"cohabitate" poems
my belly grows the size of a bag of apricots
there is a will at the bottom of a lake that needs retrieving
the car sank but the body made it to the shore and changed her name by midnight
come springtime the ice melts and the water is back
crawling upon shy ankles
there are growing pains who find a home between nettles and
the hives of adobe wasps
i never could cohabitate with nature
when they ask at parties where i've been
things that are at rest stay at rest
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 6:20 PM UTC
Pendulous eyes, weary and bleak
Immoveable shadows, the unseen torrents
Coyly divulge the once impetuous spirit
On his shoulders, he carries a colossal weight
For his is a cleft vessel, rudderless and floundering
The rise and fall of each swell, brings neither hope or despair
He contemplates the gilded life, an absurd apparition
And slithers back to obscurity where the worm and dreams cohabitate
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 7:18 AM UTC
~
...
*where dreams
and laundry
cohabitate
there are vast
wardrobes of imagination*
...
~
Nov 18, 2022
Nov 18, 2022 at 7:19 AM UTC
They cut, crush, cauterize or tie off the eyestalk
of female prawns and shrimp
to stimulate faster reproduction
usually without anesthesia
I often wonder the complexity of pain felt
when they flail about helplessly
disoriented and dissevered
Do they rejoice?
For their life has a gained greater purpose.
Or do they mourn what once was?
For the following generations will be disease-prone and decline
and suffer
and decay.
Nothing we haven't already done to ourselves admittedly.
We might actually be the only organisms
unable to cohabitate with each other.
We seek God to fear our actions
that are preached as sins.
It keeps us good and honest
Yet our empires and civilizations repeatedly fall
generation after generation
as power is granted to our rulers that partake in
Eyestalk Ablation.
For we worship them over God himself.
It's a good thing we were getting tired of God anyways.
Apr 15, 2025
Apr 15, 2025 at 3:36 PM UTC
It is funny;
Funny how one day you can see the universe reflected in your own eyes
And blue-rich galaxies bursting from the hidden darknesses
And the gone-places of your mind.
Your pen is as ceaseless on your paper as your feet are on your bedroom floor.
Other days are like tepid water, or half-sour milk
That is undecided on the matter of its own freshness.
Those dark, gone-places of your mind are not even dimly lit.
And yet you wish for that eye-universe,
And those blue-rich galaxies,
And for your pen to skate across the page
As if possessed by the likes of Ginsberg or Kerouac.
So you wander down to the quiet places;
To the caged city forests where the trees cohabitate with basketball hoops,
And the birds sing their squeezed-in yellow melodies.
To the crumbling, sandy banks,
Where on a good day you can find a smashed white seashell
Or a pocket watch, rusty and decayed with time
And confident in its fragility.
But all you do is stare at the sky.
No miraculous inspiration comes to you;
No stardusted metaphysics,
No juice-rich red and purple existentialism.
No darling lovers dripping with candy-yellow sweetness
As the birds sing like Blake or Wordsworth.
So You return to the loud and cluttered places;
To your places,
To your off-white apartments where the water runs cold
And the refrigerator stinks worse than hell.
To your concrete-welded rivers,
Where the only birds are grey pigeons,
And the most beautiful thing you will find
Is a ***** green bottle
Or a razor blade
With more memories than you.
And you will try tomorrow.
Maybe the ticking of your generic clock
Or the casual griminess of your old green bathtub
Will be enough.
But for now, you will sit,
And you will consider constellations
And contemplate the reason why your lover's eyes
Remind you of the Milky Way.
For now, the eye-universe is still, and the blue-rich galaxies
Are deep in sleep,
Just like you wish you were.
For this is a tepid water day, a half-sour milk day.
And that is not a bad thing, in the end.
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 8:23 PM UTC
Like the rose pricked from it's own thorns,
I have lead the rein to my destruction,
I cohabitate with loss,
That stems from my very own blood,
Thus my blood is a curse,
It heals,
And when I cut it,
is pours,
It lets me live and drown while ashore,
I am drowned in my blood
Yet my thirst isn't quenched
Dec 27, 2024
Dec 27, 2024 at 4:32 AM UTC
April in Dublin signifies not only a time and place, yet a feeling. A feeling of the brisk morning air, woven into the intricacy of light, sparse rainfall; enough to coat the blooming leaves on Ailesbury Road in droplets of dew. Tiny puddles form in between the cracks of the ancient cobblestone road, drowning the lush moss – basil in colour – that once grew in its place. As dawn makes her presence, the radiant sunlight peeks through the branches of the Sycamore trees, originally sheltering the lane from the indecisiveness of Irish weather. The earthy scent of petrichor emanates from St. Stephen’s Green, while the putrid scent of damp cigarette stubs race to reach the nostrils first. Petals of blush cherry blossoms gracefully fall to the asphalt path, with some caressing tender skin with its velvet touch. In the afternoon, St. Patrick’s Cathedral echoes in Church Latin, whilst the cars pass – with their bellowing engines – on The Coombe, pacifying the hum of pedestrian chatter that cohabitate simultaneously. As cloudy skies fade to a blue dusk, the lights jig the River Liffey; its yellow reflection moving with the waves. Crowds drunkenly skip along the quay, singing old Celtic hymns off key, while also digesting the sweet, caramelized, mild bitterness of Guinness – the finest of Irish stout beer. At the end of the day, the night retires to her slumber, anticipating newer ordinary, yet sensational experiences that May will bring along.
