"coagulate" poems
cesspool of fat and numbers
of mathematical equations you could never solve because
for all your love (obsession) with variables,
you were never smart enough
to understand them.
in the back of the room you coagulate,
broken formulas and broken
you
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 9:55 AM UTC
The elements have merged into solicitude,
Spasms of violets rise above the mud
And **** and soon the birds and ancients
Will be starting to arrive, bereaving points
South. But never mind. It is not painful to discuss
His death. I have been primed for this --
For separation -- for so long. But still his face assaults
Me; I can hear that car careen again, the crowd coagulate on
asphalt
In my sleep. And watching him, I feel my legs like snow
That let him finally let him go
As he lies draining there. And see
How even he did not get to keep that lovely body.
11.8k
Once not long ago
In the vile state of Utah,
An evil wizard
Impregnated a feral cat with
Mormon seed.
In no time at all,
A litter was born
And all of them died
But one–
Mittens the Kitten.
Mittens grew up with a sense of entitlement
Because the evil wizard filled his head
With the Mormon scriptures.
When Mittens would catch and **** a mouse,
The evil wizard would pet Mittens
With a vigor that was borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****
In the evenings,
Mittens would enjoy a bowl of warm blood.
Sometimes it would coagulate,
But Mittens loved his blood.
He lapped it up
With a a vigor that was borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****
The evil wizard was a Harvard Business Grad,
And since feline-humanoids were not accepted
At Harvard Business School,
The evil wizard taught Mittens
All that he knew.
Mittens soaked up the knowledge
With a vigor that was borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****
Some years went by and Mittens
Became a successful business owner.
He would lap up bowls of
Other people's business
With a vigor that was borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****
Fast forward to the present tense
(My personal favorite tense)
And Mittens is running for president.
He uses his magical smirk to cloak his lies
So that naive voters might believe that
They should vote for this cat.
He smirks and he lies
With a vigor that is borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 9:07 PM UTC
Someone collect all the hatred,
and all the vehemence too.
then don't recycle or reciprocate it.
turn it all into something else,
rich and green and full of kindness.
distill it, remove the impurities,
coagulate it away from it's cold
tungsten tensile titanium.
some of us only have to try,
it can be done. Einstein said so;
and Mother Teresa and Gandhi,
and Martin Luther King Jr.
and brother Nelson too.
Someone collect all the hatred,
and all the vehemence too.
then don't recycle or reciprocate it.
turn it all into something else,
rich and green and full of kindness.
distill it, remove the impurities,
coagulate it away from it's cold
tungsten tensile titanium.
encase it in concrete and steel,
bury it with the radioactive waste.
let it lie for it's half life,
in over 40,000 tears.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC
Splitting the atom
Dancing the pattern
Step through the abyss
Do it like this
Do it like this
Screaming the spectrum
She's burning horizons
With shimmering lips
We do it like this
Do it like this
Swallowing poisons that coagulate in my throat
Don't act like you didn't just come here to gloat
I'll bite the hand that keeps feeding me lies
I'll feed you to the flies
I'm the one you despise
I'll pull out your eyes
And I'll stitch up your lips
AND I'LL DO IT LIKE THIS
DO IT LIKE THIS
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 1:41 PM UTC
driving south
to see trees in bloom
after a night of sleeping in the snow
& letting the hail beat up your face,
i can imagine is like
seeing color for the first time.
i am the new wick of a candle--
turned on by spring sun,
hot,
the light shows the beauty in strangers
like red-haired, shirtless Steven
whose eyes graced me with
the radiance of sunlit olive,
a shade i have never dreamed before:
gold & green globs twist in circles
in his irises, like magic
no wonder warm blood of new loves
is harvested in this season.
at the pink rock on the parkway,
i saw a collared corgi get lost,
enamored with strangers.
cannabis clouds coagulate
the air to power young hikers.
i spy front seat fever
in the car next to mine,
heads disappear
into the laps of their lovers.
for me, it is these woods,
the nurturing ways of the willows,
the numbing wind of unspoiled silence
by the glasshouse over the lake.
the bloom of new cycles
in the ancient--
what was always there,
like lovers that are always within,
part of you.
dogwoods crack open
to let us come together in a forested space
where all trails lead to treehouses.
this is my spring love,
this is bliss.
