"carotid" poems
Thread knuckles into notches of your spine,
you were mine.
Held down as carotid fought hard,
to keep open your eye.
Staring vivid as clouds overtook.
I can taste you through your musk,
hear the quivering in your thigh.
Stomach acids crawled into your nose,
and petals bloom. Belly aflame,
throat bleat with each beat.
As vision tunneled from expanse
to pinhole spindle of our room.
Bared teeth like a wild animal,
eyes wide with excitement.
If you could breathe a word your smile soon'd fade.
Porcelain comtesse *** undress with maroon'd face.
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 4:36 AM UTC
A couple becomes comfy...comatose
Their coffins carved carefully
At the cost of the cuticles
That cut the cloth concealing the cause of calumny.
Cut with claws
Claus? Santa has no clue
But the paws with the claws came from Cope,
The coyote cub who clubbed with truth.
Calm,
Palms clasped on Aphrodite's coffee cup
Caffrodite, cups
Cups that carry potential - kinetic, energy,
Crash!
...Chaos conceived carelessly
A ****** tear
This is the C-Section
Confused?
No concern...know care
Because you are capable
Superman,
Cape-able
But soon the caffeine kicks in,
And the common carotid is cooked
Killer
Compare now, casualties to cows...
Not so different
Still, the crowd plays casual
Aloof
So dream of a connection concentrate in a container
And swig
Constrict the fists and relax
To be carried off into the cosmos
Consumed by clouds of gas...
Below are the circus clowns
Coughing, conceiving, creating.
Is it a crime? To be cut off from contemplation?
Akin to Galileo, craniums will roll
While eyes stay still completely
A quiet kiss to the clavicle of our collective cast
Soothes the commotion to
This clamoring performance
A hush to this cacophony
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 3:52 PM UTC
Solitary hiker, trudging up the slopes,
breath quickened by the angle;
hallway up, I spot a rock, sit, and
let my legs below me, dangle.
Take in the valley, far below,
that lingers lovely in my gaze;
through mist-filled clouds,
and scattered haze.
I find my pulse on my carotid,
the big artery on my neck;
it's bounding and it's fast,
but I continue, on my trek.
I slow the pace with measured gait,
granny steps and slow walking;
nearing now the summit's crest,
my hips and legs do all the balking.
Solitary walker, his face now in the clouds,
congratulates himself at last;
looks out into the far horizons,
out to the mountains of his past.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC
What the hell is a katydid?
Is it near where the carotid is hid?
And, is there a reason we need
To know whatever Katy did?
Why does macaroni have an elbow?
This sounds to me a lot like a phony.
And how far back and forward does it go?
Really? Anthropomorphized macaroni?
What kind of person puts a bra on a car?
I mean, the entire idea is a bit bizarre,
One of the silliest I have heard of so far.
Does anyone know what automoboobies are?
Can people play poker with potato chips?
Maybe they’ll up the ante with avocado dip?
Then Vegas would not be such a wise trip.
Gives a new meaning to being ‘in the chips’.
Who gets to legally use a homophone?
And can anyone properly use it alone?
Since we no longer dial, why dial tone?
Some of this stuff if from the Twilight Zone.
Political parties don’t seem to be fun,
Not even for the lucky ones that won.
It must mean something that people run
But they look like something to run from.
Why would anybody put money into a kitty.
What is the matter that they have no pity?
After all, most kitties are way itty bitty.
So, stop putting money into a poor kitty!
And this putting on the dog stuff annoys.
It sounds like the game of bratty boys;
They finally get old enough to ignore toys
And play word games on a dog. Oh joy!
And what does it mean to horse around?
Is it the pantomime horse worn by clowns?
It can’t be the kind of horse one rides around?
That kind might trample a fool into the ground.
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 6:48 PM UTC
In the shadows of the walls
where laughter once reverberated
as a symphony of gleeful bliss,
intonational inclines arise in the dark
as dancing phantoms haunt
the smirking silence which dissipates
from the splotched, upended floorboards,
while midnight footprints breathlessly creak,
cradling the demonizing affirmations whispered,
the very ones I knew would never become true.
