"conceivable" poems
my darkest poems
bloodletting streams
are a kind of ******
fetishy cognitive inventory
malformed denizens
of the subconscious
a well of torments
soup of Salmonella
the souls gut
its cauldron
yet not with out lurid enticements
and voluptuous supplicants
gorgeous
like an eight legged woman
with beautiful feet
drooling **** lips
drunk on sacrificial rituals
of blood black tongued kisses
and hideous contorted pleasures
********
once
exquisite archetypes
gods and goddesses
are now
putrefied
cellar dwellers
moaning in nature bed crypts
of rock, stone
and engraved sigils
because honest pure desires
became fragmentary
and are now gimping amputees
by legions of primal disappointment
while faces blare in the world
like super bright L.E.D.s
shinning paths to others
our deep self
remains patinaed in tears
a black box pox with a lock
the skeleton key lost
in arcane seas
out of utter disgust
for those dark crawlers
that live within us
revealing them selves
as anxieties, depressions
suicides
and myriad quiet despairs
we appear undaunted
to others
and they to us
humanity
muffled ticks
and splintered sticks
my poems let my demons out
yoo who its me
my name is spray snake z
with my hooks and cries
and dark blood skies
in the misty night
i dragged out their earthen coffins
legends of the despicable
resurrected them
fed and loved those darklings
had every conceivable union with them
their healing, my own
ive sexualized them
and found love
albeit twisted
to be adored
in a hidden embrace
i bestow upon you a poetic fantasy
while obsession takes hold
bind it not
nor let it bind you*
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 9:32 AM UTC
Day by day I fritter away
Observing decorum as best I may
Meet me as you meet — reserved somebody
Leave me as you leave — dull nobody
Dreary, weary, listless, spiritless
A resting spirit clamours to emerge
Unguided, wild, free and seeking
Boldly defying reserved somebody
But how, just how do I unleash this defiant spirit
For it is to cross all conceivable limits
Oh but a mask, of course a mask!
The perfect accessory for this task!
Careless of propriety
Boastful of daring
Acting against my will
Or in tandem with it?
This mask — just now I can't discern
Ponder I do with great concern
Does it shield my identity
Or render truth to it?
So now just what fun in masks
One may ponderously ask
Masks, bring to life fantasy
Fantasy, a realm of our reality
Reality, wherein lies multiplicity
Multiplicity, within each individuality
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 11:04 AM UTC
I dream of a society
Where the ideals of beauty
Are less focused on superficial concepts like one's waistline
Or how decrepit their smile lines made them appear
But rather one where the focal point of unanimous adoration is,
As corny as this may sound,
One's morals and where they land on the gradient of human compassion
In this utopia,
The elderly aren't seen as catalysts for repugnance and a wrinkling of noses
But rather as symbols of eruditeness and beauty
The type of beauty that influence or money can't obtain
And it may be conceivable that instead of wasting my days squandering over my physical appearance,
I can just fritter away the days
Strumming my ukulele along to the tune of my American dream
For I have yet to actually awaken from my adolescent slumber
Breifly enough to grasp my dream from the bubble floating above my resting head
And nestle it securely in my pocket
So it doesn't forgo me
In search of someone less complacent with bewilderment about their future
Who dreams of social and economic prosperity
Instead of someone who's apathetic at best about whatever career choice they've chosen for the week
Maybe that's just it
That maybe I don't want the conventional American dream of fame or fortune or recognition
Is it feasible that maybe my American dream isn't to rise from sqaulor into a soulless mansion
Whose corridors boast success
But lack warmth and presence?
I suppose that my American dream encompasses more than just America itself
It lives in the eyes of every human being on the face of the earth
It's nestled in the gaze of a starving child
And the stare of anyone who's ever felt a tongue's razor edge
And all I'd have to do is delve into their eye sockets and plant a seed
A seed of hope and compassion
Or whatever I deem fit
Perhaps I just want to shield myself
From the world's disapproving glances,
Those fleeting moments of eye contact that convey condescending judgement
Maybe I'd just like to make a difference to things sans the media’s snide opinion
But despite my juxtaposition to society's critical assessments,
I know that I can't run away from my fears or problems
So maybe I dream of a society
Where I can remain headstrong even in the face of opposition
Because I'm aware that not everyone's going to love each other
And spout sweet nothings about peace and understanding from their hind quarters
So maybe I'd like to help be a driving force
That wards off the world's shadows
So the sun can continue to shine on my American dream
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 11:14 PM UTC
I sold smack on a playground today
biding time to scrounge the rent--
Two months ago I had never even seen the stuff.