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
Given up, deluxe in Essex
Cornwall, seaside Fortress
Stonehenge, felt the Vortex
One Vision, one idle Apex
Kiss the Haven Sanctum ******
Diligently Lingers the Finger Remix
Vibrate the ring tho Rung Her Nexus
Into New Blue , You beg the Context
Of seeming NonSense, hum my Edifice
I'll give You This, oh humble Tread
I've past the Veil, many lives I've Led
Memory to Full to sustain, Unfurled
This Nomenclature not of this World
Do you want Me? Come then, Explore
Rich, sweet, then Sour, Drink More
Intoxicate, bubbled deep risen the Core
She is Ancient, She is bled, of Iron Ore
Cleanse your Palette, taste must never
Mix, or coagulate, congeal, or Root
Fluidic Fauna, Flower Sauna, Resolute
Cleanse, release into Her, Ashen Soot
Absolute Sanctuary, must enter, Barefoot
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 9:34 PM UTC
Sloane swallows.
***** is ****
I execrate extraterrestrial.
We are all kaput to conk out.
Pollyanna is singular hanky—panky.
Little green men are unpatriotic, perverted and naughty.
I verily don’t grease a *****
Oojakapivvycum.
If you are amphibious that means you are an effervescent ventriloquist capable of
Cannibalism, cannibalism and cannibalism.
The fluid inside the android is so gothic and naff
It is knock—kneed in the face of flashing **********
I do not feel that I am on the shoulders of cobber doggies.
I am protoplastically lassoed abutting penetrating vampire and pervert
That penetrate ***** creature.
I have pricked little green men myself and taken pleasure in it.
It is only with the help of bad hair days of groupies that I have not been in Sing Sing.
We are all sadomasochistically decomposing in a heap of our own meconium.
I bore stiff to outstrip yours truly as much as I have room to swing a cat from Ku Klux ****
But I am as complicit in the android’s ****** abuse as it were android ***
Little green men ***** me as I ***** myself.
I ***** bug—eyed men’s ******* types as I have perpetually vomited Molotov cocktail.
I smell little green men’s filth televised on their ******* types.
I feel like I am inside a crust of cancers who delight in smelling others bonk upstairs,
Ad hominen id. Ex post facto,
I am too much of a dastard to throw cold water on myself.
I coagulate gungily to my menstrual gibbering ******
Castrating anti—Semite to flash me abutting crème de la crème.
Strenuously, my ***** gluts under one’s nose because that is all there is.
Mar 21, 2010
Mar 21, 2010 at 6:27 PM UTC
silence
except the soft piano riffs of classic 60's covers
and the summer wind slipping past the parted windows
as we drive through a different world
where the daily countryside encapsulates
and the sentinel stars coagulate
into a calming blanket of condensation
where serotonin and melatonin miscibles reign supreme
silence
except for the soft squeeze of my hand in hers
the symphonized beat of two hearts stitched as one
and the subtle sigh of mother nature's languid lullaby
beneath the masked face of the full moon
we drive through a different world
and wonder how something so special
can be a secret
kept between
only us
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 11:27 PM UTC
the men end lunch with strands of glowing spit
webbed to the tips of their boots.
they huddle and coagulate, chanting as one,
then bloom with loud whispers into
heat and steel beam ******** meat to the city grid.
my father once stepped on a nail.
he turned yellow
& his leg disintegrated.
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 6:14 AM UTC
An unrequited love that still offers a seemingly patronizing hand of rapport
Is just another way to say "friend zone"
But you'll be dancing in the end zone
After you finally pay your student loan with money from the job you needed a degree to get which called for the loan in the first place
The salt has spilled off the Lazy Susan
Throw it over your right shoulder
Is this my alter ego?
Or do I have a split personality
Maybe this is my light skinned doppelganger
I've got to get these bats out of the belfry
I've got claustrophobic, roided-out butterflies in the pit of my stomach
Busted paper thin lips
A blood sport
Stop it from clotting
Vaccinate me
This vacuum is a rare find
The national demographic is going through culture shock
Assume a surname
Put on the gargantuan pennant
Go to the pulpit and beg for penance
Gridlock
The paleophone is cracked
Study the topography
And pay the bus fare
The squatters who are on borrowed time
Take a swig from the half empty bottle
After searching their whole lives for an even break
But are forced to cut ties and make a clean cut from society
All the lent hands and ears
Are lodged between ungratefulness and exclusive pity parties
Sweet nothings and forget-me-nots
Do a clean sweep
It's imperative to have a method to your madness
A portrayal of eccentric narcissist
Painting self-portraits
While on some kind of wonder drug
Longing for some moral support
Double-dealing
Double crossing
A hypocritical traitor
Who has the right away
I will watch your blood coagulate around the bullet holes
As your body goes into Rigor mortis
I will commit this picture to memory
I would have bet dollars to doughnuts that it wasn't you
But who wudda thunk it?
