"calus" poems
L'un toujours vit la vie en rose,
Jeunesse qui n'en finit plus,
Seconde enfance moins morose,
Ni vœux, ni regrets superflus.
Ignorant tout flux et reflux,
Ce sage pour qui rien ne bouge
Règne instinctif : tel un phallus.
Mais moi je vois la vie en rouge.
L'autre ratiocine et glose
Sur des modes irrésolus,
Soupesant, pesant chaque chose
De mains gourdes aux lourds calus.
Lui faudrait du temps tant et plus
Pour se risquer hors de son bouge.
Le monde est gris à ce reclus.
Mais moi je vois la vie en rouge.
Lui, cet autre, alentour il ose
Jeter des regards bien voulus,
Mais, sur quoi que son œil se pose,
Il s'exaspère où tu te plus,
Œil des philanthropes joufflus ;
Tout lui semble noir, vierge ou gouge,
Les hommes, vins bus, livres lus.
Mais moi je vois la vie en rouge.
Envoi
Prince et princesse, allez, élus,
En triomphe par la route où je
Trime d'ornières en talus.
Mais moi, je vois la vie en rouge.
1.1k
My home ran way
Now I sit were glass meets the frame at the window and wait.
How long has it been
Years?
Weeks?
I'm not sure I care.. I'm not sure I don't
The mountabank came round again
Selling me a fictitious love.
His love.
You see, sense he travels so much selling the good oils
of
Rosemary tilled out of our toilet, Powders that
I personally
made from the stalagmites that grow in the southwest corner of my dwelling,
and
Teeth whitener
scraped from off only the finest ingredients
of
Feets calus, the kind aquired after walking long enough to no longer need shoes.
No he had no time for me and besides, he wasn't my home.
I'd have my fun but... He could never hold my love.
Yesterday I passed away
The cold nothing
Became a greater threat this time
I didn't have my home
Nor my love
I wasn't ready to go.
In a dank cave somewhere in the Philippines
After the hair on my head grew from fire red
To silver white.
Still sitting where the glass meets the frame.
Jul 9, 2019
Jul 9, 2019 at 4:39 PM UTC
I always speak of your infinite eyes
But sometimes I wonder do you still dream of mine
Am I still the one you adore
Do you still feel the urge to kiss my wounds and bloom into my skin
Does your body still ache to feel my calus finger tips roam around your torso
Fold me like a t shirt and stuff me into your bottom drawer
You could wear me on wash day
I'm the book next to the book protected in dust
The one you haven't read since you last dreamt of him
I'm the dark bubbles in your black coffee
I'm the goosebumps you get when you watch blue moons
I'm the active chemical in your LSD
I'm the feeling your leg gets when you've been sitting on it for too long
I'm that bitter flavor that you no longer taste on your 4th glass
I'm the burn on your tongue when you take your first drag
I'm the chip in your nail when you smash your finger on the car door
Im the little plastic on your shoe lace
I'm the tag that's on your favorite shirt
I am the hidden ***** fork at the bottom of your dish rack
I'm the last drop of water that's left on your body after a shower
I'm the dust mites in your bed
I'm the wax in your ears
I am the dirt under your finger nails
I am the door handle on your mums car
I'm the scent in your perfume
I'm one of the littlest stones in the 7th step on your stairs
I am the peek hole on your apartment door
I'm the the gum stuck to the pavement on your way to school
I'm the ***** scent on the bus on your way home
I'm one single ridge on the quarter you give to a homeless man you see on 8th street
I'm the fibers in the paper of your journal
I'm the oil that keeps the ink in place in your pen
I am the Pentagon shape of your pencil
I am the empty spaces on your paper
I am the spine of your favorite book
I am the flavor in your favorite food
I am the bulgdes in your best pair of socks
I am the pitch of your voice
I am the waves that hit your veins every other week or so
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 1:43 AM UTC