I'd never procured it for personal use,
let alone sold it.
Now I'm a full-time pusher of prescriptions
for problems that can't be cured,
a modern-day snake-oil salesmen
schlepping panaceas for every conceivable ill.
*Trying to cope with depression?
This'll give you a shot in the arm!
Your boyfriend just broke your heart
mere weeks after breaking your *****
Here's a ***** that you can depend on*...
I thought I was better than this,
but who can afford scruples
with bills to pay?
Internally
I struggle to compete
with people who would never deign to take note of me.
My revenge is in undermining their immaculate lives,
a pill-peddling Socrates
keeping creditors at bay.
I'd always envisioned being someone's hero--
at least being remembered for an act of creation.
Instead I'm an enzyme for eradication.
A cancer cell at best--
A ****** wrecking ball.
One day I woke up a sidekick
to a heroine that's never saved anyone...
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 12:53 AM UTC
Not so far away girl
still so impossibly far
why must we wait until sunrise
to fall asleep?
Why is this beauty only conceivable
after the bottle dripdrips empty?
sinking deeper and deeper into saturn's orbit
youthful vibrant fluffed up peacocks
clucking on about research chemicals
and music festivals and last night and 6 days before
about banking and obamacare
and oh, my they're all talking
all at once
talktalktalking about this this this and that
not even asking for audience
soundwaves echo into nothingness
screaming lungs void of substance
fleeting purposes
failed courtships
unheard unimportant words
and oh, my, what a tedious thing
the night has become
but to stay at home alone
would be even more unspeakable.
Outside the party across the street
there is a tree
splayed out overhead and undergound
soaking up carbon growing tall still growing
slightly sad tree breathing in the silence of our sighs
dancing fallen leaves wrapping up the deadspace around us
deadworld space where we two sit under the edge
of revelry and absurdity
laughing, drunk, with the moon and the stars and
for just a second
feeling
slightly less impossible.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 8:20 PM UTC
Prosperity requires the fortitude to be cruelly decisive and cuttingly deceitful in every conceivable endeavor;
Cruel and unrestrained ambition will lead to life in the lap of luxury;
Duplicity and dishonesty lie with success and supremacy;
The mixture of forceful action with lurid lies results in a beautifully tainted cocktail.
Would you drink...?
Do you believe...?
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 5:19 PM UTC
They say
"Time heals
all wounds."
"It glues
the pieces of you
that broke
when you were torn
from your lover's heart
and thrown onto
the ground."
I say
that's a lie.
For after 3 years,
5 months,
12 days,
22 hours,
42 minutes,
and 50 seconds;
you are still
haunting me.
The puzzle
never fits.
The heart
still aches.
The candles
stay unlit.
And at times
I break.
No,
time does not
heal all wounds.
But it gives you
the strength
of a 10-ply tissue,
the memory
of the finest sieve,
and the melancholy
of a young literati.
It gives you
threads of silver and red;
and it's up to you
to weave the mess
into a conceivable,
beautiful,
tragic scar.
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 12:07 AM UTC
merely breadcrums of cognitions produced during *realities open ended coma
a world full of never ending twisted visions, imagine, imaginations experience constant states of nonexistence.
would letters rejoice with one another,
would they celebrate the specifics of the meanings re veiled by their gatherings?
or would each become a victim? could each have a new home, found sixfeet deep, causing the destruction or any bit of lingering sanity left lurking..
would colors be conceivable? would delusions actually delude, if no trace of reality or its oppisite was remaining to place firmly in ones grasp?
