"clenchers" poems
You Hackensack Station
You tiny ****** quiet *****
How dare you keep such a weak atmosphere on my youth
You don't deserve me
You need some blood of life, ****
**** of my dirtiest saddest static lucidities
You do indeed though, my Hackensack Station,
Have these clenchers
Clenching for every little bad moment of life
And inhabiting your innards
Sadly the other "respectable" ****
Just lock their tongues, eat their vision
Static and cold and minute ****
Hackensack station dares to breathe
The breath exits it's miserable doors
Oozing with everything but character
However only to sigh, and sigh on the inside
About a woman's wrinkly *** bills
We the breath, have migrated from the quiet hell
To the eerily similar bus life
Only there... we move, we motion, finish a journey previously doubted
With white noise, and white noise that at first was not white
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 9:50 PM UTC
zephyros, who killed gentle hyacinthus in
a fit a passion
was condemned for the crime
for that passion borne of love for a boy
his penance was and is paid in eternal service to the god eros
god of love and god of understanding for
violent zephyros, driven mad by what he could not have
zephyros’s wind warms us all
all who gaze upon the forbidden
those fist clenchers, those hopeless romantics, those desperate addicts of whirlwind violent passion
zephyros
who coined the very concept of love-driven insanity, who murdered his would-be paramour
is the patron saint of [our] desperation
Mar 10, 2019
Mar 10, 2019 at 12:57 AM UTC