We stood by, powerlessly spectating
as the love we once shared
gasped for air, red in the face,
its gushing carotid bulging in desperation,
four lungs incinerating themselves
with imminent anticipation
of the death gleaming
just over the horizon,
its violet hues juxtaposing
with the glimmering night skies
of faded constellations comprising the celestial
as moonlit silhouettes waltzed across the water,
a bright cerulean rippling in our presence,
the genesis of a journey unforeseen.
Brutal acceptance rains from my eyes,
a rumbling river that reigns supreme
over the rounded stones stacked high
as a towering dam of branches and rubble,
leftover waste long forgotten and forlorn;
hometown fantasies of childhood memories
linger longer than our lost loyalty,
liberating me from the rusted chains
you'd stapled into my brittle bones,
a leash tied tightly around my throat
to **** me from my courageous caution
back into the splintered wheel
dictating our selfish agendas,
empty promises of dilapidated affirmations
now turned weary and worn
with this newfound sense of reflection,
a dichotomy depicting time's own passage,
the consequence of a metamorphic resolution
of open wounds blossoming into eroded scars.
Futuristic visions of lesions now mended
seamlessly fuse with renewed self-reception,
your broken promises stitched with the threads
ripped from the capillaries comprising my core,
blood-stained carpet of scarlet and crimson
fading into an aged and weathered maroon,
never truly waning in its acquainted pigment
yet blossoming into a stained fabric
portraying the promises of the past,
of decayed ruins now industriously erected
into a radiant utopia of gallant, rubious valor,
the final product of an unyielding resolve
to have our story rewritten, our own steadfast evolution.
Jan 6, 2024
Jan 6, 2024 at 6:24 PM UTC
i don't see myself
loving
any other man but you
so i let the stars align
to take me as soon
as i am forty for
you
desire not of me
41 and alone
51 and alone
61 and alone
i do not want to grow old alone
i foresee myself growing old alone
so i ask the stars to take me when i am forty
or younger
my dust to be encrypted
when you close your eyes at night
tells you that
i could've grown old with you
you are too late
you are too late
Sep 1, 2021
Sep 1, 2021 at 12:54 PM UTC
LIVING IN A WILDERNESS
October 2, 2009 – Damascus, Syria
Ayad Gharbawi
I see my eyes
Reverting
Bulging inwards
Yet, speaking outside
Of shrill fears
Feeling hues and nuances indefinable
Lovely contrasts
Jagged emotions,
Acres of mutilated humans
Serrated teeth
Severing carotid veins
Jugular explosions
Blood frothing inside
Mine mind
That throws itself
Weeping far too low
On this strangled ground
Near my skin
Far too many times
I’ve felt, seen, experienced blazing humiliations
Searing slicing fear
That I can never ever
Describe to you
And so
I’m writing for no one
I know
Listen to these skeletal notes
Being played out
Manic piano loving my drunk guitar
Producing acoustic screams
Hurling within
My hatreds
That need to prop my reason of d‘etre
Isn’t that language
Being expressed
Spouted out
Created forth frothing from these experiences
That are harrowing?
Jan 28, 2010
Jan 28, 2010 at 8:06 AM UTC
Pulse echoing in the hollow canal of my ear,
A sweet, persuasive sound that initiates the craving,
I want to taste you in the sickest of ways,
Like itchy centipede legs discovering the back of your throat,
A discomfort only a thousand sips could quell,
I’d like to think I could resist,
I know better; I’m only realtime flesh,
Slowly rub your cheek against my chin,
I’ll dip my nose into your neck and use my tongue to caress each striation,
Until I can taste the carotid reaching toward the holy switchboard,
My jaws will not be denied, closing vehemently,
Penetrating the silky dermis, ragged vents meant to pourpourpour
Vital lifeblood and sustenance out into useful globs of passive alertness,
You are a beautiful, tormented creature in which I can bear to look at no longer.
I cannot see you as you are meant to be, I am deluded and biased..
Sent to realize truth, only to find no definitive,
I will relish bringing about your end as much as my own.