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 10:25 AM UTC
It is a vastness of cerulean,
A pool of blue which surrounds clouds that are strewn together.
Tumbling, accumulating, towering formations of remarkable depth and awesome beauty.
Billows which blanket and envelop a sphere of life, turning the almost infinite and indefinite blue to grey,
Massed with the heaviness of forthcoming precipitation.
As time turns, and the big blue planet rotates, sunlight is reflected and refracted by particles unseen—painting swelling clouds with pale yellows that bleed into succulent pinks, deep reds, royal indigo, and then
The flowering violet of conceived night.
The sky portrays a huge entity, a formation of solidity and stability.
It does not contain, nor withhold from the terraces and crevices of the Earth’s surface.
It is as close to infinity as the basic human mind can grasp,
The uttermost extension of one’s realm of existence.
To look up at the stars is an annihilation of Ego,
A humbling reminder of one’s relevance,
Of one’s fragmentation of being,
Of one’s essential insignificance in the immortal turning of the deep and everlasting vibration of the Cosmos.
Stars, barely conceivable at times,
Act as portals to the past spilled carelessly across an inky nighttime sky.
These subtle flecks, minute glimmers of incredible explosions, are billions of light-years away
Across the fabric of space and time.
The sky is an incredible portal to those things outside of mortal grasp,
A manifestation of all that is unknown, yet shared by every state of consciousness.
A familiarity and a comforting reminder of eternity that will exist far beyond the human experience. With its undulating formations, precipitation, protection, and sheer exposure,
It is a paradoxical beauty.
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 12:44 AM UTC
Remember that chick
who pulled her hair back in a ponytail
had glasses
and wore ripped jeans
that she Sharpied murals on
out of boredom?
You’d see her in class sometimes
mumbling to herself
and doodling
while the teacher droned on
about the scientific method.
She always made you curious
but you could never get close enough
to hear what she was saying
or see what she was writing.
She promised herself that one day
she’d keep a diary
to keep track of the truth
but every time she tried
it turned into a collection of
half-thought-poems
and half-drawings of half-things
half-human and half-something else.
Never autobiographical
never the truth.
She seemed like the kind of girl
who is a self proclaimed vegan
scrawny little thing
with ex-hippie parents
like if you ever talked to her
she would be all in for face
about “going green man.”
So she took you by surprise
when she beat the fattest kid in the class
at that hot-dog eating contest
that chubby ******* didn’t stand a chance.
She thinks
the truth is just the lie
that you tell yourself the most often.
People called her “book-smart”
because she wore glasses
and was bad at math.
But she wasn’t really,
she was people-smart
in the way a scientist is rat-smart.
She’d sit on the swings at recess
and watch people
her eyes were concerned
like there was something they had
that she lacked.
Her locker was always empty
she took everything home
every night
she left
no residue
no aftermath
no memory behind.
She dreamed of living out of her car
and opening a coffeeshop
and being free.
She knew she was destined
to prove there was no such thing as destiny.
That we make our own reality.
And all of this you found
endearing and admirable.
Remember her?
…of course you wouldn’t.
You would have her more like this:
That weird nerd who doesn’t talk to anyone.
has long hair and draws on his pants,
is awkward in every conceivable way
- and possibly gay.
He spends all day in his notebook,
writing who-knows-what.
Who cares -
- about what his dreams were?
He was just another background character in your life.
There was one time you cheered him on,
at the hot-dog eating contest.
The only time you ever touched his hand
was to give him a high five for that.
You always pitted him.
silently.
Never out loud.
She was there.
Hiding behind his eyes.
And she loved you.
As much as one could love someone in seventh grade.
But you never loved her.
You couldn’t have.
She didn’t even know she existed yet.
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 7:30 PM UTC
I’m the worst **** in the world
No one is worse than me.
For my next bride,
I shall marry the Queen of She
Ba (Academy presents her majesty.
Nominee gushes.
Audience applauds exhaustively.)
She will manhandle me,
Liquor on her breath,
Feathers framing ******
Inflamed blossoms drenching submissions
She told me to delete
The photographs,
Even though there were many
Caught her beauty in amazing graces.
