"cardiovascular" poems
Scientists divide my body
into systems,
cardiovascular,
circulatory,
respiratory,
but when you are in my presence,
it all becomes nervous.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 7:13 PM UTC
You said
The most brilliant thing
You said it was
Like a heart surgery
But he was only a
Surgeon in training
And had neglected to
Mention beforehand
That it was only
Exploratory cardiac surgery;
And it was just for his
Simmering curiosity
*(He couldn't have carried
Out a simple angioplasty?)*
That he cut the aorta
That's what you said
And his curiosity subsided;
And he left as you bled.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 5:54 AM UTC
I used to wear my heart upon my sleeve
But then it frayed,
And now I'm left with a pile of string
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 10:36 PM UTC
Everyone in me is a bird.
I am beating all my wings.
They wanted to cut you out
but they will not.
They said you were immeasurably empty
but you are not.
They said you were sick unto dying
but they were wrong.
You are singing like a school girl.
You are not torn.
Sweet weight,
in celebration of the woman I am
and of the central creature and its delight
I sing for you. I dare to live.
Hello, spirit. Hello, cup.
Fasten, cover. Cover that does contain.
Hello to the soil of the fields.
Welcome, roots.
Each cell has a life.
There is enough here to please a nation.
It is enough that the populace own these goods.
Any person, any commonwealth would say of it,
"It is good this year that we may plant again
and think forward to a harvest.
Many women are singing together of this:
one is in a shoe factory cursing the machine,
one is at the aquarium tending a seal,
one is dull at the wheel of her Ford,
one is at the toll gate collecting,
one is tying the cord of a calf in Arizona,
one is straddling a cello in Russia,
one is shifting pots on the stove in Egypt,
one is painting her bedroom walls moon color,
one is dying but remembering a breakfast,
one is stretching on her mat in Thailand,
one is wiping the *** of her child,
one is staring out the window of a train
in the middle of Wyoming and one is
anywhere and some are everywhere and all
seem to be singing, although some can not
sing a note.
Sweet weight,
in celebration of the woman I am
let me carry a ten-foot scarf,
let me drum for the nineteen-year-olds,
let me carry bowls for the offering
(if that is my part).
Let me study the cardiovascular tissue,
let me examine the angular distance of meteors,
let me **** on the stems of flowers
(if that is my part)..
Let me make certain tribal figures
(if that is my part).
For this thing the body needs
let me sing
for the supper,
for the kissing,
for the correct
yes.
9k
raw ******* thumbs drawing open the canvas of cavities
hot stink, tangles of pink wrinkles, ground turkey and beef
pulse of the earth in the groan of the springs as the sequence of spirits inhabits a lopsided carpet of blood, cardiovascular, creation, crawling
pineapple sweat, ******* neck licking saliva stains, flesh slapping, teeth jousting, chins grinding
explosions, eruptions, screaming, biting, clutching the rim, apocalypse, APOCALYPSE, the guilty apocalypse
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 12:09 AM UTC
When I was thirteen, I had a running coach.
He was short, lean, and muscular.
An Italian man
with a whistle hanging around his neck,
farmer's tan, and below his black widow's peak
sat silver aviators, propped upon his shiny beak.
I ran miles and miles a day, but,
no matter how much I'd run
he never followed. He always trusted me to
stride my roads and lift my knees high
during the kick at the end of the races
against myself.
"If you want to run
you gotta drop that baggage," he'd laugh
between sips from his water bottle
as he towered over little me,
panting and red. We both stood
tall under the blazing sun.
I couldn't comprehend exactly what he meant,
I mean, I told him,
"I have ultra-light, top-of-the-line shoes,
compression shorts and athletic toes,
a hairless chest for maximum speed,
sweat running rivers down my spine,
legs that never exhaust, and,
above all, Coach,
a spirit that can move mountains." His response,
silence and a smirk.
Who was he to teach me about running?
"You're weighing yourself down boy,
you gotta drop that baggage."
It was his motto for me
every time my time would increase,
because, you see, when running,
increase is bad. Except for hills.
I can still hear his voice in my head,
"Uphill, increase exertion."
He never ran with me, he just told me to go.
He showed me the route and I did as expected,
six days a week, sometimes three miles, sometimes ten,
day after day, again and again,
shoulders hunched and me out of breath,
"runners high," they called it.
I hated running, I hated my coach,
I didn't understand why
anyone would want run to anywhere.
Not now. Now, I love it.