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 4:13 PM UTC
Sweet Catherine Eddowes,
Second lady one of two,
On a night of grisly finds in the square of the bishop's headdress,
In London's not so fair city,
On this the Sabbath's tragic night,
'Kate' tragic shrew was tamed, not by Petruchio,
This murdered lady from tragedy of night walk,
Tatooed lady, hazel eyes and fiery auburn hair,
Bonnet left on after death, protected her beautiful hair,
Perhaps the ripper cared,
Kate filled usually with vile temper,
Her temper not apparent on that sad night,
Appeared to put up no fight,
Her beautiful face was sliced to ribbons,
Cruelly disfigured by this evil,
Usually was a jolly gal, loved to sing and dance,
Unable to make a flight to escape the merciless wrath of this mystery man,
Carotid artery slashed and dashed,
No blood left on the ground,
Smeared foul faecal matter all around,
As ripping evil stole, her bowels,
Lain, like sleeping naturally ,
Still warm corpse discovered,
Fellow passing by saw a woman pass,
May have been her with a chap, fair haired,looking shabby,
Different description from the others,
Poor Kate left family of three behind,
A daughter and two sons,
The sun had set for the last time,
For their poor dear mother.
The forth ripper victim!
By ladylivvi1
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 5:33 AM UTC
The orchestral and harmonic vocals of monks echo down spiralled and cast-iron staircases to the dungeons of our carefully crafted castle chambers of submission.
It is all in the warmth of our carotid pulse.
Oh delusional salesman of presumed superior status, it is important to acknowledge those spasmodic and physiological celebratory responses which resound like cross-cultural and cosmological anthems within the questionable corridors of fitness to stand trial.
I can feel your quivering pulse.
However, we must recognise that the required reports are not dissimilar to a beautifully carved chicken which is subject to the paradoxically crude and culinary eloquence and deviance of the gleeful pyromaniac.
The geometry of midnight has clearly outlined her symmetrical shapes, which require seasoning and the skillful administration of being quartered.
Chef, can I ask you: is designation superior to our authentic anthropological status?
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 10:48 PM UTC
.Hand me your hand, my child;please don't be wary.You will feel right at homein our suicidal sanctuary.Here bleeds ****** Bobbywho chose the northern bridge.Over there is Moldy Maggie, locked herself inside a fridge.The birds and bonessing for those drowning in the sea,this sector is preservedfor the carotid artery.Bathtubs and toasters,oh, what a joke!Can't stand the singed hair,can't handle the smoke.Yes, we have a pool.I won't swear that it's true.We keep it filled upwith idiots...like you..
Feb 16, 2010
Feb 16, 2010 at 3:10 PM UTC
Sometimes -
she is so very
'(fucking) tea and scones'
But
...
by the way she sips
from her china cup
with pinkie extended,
each time
miming
the perfect embouchure
I know that she tends it -
the fire
she could send a man over the edge
but not the
- devil inside me
~~~~~ twisted energy ~~~~
ancient eyes scoping the curve in her form -
her carotid smile
pulses - synced - with my carotid length
she is my dawn -
I
may just prove to be her
twilight
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 7:13 PM UTC
He told me i was prettier in person
the night after we kissed in my best-friend's foyer
awkwardly missing the mouth because he was afraid
he would make a mistake
with a mistake
who had acne on her lip
and crooked teeth he'd luckily missed
when he kissed mouth closed
the second time
He told me Jesus Christ I was lovely
the moment I returned home
to cover my legs unfairly scratched by grass and flowers
with CVS brand diaper rash ointment, all over my fingers,
in my eczema cracks,
because I couldn't take the pain on my knees any longer
He told me to please not move
when I laid my head on his shoulder,
my unshaven arm round his waist and unshaven leg touching his own
and I could feel the bridge of my long nose
pushing in to the carotid artery where his heart pulsed faster and faster
as he ran one soft and gentle hand through my hair
and held my eczema cracks in his other, my grandmother hands,
that the other boy had called contagious, and the other girl had called
Alligator Skin
He told me he loved to walk behind me
though i had forgotten to suffer through bra stuffing
and wore baggy pants to prevent my knees against the trees
and my figure resembed a giraffe, knobly and unkept mane and all
He told me nothing
when He leaned in to kiss me a second time
and He put his hands in my mane
and His leg under my CVS knees
and His face in my Alligator hands
and my unstuffed bra near his chest
And His open mouth on my acne covered, crooked toothed mouth
because I am prettier in person
Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 6:06 PM UTC
Hypergraphia is lacerating carotid
Finally bloodletting into slumber
Hippocampus that
Incinerates its own
Neuron forest and becomes
A conflagration
Because chars are ruby embers
In nocturnal hunger
Of the lens nucleus
Shaken in the tremors
Deep below tectonic plates
Disjointed in the fabric of reality
Severing the empyreal bonds;
Do not hold back,
But onwards, Horsemen,
Hammer that stampede
Unto centaur constructs
Fleeing from the dreamer
Let them shatter in the cracks
Sinking with the dirt into oblivion
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 5:32 AM UTC
well
is
well
its best
not dwell
or
find you
slip and trip
and hearts that blip
are are beats not
skipped
a carotid forests well
yet
minds that drift
with
naught of grift
are harder yet
to
sell
so haggle with the
thought of cause
as through
your thoughts
you
sift
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 6:55 PM UTC
do i think of interactions myriad
that crying causes when giving tears?