She hated me
For putting up so little struggle,
Obliterating her splendor
Indifferently.
I wanted to prove
Deserving of her love.
she dilly-dallied, distracted.
I cried pitifully, “Where’s my girlfriend?”
Chain of events to nothingness
My desolate existence
One deficit after another
Honed to fragile cutting-edge.
I wanted her to pleasure me
With subtle painful tinge.
She brilliantly found fault
Every conceivable way to blame.
She accused, “you fiddle in noodle factory.”
She was the true artist,
Dissatisfied with the sound
Of my heart beating.
You want to play hardball with the big boys?
You better show up with bulging intelligent creativity.
You complain about
Every infinitesimal gargantuan thing.
Nothing makes you happy.
I will always love you no
Matter how impossible.
Looking back,
You were an impossible chance.
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 10:28 AM UTC
I pledge my absolute blind-faith and non-wavering allegiance
to the Flag and the totalitarian, oligarchic Viertes ***** (fourth Kingdom) for which it stands,
one nation wholly divided in any and all ways conceivable,
hell bent on Global Military-Socioeconomic Conquest in the name of the same God as our enemies
with liberty and justice for those who can afford it (Read: the excruciatingly wealthy).
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 5:43 PM UTC
I think yesterday is years away;
Between one and the other,
Between fathers and brothers.
So sisters and mothers
Blink feathery at their watches.
Hums like a hummingbird
Flails to a shrillness,
And a polyphonic fearing panic
Pulls us all back by chance
To the chancery.
Somewhere after grandfathers
Before grandsons,
Like Robert Frost being a modern
Not modernist—
There’s the last of the conceivable eros—
Conceived by sleeping
Resource and resourceful
Poverty with all the impressionism
of the gardens and allegories
at a dinner party.
Mar 22, 2011
Mar 22, 2011 at 1:49 PM UTC
To be a lucky strand,
Tangled, tethered to you
Cloaking such beauty,
To see the iris that glows
Behind tinted amber pools
Teeth that advise such clarity,
Wrapped in velvet creased lips
A protruding collar bone,
Embossing ethereal skin
With shoulders built
To harbor the weight of the world
Bronzed over flesh is spanning
Across fickle and cold bones
Constructing a case to hide
A sunken Aquarius heart
For as hollow as it is
To a lover's knock,
There is much to be
Uncovered and desired
Unspeakable curves will mold
To accentuate a searing lust
Justified by knowing what it means
To be held to you
Arms stretching to a locking embrace
Warm to touch
Every joint akin to the previous,
Dialing down to finger tips,
Breaking away in ten beautiful directions
And there lies a gateway to symmetry,
Almost unseen
Where the make of your mother's breath,
And the sum of your father's skill,
Entwine to beget a graceful badge
To where you constitute a conceivable home,
Should you so choose
A manger, suited to an heir
Here is where your dress flows
How many Michigan sunsets
Have broke light beneath the fabric
That adorns you
How many Chicago winds
Have flown that flag
Such comfort to be a cloth,
Draped in a silhouette
To an ornate fashion
The thousands of threads
Spun and stitched to adhere
A fixation of benevolent shape
It's astir to every notch
As you saunter past
With tenor and a managed confidence
Two feet with a steadfast passion
And misplaced direction
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 5:34 PM UTC
I can pick at my skin for hours
Focus on every conceivable flaw
Shake until my body curls up on the shower floor
Most have never seen me at my worst, when
I’m stuck in an apathetic neutral state
Washed out between the highs of my need for thrill
And the lows of panic screaming in my veins
I have the the soul of an extrovert beaten to submission
Shot down and repeating the mantra “worthless”
What do you believe, if not yourself
How could I?
How many more steps do I take before I’m back,
Before the mirror doesn't make me want to shatter
What is my mantra now?
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
Loving you is the smell of the rain
Fresh. Life sustaining.
Sweet droplets dripping on petals
Blooming in spring.
Loving you is breath catching in my chest
Overwhelmed and afraid
Because it’s so good I fret
The concept of ever having to spend
A day of this life without you in it.