It's all just an impromptu turn on a dime
That encumbers you with cabin fever
When you're on display in a human zoo
Where unproductive bull sessions are a dime a dozen
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC
Jade chains
Brace these
Wrists and ankles
Causing
Choked slowing of blood
Paling the skin
Emerald green
Vines curl their way
Up these legs and
Over these *******
Burning their
Verdant tongues
Through layer upon layer of skin
Making a natural
Painting
On this body
Small beetles
Crawl over and under
Dry leafs
Covering the
Decaying ground
Climb their way
Upward the curve
Of these thighs
Tickling the skin
With tiny antennas
Purple amethyst bacteria
Correlate
Coagulate swiftly
Over these
Toes and
Finger tips
Becoming hard
As dried
Star fish
Serpents slither
Hiss
Their moist tongues
Along these
Cracked lips
Dry
Uneven
Venom touched surfaces
These eyes
Wide and watchful
Eyes
Slowly decaying
Their edges becoming
Crusts of hard
Scales
Slowly closing
Forever
Never to see
The surrounding world’s
Vanity decay
Oct 7, 2012
Oct 7, 2012 at 10:39 PM UTC
I mean, it felt like I was a dead fish
Or something, left to rot out there in the sun,
Left there on purpose, you know, like it was
A threat—and Charles, it stinks—you know that?—
—the stench of all those old thoughts—
Yeah, thoughts…you know,
Like guppies maybe, sturgeon, or flounder.
You laugh? Why? Fish can think, can’t they? They flounder.
Suppose as we grow old the ancient thoughts
Appear as songs a child might sing—sotto voce.
Suppose they’re like the masks the actors wore
In some Commedia dell’Arte farce,
Or like the web a spider strings across
A road, hidden, dark, all subtle tension,
The strands still wet with the coagulate air…
Too wet to breath, Charles, way too wet.
There’s more. Suppose a face inside that mask
Looks back, looks out. Suppose the rings run circles round
The eyes, for fear. Suppose it’s an old face of yours,
Charles, smiling too, with all that sullen pride
You once were so capable of…so proud.
This is not the Lone Ranger, kimosabi.
Not Zorro either. Man is least himself
When he talks in his own person. So let’s
Try on that mask, shall we?
One for you and one for me.
Masks aplenty, masks abound,
Masks askance…
There, it fits. Welcome, Charles. Welcome back.
And welcome ghost.
…a ghost to prompt you in your mask, a ghost
off stage, and hoarse from shouting, diaphanous,
just like the real thing: for curiously,
at that moment while he is in you,
in situ, as it were, I will be left
au naturel—yeah, me—king for a day.
We were all meant to crawl away from the sea,
were we not?
…and I count the collective ghosts here too,
Charles…
… atavistic, frightened, unaneled,
and openly integumentary
(thus, open to the sea, but repellant
to air)
—owls, Orion, a star-scarred sky,
too cold to breath that night,
too cold not to, eh, Charles?
Like Don Quixote and Sancho Panza,
like Hamlet and Horatio,
out with the watch, in search
of ghosts and fathers…
ghosts and fathers, Charles.
You remember that?
Back then, when you used to listen to me
when I spoke. You did listen, then, Charles when
I said things, right?
All those old thoughts…
When I could sing…
Charles?
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 8:52 AM UTC
The beat, the snare, the drum
Starting in at the floor and flying to my brain
**** all the people who say I’m numb
I’m sane, oh so sane!
My thinking, once a cloudy, congested, coagulate of incoherent thoughts,
Now flows free from its once catastrophically, closed chasm,
Bringing fourth meaningless, mindless motions and movements,
Showing all, that you are who you are, don’t be afraid to fall.
As the smoke clears, the crystallized casts of crushing vocals
Radiate to my ears; all we hear is the hate, the hassle, the hustle
The bustle. Look beyond what has spawned to see what you find fond.
Blinded we remain; we fight, frightened and furious against this foe.
Conformity hinders our ability to show individuality. They attack us
With ambidexterity to keep us statues of our own subconscious design,
Yet we continue to follow these wrongly deified prodigies. They’re using
Us as antibodies to cleanse what are others conformities.
Enlightened I will stay to ensure Elysium for my fellow enthusiasts.
Free from these prodigies, my persistence will not fade
To grey, black, white, withered, wretched wasted thoughts.
My mind is free, my soul deep, this music is the up-beat.