do i analyse my emotions and period,
the synaptic connections between the ears?
why then do i separate earthly rumble,
the earthquake, volcano, the earth crust crumble,
from the inner sigh that permeates
the earth's gyrations' dire straits?
why are we deaf to the inner language,
the pain, expression, the spiritual anguish,
why do we dwell on science, logistics,
on physical mechanics, theoretical heuristics?
one tear, it is said, in the sea is shed,
a tear of pain of all mankind,
a tear of pain as blood that's bled
from carotid vein from heart to head
that tear causes the mountains to tremble,
the typhoons, tornadoes, and earth dissemble,
it's a tear of fear, of fright, of dread,
a tear that fears that love is dead.
it's a tear that waits, that longs to hear
the beating heart of humankind,
that's still awaiting one single tear
from human heart and human mind.
A tear that one day will turn to delight,
when man embarks on bold emprise
to seek the G-dliness that's in full sight
if only humanity would open its eyes.
Apr 26, 2021
Apr 26, 2021 at 5:05 AM UTC
In the name of blood, for it is the source of life itself,
Plasma's crimson essence of liquid infusion, to the undead's
Pulsating heart.
Intravenously feeding cravings passion, through the carotid
Artery at the throat of humanity, thou'st not love, suffer
The pleasure indulge the pain, the out come shall be the same,
To be embraced by the black ebony arch angel of death,
Release thy darker side, let the instinctual behavior of the beast,
Know freedoms unshackling at last.
Become one of his sacred disciples, a creature of his dark dimension,
A kindred being, unto the legion of the night.
In the moon's elliptical light, shadows thus move from
Left to right, shifting as transparent figures, phantoms of
Illusions, taking winged flight, soaring on the currents
Of air mingling with their ancestral brethren, the vampire bat.
Run does not the lone wolf, along the side path next to man,
As we do so walk amongst them, yet never attempting to belong.
Oh are we not the a shunned, the accursed, by a God known
For his forgiveness, to love all living things under
Heaven, but for us this mightiest of lords, turns
His gaze away, not acknowledging our existence.
Our we not his lost sheep, missing from his flock, why
Does not this Sheppard seek this black lamb’s wool,
Is it too coarse for weaving's wheel, as it spins thus
And is it not said that he created all life within his image.
Nay I pray this vamperic prayer, why has he abandon
Us, the darker of his creations.
Behold the unascended, begging to enter beyond the gates
Of light, children of the lost are we, seeking a father blind
To his responsibility.
Harvesting, by the basic instincts given unto us,
Taking only what we need to survive, for this he has turned
Against us, and thus taking the light of day with him.
So my father of damnation's hell, has offered salvation's
Darker domain as a sheltering harbor of comfort, I will not
Abstain his patronage.
For I am the ashunned, living by the moonlight's haunting glow,
Yet yearning to see one last horizons sunset, but the Holy Father,
Hears not my humble vamperic prayer.
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 11:13 AM UTC
Hiding behind the walls of the ceremonial preparations,
the zone of the kaka of the Jews, nourishing the school
always as a current, not pregnant. drank of its water to read,
the water can be a pain that plays Aquarius,
the ambiguity
of the refreshments,
when the planet is in a great tumult.