Loving you is the depth of
The sea
So vast that even its
Contemplation is greater than is
Humanly conceivable,
The feeling of warm salt water on
Tanned skin,
Sounds of
Crashing waves,
loving you is a perfect summer day.
Loving you is a rocket to outer space
Lost in the cosmos
I’m living amongst the constellations
Draped against
The Milky Way;
Loving you,
Being loved by you,
Looms larger than this world.
Loving you is the most
Beautiful terrifying expansive
Life-altering mind-blowing unimaginable
Gift
That I never would’ve dreamed of finding
Let alone deserving.
Loving you is absolute magic;
Because you are absolutely magical.
Jun 20, 2023
Jun 20, 2023 at 12:44 AM UTC
The desperate scramble to
rationalise; the burning need
to make sense of the
nonsensical, this
all-too-earnest search for
answers, for some guidestone
that will help us decipher
the craziness scrawled on the walls,
a key that might unlock that door
which currently bars the path to
sanity and reason.
We put polls in the field,
conduct surveys, devise
better, more probing questionnaires,
consult eminent
psychologists, sociologists, economists,
go blind on data
tabulated into every conceivable form,
cite studies, historical precedent,
strive for any, any answers
that will explain to us
how we came to
this.
And maybe the reason is
less complex.
Maybe
we got what we
deserved.
Jan 14, 2017
Jan 14, 2017 at 4:28 AM UTC
She loves it
when we go fishing,
enjoys all of the activities,
spearing & angling,
gathering & netting,
anything to get
down on the shore.
Her boy in the boat
always bounces,
craves more of my dangling.
She's a looker,
baits my hook just right,
I don't fight her
& it ain't no shrimp.
Nooooo,
no wimp here,
I always use my big long pole
looking for her sweet fishing-hole.
When I finally get there,
find the right spot,
I scrape her scales
from every conceivable angle
to uncover her tasty pearl.
I give her a whirl,
shuck the shell out of her
as she squeezes me hard
with her tight mussel,
ready to receive my roe,
a splish,
a splash,
a huge shot
of my hot cocktail sauce,
curling her toes.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 10:13 PM UTC
"where night is....a boy of
steel"
i've been missing
my heart
sweet boy,
as if the core
of me
was never
there,
blue icicles
like rain drops
that once burnt
like a dying star,
stolen from you
because no
sea could hold
it back,
because it
only wanted love
and some people
just can't take
something that genuine,
and this is what i've
said, so let me now say
that i have now got it back
and my love will never
be held from you again,
my heart burns
with a poem's fire
and for you my love,
grey shore that i reach,
song of the leaves melting
in light and shadow,
and i do melt for you,
the dream of you,
your presence
the chill of my
back bone, the
thrill of my mortal
heart,
love, the swift
bird hanging like
a hammock to
the sky,
love, the only
conceivable way
play with me,
boy of steel
where summer
cries at our
molten bones
centuries of sky
sip forgotten
landscapes,
play with me,
lover, and i'll
love you
the way you wish
to be loved.
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 9:40 AM UTC
Every poet needs a muse.
I have never forgotten.
Have you? Even once?
As I let you slip through the cracks? I wouldn't blame you if you did.
But I know that you haven't.
It's funny. Talking about distance.
because in spite of it all,
nobody has touched me like you.
Do you still feel it sometimes? Do you still feel like visiting me in my dreams? Or when I'm on top of the mountains, sipping in the beauty of the world? The need to inspire? Inspiration itself.
I do. Constantly.
It's everything I've ever wanted. The loveliest thing I've ever known.
The way you manage to make words come alive. Like air. The way you could make them dance into my lungs and rush into my bloodstream
always leaves me craving more. Addicted.
I'm at the mercy of your language.
Your fingers.
Your smile.
Your words are eternal. Taken as scripture. I bow to them every day. Praise them. Share them. Let them complete me. Give me purpose.
Reflected in pale moonlight and written in the stars.
As I look up, into the infinity of darkness,
and see the words you left there,
I am left speechless.
I mean it too. That I fell. Hard. Impossibly.