Oct 4, 2021
Oct 4, 2021 at 9:56 PM UTC
I fathom ghosts in dark bars.
Tortured flickers in old neon,
whose tribulations,
frozen in the heyday,
of their soda pop,
jukebox glory,
are lost,
in the clutter of human extemporanea.
Figurative vestiges,
from an era of nuclear optimism,
that have been reduced,
to dime store novelty.
As cloaked and unrealized,
as the distillation,
of alcoholic dreams,
alchemical vespers,
paying wistful homage.
A tribute,
from inside this rat-fuck procession,
of technologically greed,
which has wrought the shelving,
of blue collar heroism,
the extinction of the unsung.
It is in this,
that the neon finds its muse,
and labors on.
And the numbing of aspiration continues,
Prescribed on tap,
for those who seek to thwart,
the stampede of the fittest.
And at that junction,
where they are forced to yield
to imminent refugeeism,
They find one another,
misspoken and assumed,
momentarily relieved to cohabitate,
Where the beer is cold,
and the juke box is still,
A welcomed friend.
And the good times,
just roll,
and roll,
and roll.
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 10:28 PM UTC
clears throat
Excuse me
Now I'm going to need you to listen
This is my public service announcement
Whatever judgments you have
Whatever stereotypes you believe in
I'm going to need you to leave those at the door
Because what I'm about to say
May make you mad
Or
It might just open up your eyes...
We should all be worried
I mean we should all feel some anxiety about the way this world is unfolding
And if you don't see it
Well then you are blind
I don't care about your 20/20 vision
If you don't see this crisis
Well then sit quietly and listen
Is it just me or are we far off from where we should be
Living this fake American dream
When people are dying
Trying to survive in this war zone we created
Hatred being the fuel to our fire
Our desire for money and power
This being the hour of our demise
A disguise to mask how we truly treat each other
Our sisters and brothers
Why don't we stop this
Humanity dying in the process
We need to educate the ignorant
Humble the arrogant
Give voice to the good people who stand on the sidelines
Why are the small being silenced for speaking the truth
While the clueless ask what we should do
Stand up
Speak out
If we don't change we will be wiped away
We won't have the brains to stay and cohabitate
Let's not make the same mistakes our ancestors made
I want people to see
I am 18
I see what others refuse to see
What others refuse to believe
All it takes is for the good to do nothing
While letting the rich take control
Knowing that they don't give a **** about us at all
What will it take for us to make great change?
You see I believe the power is in numbers
The more we have, the less room there is for assumptions
We are all living for nothing
While the puppeteers pull us left and right
Being ventriloquists
While we play along without putting up a fight
If we all stood together not letting them have their power
They wouldn't have anyone to control
Total bombardment of their souls
Please just believe me
Thank you for listening
Now...
What are you planning to do about it?
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 11:48 AM UTC
they live inside the walls.
their bodies folded
and collapsed in dresser drawers.
the demon possessed.
with an affinity for red.
driving in red mercedes.
drinking coca-cola.
they want you.
they watch you
and they wait.
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 1:24 PM UTC
I know how to love
Unconditionally
To give my heart to someone
Utterly and completely.
I just don't know how to cohabitate
To constantly share my personal space
It doesn't mean I don't love you
In all there's a time and a place.
Please don't be saddened lover
I'm not pushing you away
Be patient, as you have been
I may get there someday.
Aug 2, 2017
Aug 2, 2017 at 9:29 AM UTC
6 weeks ago I was unaware from where to buy scented candles
Till then it was a studio bachelor pad with random women and one tenet
2 weeks ago I was under the impression that
Table conversation was supposed to be mundane chit chat
Till last monthI lacked the company to hold riveting conversations on the Mandela effect
After our Labor Day weekend I caught a glimpse of the possibility that how life could be just perfect
On our second date I realized it is vital to confess that I had no best laid plans
Similar to our colossal failure navigating the retreat from Vietnam
Until a week ago I did not have your fragrance lingering my personal space casting innuendos
Recent uptake in the “stay at home-order in “philosophy has reduced me in to a fading shadow
My absence in regular visits to the Gentlemen clubs local water holes and Venice boulevards
Have my village people in search parties hunting corridors and casing Echo Park
How a creature of habit evolves and adapt to extenuating circumstance
Before the music fades along with the final chance for that last dance
Time eventually catches up or exponentially runs out
Forward motion moving down range is the only response when in doubt
So best not look a gift horse in the mouth
In order to cohabitate, one must embrace new environments hence first move out
Mar 21, 2025
Mar 21, 2025 at 7:03 AM UTC
Everything is so vengeful
we cohabitate with hate
hold hands with death
archaic existential
armed embraces
it is time to smell
the coffee of evolution
there are no more falling leaves let's call it Autumn let's begin to forgive live love and exist.
Nov 5, 2020
Nov 5, 2020 at 5:20 PM UTC