Feb 11, 2010
Feb 11, 2010 at 5:03 AM UTC
I’ve felt lost
Like tangerines being pushed into the
Discotheque of animosity slowly murdering each other’s nebula with
Arms crossed over and eyes blazing joints among the durable and dangerous
Architectures where the faculties of the skull
No longer admit the worms of the senses
How much time may be disjointed while everyone
Takes to their wondering sky
The glass floor the rock beaten path
The somber shadow of neglect justifies
My hiding from the world somewhere
I shatter into a billion pieces and slowly the collapse remembers how it once
Felt the ugly ball of lights thrusting each beam into my skin
A metallic taste in my mouth
The groovy red liquid that makes life dependable as painted laughs
Migrate to the other side of dawn
No one hopes for anything
Let it all disintegrate into the coming rainfall
Gathering in small odd shaped holes all over the cities belly
Barbwire disguises melancholy gasps of breath
I’ve seen you in those hours where anything can happen
And it does
No longer waiting at the long table
No response no self doubt
My particles coagulate in my throat
The simple thought disappears
A night of unrest turns your skin inside out as
The violence escalates into silent picture mode
Only thirst recovering from three days of religion
And no explanation is needed
I know when all those beautiful sad laughs you send out on every
Other month finally arrive I’ll be ready to open my eyes
Hold my hands out and receive you in full
Is this your spirit?
Or the glare coming off the street lamps
Just close the door
And lose all memory of me
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 10:23 AM UTC
When all works that have
From cradle run to grave
From grave to cradle run instead;
When thoughts that a fool
Has wound upon a spool
Are but loose thread, are but loose thread;
When cradle and spool are past
And I mere shade at last
Coagulate of stuff
Transparent like the wind,
I think that I may find
A faithful love, a faithful love.
1.5k
in the dark honey, the knees of bees and afterthoughts coagulate in burnt gold and warm blood.
the air is made of dander and random. the dog barks a virus you check for fleas. and the north star -
is violent. in the blemish of symmetry, the ruling class of ravens, flock to your discord,
they adorn your wretched gorgeous. they engorge the zenith
of your curse.
javelin happy, the stab behind the eye that sees too deep is delight's dagger !
the imminent ruse of a persistent Truth and an eternal Lie.
the Macbeth in your chicken soup.
and the Soup.
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 4:52 PM UTC
I planted a cherry tree
Four seasons back
In a morose rain
Pelting sharp upon nimble naked boughs
And rows, of wild berries
Running amuck in an unruly strain.
The tree is a full bloom now
Of white satin flowers
Swirling against a beaming blue
Tonight, as night keeps a vigil over my eyes
I get under my squally Cherry Tree
And suddenly I see it ailing
Sick old moon peeps through its branches
And I hear them crackle, not clear though
Moaning unobtrusive, through a wicked grin.
The moon lingers on long
Shining painfully in the womb of night.
I feel the stiffening wood coagulate in my veins
As blackness suffuses unbridled
In the cold wilderness of mind.
April never was summer in Kashmir
Look unto these dark skies
Those pierce the ether yet once more
Pelting mercilessly upon
The ailing, armourless beings
Whereby the cruel moon grins
And my heart wilts with each withering flower
Knocked down in the mud by
The unsparing shower.
Tears trickle down the smeared petals
And I collect them into my eyes
Till the plethora can no longer be contained
I let them fall
Into the capacious ***** of earth
And in this cruel April rain
My Cherry Tree shivers.
Moans. Weeps. Over me.
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 9:46 AM UTC
It's been a time and a half
And I finally understand
The reason you've gone
With the shaman so long.
The spirit is free.
I'm a color
Splintered in three.
Crystalline
Crystal eyes
Well spoken with diction.
Many a words I've spoken
Have been in ode
Romancing you with every breath
In the desert
The door is ajar
We trace the steps of Aztec gods
1/3 becomes 2/4
The sands gleam emerald
Our bodies elongate to equine form
We blended the horizon line
Quetzalcoatl stands before me
Serpent in feathers
Glows like the spectrum all together.
He hands me a seed.
And his
Eyes smother like lightning.
And I
Speak in codexed volition.
And we
Blur the horizon line once more.
I stand on the Pacific
20,000 leagues
Equine force
Carries me to the beach.
Sand once more.
I feel a twitch in my jaw.
Each hand holds a mandible
And pulls.
Roots emerge
And a tree not soon after.
Is this what the seed was for?
I trot the beach,
Jaw no longer in tact.
My pallor flesh caked in coagulate
Almost recreates my tan skin
A gift from the god.