It has become my hobby, a specialty
for when one grows up,
your body is built for it, and your mind
has been ready to run since junior high.
It starts as a seedling, when you're barely able to walk,
and by the time your cardiovascular system
has been assaulted by packs of tobacco
and rolled marijuana, it blooms green.
That's when you realize:
Running is easy.
And coaching?
Don't even get me started on how easy that is.
Aug 17, 2012
Aug 17, 2012 at 1:12 PM UTC
my heart wants to break
but the muscles won’t allow it
the muscles that i made
with my cells
not that i mean to take credit
but when did my body
start using its secret messages
to betray and withold emotion from me
my heart wants to break
but it can’t
how much longer until
my body’s electricites
travel and tire of this
constant need (want?) to fall
apart
Jul 20, 2012
Jul 20, 2012 at 3:55 PM UTC
my heart beats for you,
each pulse calls your name
and as my blood courses through my body
craving you,
i cant deny myself
but to love you.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 4:12 PM UTC
Do you like science? Cause I've got my ion you
we're a dance of subatomic particles, you get my cardiovascular system worked up
"Nerd," you declare with a smile sweeter than C6H12O6
I glare at you and giggle louder than 194 decibels, we break all the laws
I'm so attracted to you, scientists will have to make a 5th fundamental force
we fit together like sticky ends of DNA
I fall in love with you every time I see you, faster than my DNA replicates
being in your arms feels like homeostasis, we'll last longer than thorium
I think I'm kinda maybe trying to say
every time light reflects off of you and onto my retina the sudden protracted cardiac arrhythmia I get tells me that gulp Iloveyou
Aug 10, 2016
Aug 10, 2016 at 11:01 AM UTC
They come to me for a kick start, a quick start, for a broken heart, or one that's stopped beating.
They come for spice, for *** for connection, for healing.
They come to be seen, to be accepted with open arms, open mouth, open heart, and open *****
They come to be renewed, rejuvenated, revived, resuscitated, reminded of what it is to love, and to be wanted.
And then they go.
Who heals the healer?
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 11:22 AM UTC
**To the girl with the alluring melanin...
skin the enticing & mouth-watering color of caramel
To the girl with the enigmatic mind,
subliminally affixed to mine**
ॐ
To the girl with the beautiful heartbeat
that coexists as one with mine.
To the girl with the winsome name
...my lips feel so much better when it's your name leaving.
To the girl with the mollifying voice,
your voice is the strongest tranquilizer I've ever encountered;
It apprehends all negativity I'm engulfed in
and brings me back to sanity again.
To the girl with the broken heart
shattered into a thousand pieces,
I'll spend 1,000 days putting each piece back together
and on the 1,001 day
you'll see that not only did I mend your heart
but I gave you remnants of mine.
To the girl who was at war with herself,
I've seen your battle scars.
To the girl who constantly goes back to war,
you are not alone and I won't ever allow you to be.
ॐ ॐ ॐ
**To the boy with the perfectly sculpted face...
if you were to ever leave, I'd spend forever recreating it's beauty.
To the boy with the beautifully structured mind,
which never fails to unravel every mystery within mine.**
ॐ
To the boy with the wavering heartbeat
that coexists as one with mine.
To the boy with the voice of a symphony of my favorite melody
that never fails to leaving a distinct sense of perfection in the air.
It scatters positivity throughout my body
reminding me of the purpose of my existence.
To the boy with the faltering heart
which never falters enough to give up on me.
And even if it did, I'd spend all my days
as a cardiovascular surgeon.
To the boy with the artistic fingers that paint with fire,
igniting every inch of my skin they lovingly skim over.
To the boy with the dark parallel lines freckled over his wrists,
reminding me of the heartache, and distress you once endured.
I'd spend every day of my life eradicating each piece
of pain-coated glass embedded in your heart.
You are not alone and I won't ever allow you to be.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 9:20 PM UTC
Place your right hand
Over your left breast.
Don’t you feel that?
It’s called Purpose.
It beats every second
To keep you alive and well for a reason;
A purpose.
The reason may not be clear right now.
In fact, mud may be clearer.
But, the dirt has to settle from
The slippery water
Eventually.
You were born
To live.
Don’t cut the purpose short.
Let it go out on its own
When it is time.
So live.
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 4, 2012 at 1:38 PM UTC
The heart has four chambers running in conjunction with one another pulsing -- The blood’s pressure alternates consistently and swiftly and is just enough to allow for our survival.
it does very little else but allow for our survival.