We ended quickly. Abruptly. A car accident. An exchange of information. Words hurt, but wounds heal.
I know you've continued on. Effortlessly. Gracefully as you do.
But every single night, I still go to bed, with the desire of making love with our words. Tasting your syllables. Drinking them in. I long for a touch I haven't felt since you. In every conceivable way.
I shouldn't have left. I should have begged you to stay. I would have loved a little more time with you.
I'd wait forever for it.
Maybe you shouldn't, but muses don't work that way.
There's nothing more heartbreaking than a poet without a muse.
A sky without stars.
A page without words.
I'm selfish in wanting your presence.
Your poetry.
It's cruel of me to desire something so deeply.
But nothing could be better
than knowing that
there was a little infinity
where I captured your heart
felt your soul
connected with you
and became a muse
myself.
A dream come true.
We could have blossomed into something breathtaking.
Would it be terrible if I said I think of you always?
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 10:51 PM UTC
Louder than my voice, You have spoken in me
Deeper than my longing, You have sprung eternal
Beyond my foresight, You are prophesying to me
After all my reason, You are unimaginable (unfolding unimaginable things)
Before my expectation, You've exceeded what is conceivable
In the most secret place, You consume completely
And deep calls out to deep
Above a kingdom's reach, Your reign overcomes
Beneath the meaning of existence, Your laws dictate reality
At the moment of seeking, You have sought and found
Greater than my strength, You uphold the infinite (and I within it more carefully)
In the fulfillment of time, You are waiting
With the wisdom of ages, Your ways are everlasting
And deep calls out to deep, whispering your fullness:
"If there is faith, You are believed."
"If there is hope, You are looked upon."
"If there is love, You are reflected."
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 12:05 PM UTC
i've got an iron plate
covered in a definitely liquid fate
behind a spherical unlocked gate
popped open to peek not too late
to see the life that awaits
i've got a trigger happy brain
a kid who complains
an old man who does not remember his name
a star with no fame
honestly lame claims
i've got a bed made of rocks
rooms with walls that talk
premonitions and assumptions that stalk,
gawk, walk and smock
the fantasy ship that never returns home to dock
i've got pairs of no color
foundational pillars that shudder
magnets that reject one another
though positive the father, mother or brother
no force could make them huggers
i've got a memory of the future
and vacant sheets that still stir
lonely animals that still pur
on the backs of women as fine fur
not ever damning the fact they could not also skin her
i've got a bomb with no fuse
useless skillful attributes
an unreachable noose
somewhere near that train with no caboose
a newspaper that never bore news
i've got an inner psychotic earthquake
erupting, held together with paper weights
silent clocks melting against time and space
warped beyond conceivable replace
and a pace set for waste producing smells of unimaginable distaste
i've got millions of appointments
pimples and hemorrhoids needing ointments
osteoporosis making a spine bent
an empty bank due to money lent
an obsession over time never spent
i've got a dangerous urge
to lick a dish for the surge
that stripped the bull of its courage
cracked knees creating pains that gurge
pleading relief from the thaumaturge
i've got a cat with ferocity
only defeated by that curiosity
covered in gems to disguise its true atrocity
that wished it could refer to itself anonymously
but sporting a name that claimed it was descriptive of me
i've got a handful of severity
motions that want sincerity
an over cast of side effects promising what i could be
eyes dialed in, foggy and stripped of clarity
in the mirror its no longer human that i see
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 11:20 PM UTC
Metaphysical
Mathematiciantional
Sensational
Unbelievable
Conceivable
Reasonable to be believable
Cuz I tried to get past it
I mean it boggled my mind to the point I tried to find some meaning in it
So I try to think positive thoughts
It's like moving through layers of forestry moss
I'm trying to bra boss of my own trade
Gettin what I got cuz I got it made
No more shade
Shining in the light
Constant battle not even a fight
300 men in a war
Tryna make the next score
Gimme gimme more
So I can soar to higher heights
Catch that next bite
Oh yeah it's outta sight
Metaphysical
Cataclysmical
Sociable
Moveable
It's all metaphysical
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 6:26 PM UTC