I've been on this beach for miles,
And
Miles
And
Two whiles.
My architecture meanders
The brevity of sanity.
One eye sees black,
The other sees fine.
My hair has become matted
It knots behind each earlobe
And drags on below my knees.
Is this what Quetzalcoatl wanted?
To see me sifted with the grains of sand
In the palm of a child's hand
At the beach
While on vacation
With mom and dad?
20,000 years have passed.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 1:00 AM UTC
And opposite,
In the electricity fields,
Sit rows of hollowed-out shells.
Now in-land,
Though out of place,
The lightning whelks generate Hell.
And parallel—
Conducting phantasmagorical light—
The pylons coil around them:
Reverberations from the industrial fields
Where the blood lines coagulate and dwell.
And the blood lines—
They feed the hollowed-out shells—
Form conglomerate veins.
And in their hands—
Great fires they weld—
Ever-surging, moth-coaxing light.
Apr 1, 2023
Apr 1, 2023 at 7:49 AM UTC
Your eyes are
Black,
Large, and
Bruised.
Nose bleeding,
Open the floodgates.
Red flesh toned salmon
Pour out.
Struggling for air,
They coagulate.
Drying like the
Rivers, and
Lakes.
The beds are
Cracking into another
World, our water
Is their water.
It comes back with
Rain, tears fall
From the sky
Mother, why
Do you cry?
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 5:11 PM UTC
I long for a means coalesce like particulates in suspension and not coagulate.
Into a monstrous scab.
I hate to make cheloid tissue of this deadly grouping.
Id **** to be whole by finding a pairing.
The obstruction to human progression,
The roadblock of progress,
We are merely all platelets in this wound.
These free thinkers are the only.
Thing. Holding in all of the blood of the truth in man's march.
The moon was the beginning the end is the sun.
To a fusion of the atom,
And the birth of our flux.
To the birth of our achievement,
When we let loose the wound.
When the inside has healed and we aren’t bandaging the fumes,
Of a gaseous existence to penetrate everyone’s lungs,
With the stillness of thinking and the spirit of calm.
Currently.
We wait in the basement.
Sitting for our,
Plan.
To strike.
We will strike the match that flames the fumes of human resistance and build a castle of knowledge, hope, science, and destroy the sinkholes for progress.
The things that deplete our resources,
And the fire in our eyes will stab into every bastilles walls.
Of evil.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 1:51 AM UTC
here is the tablet take two
round yellow yum yum pearl delicious
always home to take my fix
swallow it down with water spit
***** lethal anyway
I’d shoot it up if I could
the sound of the orange sea
almost two years are measured
pill bottles collected in the drawer
mama said mama says mama will say
another habit she wants me to kick
I wouldn’t take it if I could
my lines are broken
my hands shake
my blood doesn’t coagulate
all to stop Kitty from coming around again
her cycles my cycles our cycles of overjoy and despair
fire and brimstone and eat me up so tired of being tired
whatever is left of me only me is there
fits in a tiny bottle like ashes like pills
like lethal overspent energy like fission
Kitty the mushroom cloud monster
elements which don’t mix well on the orange sea
daddy said that its my brain
biochemical broken reception
spinning and spiraling into oblivion
Jul 26, 2010
Jul 26, 2010 at 10:56 AM UTC
I..am a collector of words;
Words that weave together
To form the clauses
that blossom into stories; people’s stories.
Words that keep secrets, spin lies,
Howl profound confessions from the rooftops of minds
Rushing out and over the ledges of lips to fall
On ears that do not listen—floating
Story after story, finally reaching the ground—forgotten.
On the sidewalk lay the slain and mangled things;
Victims of gravity—of silence that refused to break—
Of ears that refused to listen.
i… am the undertaker of the alphabet city.
I pick up the fallen, garbled, and lifeless;
Carting them away to the depths of my mind
Cataloguing, keeping, revering the reverberating vibrations.
my ears hear what is yearning to be heard
they acknowledge the wants of language.
I practice the Resuscitation of monologues
and the Defibrillation of forgotten phrases
an EMT of etymology,
I coagulate the bloodied and heartfelt confessions of lovers
suturing the spaces between breathless sentences.
prophetic Disambiguations clutch at gray matter and claw through flesh
tearing the tethered syllables from which meanings are formed.
I twist plot like a lemon twists martinis
Weaving tales that intertwine like the digits in math
or my hands when you held them in your own.
clasped shut.
tongue-tied is just another term for french kiss
and it is hard for you to find the right words to say
because I, a collector, have caught every last one from your lips.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 8:58 PM UTC