This is interesting to note as the heart has been known to break.
If a heart is broken is death the result or can it be repaired?
...a question which few will ask but many feel
Perhaps the surgeons can fix your broken heart. Go ask them.
Perhaps a defibrillator can revitalize what has shattered within your chest.
anything is worth a try...
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC
sleepn to dreams splitn the seams on what seems to be unseen
floatn from scene to scene.
exposing the dimentions as an interstellar time traveller
high above on DMT the brains craving pleasure from the endorphine
eyes closed walking through rows of roses of syncronicity.
I see old growth trees from sea to seeing all with inner eys of sympathy.
our vehicular carcass is a calorie burning
cardiovascular cacarborated dream machine
Dec 5, 2011
Dec 5, 2011 at 9:06 PM UTC
i fell in love with you
once
long ago
with my eyes closed
and the dream-screen drawn
we danced
like music notes across their barred landscape
we danced
the loveliest late-night lullaby
you became my hiding place
lilac and lace linens
stretched over a lumpy matress
my indiana jones
waiting patently and poetically
in a long-lost temple of slumber
you come back to me in waves
softly and subtly
while i'm half awake
you're kissing the broken down shorelines of an insomniacs holiday
i wish i could keep you
like an empty bottle in the window-sill
or a heart arrhythmia
this lonely romantics cardiovascular waltz
let me snag you up from my dream-dust
and stitch you to my sole like a lost boys shadow
let me find you in my reality
tip-toeing over an underlined paragraph
of a beer stained paper-back
i'll find you
someday
after a long-over-due nights sleep
perhaps in the guitar strings
or type-writer keys
or at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey in the ever-humming freezer
be mine
evasive valentine
i'll even let you hide in the curls of my hair
or under my fingernails
i'll keep you
if you'll let me
just don't forget me
come sun-up
when you gallup away
from my sub-conscious escape
take my heart-rate with you
tucked into your breast-pocket
like a floral handkercheif
or a photogaraph taped to the dash
come back
to the grey matter kingdom
tucked behind my eyelashes
i'll meet you in the idiosyncrasies of my synapses
writing love stories that never once happened
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 12:56 PM UTC
The heart has four chambers running in conjunction with one another pulsing -- The blood’s pressure alternates consistently and swiftly and is just enough to allow for our survival.
it does very little else but allow for our survival.
This is interesting to note as the heart has been known to break.
If a heart is broken is death the result or can it be repaired?
...a question which few will ask but many feel
Perhaps the surgeons can fix your broken heart. Go ask them.
Perhaps a defibrillator can revitalize what has shattered within your chest.
anything is worth a try...
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 10:24 AM UTC
Shortness of breathe
and weakness of knees
unable to blink
and unable to think.
My heart is bleeding out
and the blood is freezing around my rib cage
and I thought you were cold blooded.
Repetition
repetition
repetition
bad poetry
and sunken ambitions.
Change comes in a blink of an eye
but all I can see is our past
since there will be no future.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 4:48 PM UTC
I laid on the cold hard floor,
feeling the chops of air
as they spun from the ceiling,
escaping the mass of my body;
finding refuge in my arch,
my natural resistance
to flatness.
And I was watching,
stalking myself from a distance,
but all that was seen
was my cardiovascular essence,
pulsing on the ash-ridden floor,
until I cascaded,
washing;
falling below to My Earth's
very core.
I was watching and laying,
and falling,
but when all had occurred, I remembered:
My Self is not merely a body,
a skeleton breathing out words,
but a soul and a spirit and presence,
and that is what ought be preserved.
Jun 7, 2012
Jun 7, 2012 at 3:51 AM UTC
You mixed two packets of melancholia
into your coffee today,
and I had to bite my tongue to resist
to say, "I thought you liked it black."
I watched as you daintily taste-tested
it from your spoon and was delighted
upon seeing your grimace of
disapproval (you're adorable when mad).
I took note of how
your veins pulsed underneath
your deeply tanned skin
and I longed to be the blood that
traveled through your delicate body.
If only I could map out your cardiovascular
system and find all the detours and
shortcuts to your fragile heart,
memorize the freeway that
encircled your figure and learn
when to avoid rush hour or when
to take the fast lane.
I found myself fantasizing about
the day you were conceived and
how you beat out all the other
potential embryos - that maybe,
you were chosen out of the thousands
for the sole purpose of being with me.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 2:57 AM UTC
There exists a mystical and quadruple representation of words, which is likened to a dictatorial Superstate, where translation is subject to that which is spoken, heard, written and read within the context of trans-national capitalism.
