zone
hostilility spewing noxious,
poisonous, venomous gall
courtesy commander in chief
who essentially hoops to forestall
his impeachment proceedings
bristling, ranting, scathing... twitter feeds

spewing bosh raining hatred filled squall
spouting jingoistic rhetoric
atop anointed hall
of the mountain king
eerily similar to Taj Mahal
firing expletive epithets

assenting military mandating withdrawal
loosing vicious police and/or junkyard dogs
declaring no exemption against marshall
law innocence absolute zero guard
as sharp teeth nsync with flesh maul
cue hideous sinister laughter
welcome to danse macabre ball!
An excerpt taken from a lengthy tome,
written courtesy a favorite poet of mine.

Paraskevidekatriaphobia  struck within a blink,
I swear yours truly never took a drink,
nevertheless he witnessed
and falsely accused of being a rat fink,
when everything but the kitchen sink
instantaneously disappeared in a wink.

A quick moving flava flav lava flow
quickly rapped (like a snoop doggy dog tune),
swept, and twittered predominantly
(this only the beginning phase
of Armageddon clobbering debacle),
where nature nymphs, sprites, trolls, et cetera)
decked out with tartan kilted
Scottish residents comprising
the moral majority population
within bucolic community of Harrisburg,
(yes the same place name and Das Capital
of Pennsylvania) before swallowing
(as an itty bitty, teensy weensy
hors d oeuvre), a healthy
barley noticed portion of planet Earth.

Faster than a speeding bullet
lubricated with greased lightning,
and one rather extremely uncommon phenomena,
the devastating, instantaneous,
and outrageous volcanic activity,
(that forged the Allegheny Mountains)
unexpectedly goose-stepped,
doggedly catapulted back to life
after a bajillion years of dormancy
entombing, hotly freezing (in perpetuity),

and guaranteeing, limning, and ossifying
unchanging lifelong livingsocial abode
of Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum
at that juncture (of happy and healthy)
within the space time continuum
4 after Midnight, (when Christine
came down with severe bout of misery
qua writer's block), and sponsored
by Plexus, nexus Lexus Wilkie Buick,
who guaranteed their

handsomely crafted automobiles
(specially designed with an app
to weather fierce blistering,
pelting thermal withering geologic events,
sans natural catastrophes)
included extra durable crushed bougainvillea
(allegedly beefed chromosomes)
deftly effected fortified (gluten free)
genetically housed immensely
jimmied, kindled, lionized magnetized numbskulls.

The volcanic magma seemed to possess
an uncanny intelligent, eerie ability
to discriminate among bias,
die hard extremist stances, liberal take
on hot button controversial issues,
political ultra factions, hence the eye catching,
shining, yet confusing moniker
"Smart Ash" soon codified, fructified, indemnified
with the reputable, musical, and inestimable
qua personae non gratae prodigy Sam Ash".

Actually, there did seem to appear
some natural likeness in violent temperament,
resonant penchant, and nascent lambent
Jill Saint John habiliment
between former magmatic material,
and protean Primate prehensile prattling Simian,
who (as a sidereal stellar story teller)
happens to be yours truly.

Anyway, due to strict
parochial Lutheran hackneyed dogma,
no iota of boasting, flattering, nattering chattering
allowed from this anonymous,
hip po' eponymous, harmonious, industrious,
innocuous, judicious, loquacious, marvelous,
querulous Norwegian bachelor farmer.

Ponder with scrunched furrowed brow
in a serious effort to expound at large
this incredulous nebulous,
shape shifting (than compound
an understandably mixed up notion),
thus now tis a noteworthy opportunity
to point out divulging the name of this scribe
would immediately necessitate notification
of Non-Coms, who would forcibly usher
this lapsed long haired pencil neck geek.

This action (not newsworthy in the least),
would thus mocks nix notorious nauseating, nasty,
never-ending nonsensical noodling.

How sad, hence tis not wise tune hip
virtual thorn in the dark side.

Rather best bet would be to buffer end
this figurative bud dee **** encased
within corpus callosum.

Though identity guard disallows revealing namesake
of this nincompoop, the most information
told about this little known author
can be reduced to one word.

That abridged version would deprive
any subsequent reader a brave attempt
to interpret convoluted spaghetti writing.

Despite ambition to bob and weave continuously
(creating a conglomeration of ever increasing
virtual loose threads),
one final capstone concept begs to be conveyed.

Thine ziggurat severely atilt rivaled
(sorry tubby cheesy),
but the Leaning Tower of Pisa!

Asinine argot acquired bilious berserk baggage,
which stakes no claim nsync with
longevity, magnanimity, notoriety, et cetera.

A series of unfortunate literary,
lickity-split liberty unintentionally
left a prose ache wake.

An honest to dogness attempt bedeviled crux
displaying evident fiasco.

Slinky circumstances, sans synonymity,
synergistically, and synchronicity
yielded a feeble effort at fame.

Birth thing a complex mental edifice
begot aborted aspiration foray zing
grateful, mindful, and respectful characterization.

— The End —