That is, the name dictated by the jellyfish of the giant
is a strong, a strong giant arm of the lever was heard
in a beautiful lake in the gardens, the Almighty,
the smell of smoke and images of the funeral of DNA
when the ghosts are about Thomas Mark Hawley,
a girl from the Western Hills Western Shadow Association,
sat down too late & was married to meet the Carotis laptop,
two sources of Arab cats, the bag is black,
the black television star, the *** of the white house
is part of the red city on a green mother of the Future, very well.
Dead Americans actually die while recording,
playing, losing music to high school teachers.
Third, as an example, the best way is the most beautiful,
it is the yellow of the sky,
the North America of amino acids of the price that in Latin America,
Latin, Africa and in America are the dead eyes of women,
Europe and South America. Italy,
protected groups and the solidity of the cult of the Latin American
reputation as a lonely woman, and a woman,
the definition of a mother, a star of the black,
red, white, summer and summer in summer, Africa, Europe,
South America and Asia Italy
Third day in the United States,
green for the error of the stars that Britain issued to collect the best.
Lady, lady, lady, lady, lady, lady, lady, lady, lady, lady, lady,
lady, lady, lady, lady, lady, lady, lady, lady, mistress of the Lady,
lady, lady, lady, lady, Love the Dead Summer Lover,
dead son and red dress from the eyes of the London Americans,
green boy from Latin America,
deaths from third to...
And the wall of the notification of the thresher-low
of Kafka of the Jews, have given themselves to feeding the flock,
as long as the pregnant woman
does not play the current, she drinks
from this water of this one, read, play,
water cannot be intelligent for Aquarius:
the ambiguity of soda, as well as for the planet,
a big name, to the dictation of jellyfish;
a strong giant giant glorious arm of the bar
in the garden's powerful lake *** funeral
of hearing ghosts in the DNA of the brand Thomas Hawley,
a girl sat in the Western Hills and Western Shadow
Association later, was married to know a carotid laptop,
a couple of sources of Arab cats and the black bag,
the black TV ad *** house is red, white
is a part of the city, in the field of the mother of the future,
with excellent results. The Americans died on the recording, tap,
their music off the high school teachers.
The third way, for example, the best way is the most beautiful,
the sky is yellow, amino acid price of America,
North America as in Latin America, Africa and Latin America
from the eyes of women, Europe and America from the south.
Latina Italy, the peasant of the group of active and passive powers
of the sect of Latin American countries,
the report to the list of the female alone,
and the woman that is, the definition of being a mother,
a star of the black summer, red, green, and like in the summer,
in the summer, South Africa, Europe, South America and Asia,
and on the third day of Italy by the United States,
Great Britain's error is green, that stars to choose the best.
Lady, lady, lady, lady, lady, lady, lady, lady, lady,
lady, lady, lady, lady, lady, lady, lady, lady, lady, lady, lady, lady, lady, lady, lady, glory lady Ama died,
and her son died in the Americans
with red-clothed eyes in London, Latin American young, green with third party deaths
Jan 13, 2019
Jan 13, 2019 at 2:19 AM UTC
Blues guitar has caught us in our transgressions, where the summer blossom splays her beauty like a New Orleans Madame amidst the afterglow of a musky and nocturnal vibrancy.
I have a fully loaded clip on my possession, and I am hungry.
So, shall we begin?
Your carotid artery is pulsating with tense anticipation within the sweet toxicities of a tragic and fretful solo.
There is such a responsibility of being a parent, and you owe me some money.
Let us purchase some Bourbon chicken on this eve of celebratory shame, because I have contemplated the chasm between the West and those who reside on the East coast of vice.
We have much to discuss.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 11:37 PM UTC
I just curl into a ball.
And freeze under the rafters.
I can't grab the words I need,
To release them between,
My teeth,
And stop sinking,
Below the frosted air on the ground.
The crown of my heads busted and broken,
Into fragments of love I'm reduced to splinters of glass.
I cut my throat with them to see if I hurt.
Idont.
I need to be bounded with leather.