As we gaze from beyond the glow of the pulsating circumference, we can humbly acknowledge the ludicrous predicament of the many who are ruled by the few.
The parameters of this earthen citizenship may be somewhat characterized by embracing the perceived benefits of the system and a state of financially intoxicated anosognosia. However, as we traverse this metaphysical cataclysm where the majority votes of public arrangement diametrically oppose absolute law and that which is deemed to be reasonable; our compulsory co-operation self-regulates with a cardiovascular beat of semantic propaganda and monopolized dissention, where the relinquished rights of our revered forefathers have been re-written by coercive legislators in the name of socio-political equality.
The philosophy of meaning and political expression both buries into and removes her gorgeous face from the cuniform textures of Sahara catacombs, where we ****** relate and disengage from the **** with tyranny.
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 12:43 AM UTC
I think trauma is a strange word.
I was probably twelve or thirteen when I first heard it - oh yeah, it's when you get really hurt, right?
Blood and guts everywhere.
Thank goodness that doctors exist.
They can patch you up and make you whole again.
"Incoming trauma! All hands on deck!"
I think it's a strange word because, supposedly, trauma is what happened to me. But that can't be right, can it?
I imagine myself being rolled into a hospital on a stretcher, doctors and nurses taking me from paramedics.
"Eighteen year old female suffering from internal cardiovascular and neuro injuries. Speech and sight is impaired."
I'm okay. What are you talking about? All I did was love two people.
"Injuries are consistent with loving parents that don't love you in return."
Wait, what? No, my parents love me!
My dad likes to drink sometimes but at least he doesn't act unpredictable anymore when I suggest he go to bed.
Well, there was that one time he fell down the stairs. Also the time he peed on me while I was sleeping because he believed my room was the bathroom.
But my mom is okay! She likes to leave a lot and there were those times she had loud *** with strangers in the room next to mine late at night. But she's good, I swear. Even when she had chlamydia and I held her while she cried.
Even when she left and never came back.
"I need a crash cart in here! Patient is bleeding out and her blood pressure is dropping - "
I'm fine, I swear.
All I did was love them.
Wait, hang on!
What about that time my parents argued and my dad tried to choke my mom to death?
I mean...I did run away from the house, crying, to find our neighbor.
I did beg her to call the police.
But that's not trauma, right?
I just wanted them to stop yelling. I just wanted him to let her go before she stopped breathing.
That's love.
"Paddles, please! Charge to three hundred..."
"Clear!"
These doctors really don't know anything.
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 5:24 AM UTC
In the bedroom,
We fooling a-round; no bored games.
******* her from behind, she getting chest pains.
love is pain; and you, are,
loving my pain.
so I’m glad you came;
all over me like a spatula.
Working on our cardiovascular.
going harder; doing it even faster.
Best part of my game.
Telling me ‘YES” and I ain’t asking her,
But she calling my name.
She coming again; I’m trying to outlast her.
I pulled her hair, to hold her back;
and she came - screaming GO FASTER!!!
Scratching my back, pain for pain,
Coming together, tantalizing
Fantasizing. I've realized
we've arrived-n, she’s just realizing
So satisfied: the vibes, mesmerizing
I can see it in her eyes-n; it's getting deep.
Forget what they said about size,
she's surprised; what matters most, is: what’s on the insides!
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 9:07 PM UTC
double long, triple-strong caffeine pinch
hopping round
cardiovascular road strips;
its hues are bloodshot contrasts
blending well in peripheries
alienating sources
of scarlet origin;
eyelips swallow eyeballs;
impossible to bite on,
for their teeth are on the outside
pulling punches,
stopping short of eye-lashing out
*
the ellipse of Your eyelips
swallows my irises
siamese twin suns
sky-connected
at the luminous breeze
falling asleep on my chest
vivid abreast
the pyre of lungs
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 3:21 PM UTC
For you I make a fool of myself there's no limit or extent to the things I'll do to prove to you just how much I love you.
It's deeper than the bottom, deeper than empty, deeper than below.. My love that is. I love you with every vessel, all the blood, all the oxygen within my heart. I got that cardiovascular love for you, that death bed pull the plug on you, love for you. Because if it means you suffer no more, theres nothing I won't do, there's no limit to the things you make me do. For you.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 4:48 PM UTC