Heart skin crocheted into "Another" heart.
Atrial to carotid,
Her hand to mine.
Just give me the digits of your finger,
And I'll give you the life of my voice.
In volumes of poem.
I still will be that little boy shivering, convulsing, and scared in the floor.
With block wings in the stone.
You will still be a life saver given to me as a cyanide pill
in my teeth.
Sides of the cheek.
Press.
Display death in my face.
Then be released with pain.
Needing no savior.
Only an outlet for talk.
I quit writing.
To quit writing is the concept.
The concept is happy.
Happiness is the end cause of the deceased.
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 11:26 PM UTC
"hi there,
I'm here to confirm your death
this is your last chance- speak now or forever hold your peace!"
(writes ‘patient lying in bed with eyes closed. no signs of life. identity confirmed.')
"i'm just going to perform a few tests
can you hear me? (she shakes them, inflicts one final pain)
does this hurt?"
(writes 'no response to verbal cues or supraorbital pressure')
"i'm just going to have a listen in to your chest"
their heart is finally still
not broken, or aching
lungs empty,
forever breathless
(writes 'no heart or lung sounds on auscultation, no carotid pulse on palpation')
“i’m just going to shine a wee light into your eye)
she pries open their lids and looks for life,
finds the same every time
empty tunnels gazing above
eyes wide open, taking in what comes next
what horror? what wonder?
(writes 'pupils fixed and dilated')
“that’s us all done now, they’ll take you down to the morgue”
uttered to a body waxy and fixed
often warm
hands held by so many
now forevermore empty
('death verified at/on')
and then-
she strokes their hair, the way their mother did as they were laid in her arms
gently closes their eyes
traces a cross on their foreheads
tucks them into their deathbeds
leaves them to sleep
God, have mercy, on this your child
God, be kind
I hope you are at peace
Be at peace
Apr 23, 2025
Apr 23, 2025 at 3:14 PM UTC
i am sick to death
undying want of you
tempting plague
you **** me dead
unspoken words
die with me too
dubious angel come then to me
all spine, bones and crooked teeth
my desire without check
take your back your throat your neck
push teeth-mouth against mine, barely just
pull hair, carotid, adams apple ******
dilated eyes, breathing tight
locked knees, hips, thighs
cold brick conspires to hold us up
scrape my skin, push my luck
press together blood rush loud
anonymous sin crushed in a crowd
public display of affection
this is how i beg for your attention
(did i say i wuddnt do this again?
make another list like this?
oh, but here i am
your own personal stalker, semi-rapist
your own personal escapist and
dont you feel loved, or is it obsessed after,
dont you love to be the focus of my own private disaster?)
how does it feel to be a secret
to be really undefined?
not a friend, not an enemy
not a lover, not an every,
existing as the other, as an any of many
something only vague, definitely a blur
at least you're irresistible,underline bold italics, absolutely for sure
no, you dont want any part of me
my begging, my pulling, my poetry,
there is nothing promising in these words, these actions
just the unrelenting agony
of dissatisfaction
so this is the end of the runaway
unable to breathe at the normal rate
in the company of what i anticipate
you bring, so instead i suffocate
close my eyes
this is how i pretend to die
the only way i can have you, this,
resurrected as my former self, Miss-
getting-away-with-it
and you are the Hereafter
welcoming the chaos
of my cadaver
my plot is thin, my pulse weak
and though my limbs cold
they are yours to keep
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 1:44 PM UTC
She skipped the carotid artery and went straight for the heart
****** it dry and left me empty.
May 9, 2019
May 9, 2019 at 9:48 PM UTC
Remember when we were younger?
In biology class when everything was tactile and new
Experimental and combustible
And we checked each others' pulses
To count and measure
To give reason to rhythm
And you found mine with ease
Cool fingers near the carotid
Unwanted sparks from lack of use
And when I went to you
Placing unclean hands between chin and collar
Trying to finds signs of life
And finding none
As you pressed my fingers further in
Insistent and sure of your steady heart
And it's ironic how years later
When your face is a fading memory
And your presence a ghost no longer haunting
That I realize I never knew
If you were really alive
Jun 14, 2019
Jun 14, 2019 at 1:16 AM UTC