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"condense" poems
Most days, you're not a woman developer, you're a developer. You work just as hard, You (try to) talk just as fast You keep your feelings under the surface (barely) Actually, scratch that You're always a woman developer. you're just so used to internalizing these habits Trying to have confidence in your skills despite the impostor syndrome pulling you down each time slowly, like quicksand Trying to make up for the confidence you never had compared to someone who always had it all Trying to not cry in the kitchen because god who is allowed to have feelings Trying not to talk about men who made you uncomfortable because oh my god for the fact that people call women overreacting most men seem to make every little statement about them, have you noticed? oh wow, isn't this just reverse sexism? oh wow, can I even talk to women? Being so vocal about being queer and Indian but if you make one noise one sound one phrase about your experience as a woman because in such welcoming company you subconsciously thought why not You let down your guard But There goes the shattered glass as the topic of gender-based discrimination is finally broached There goes the thing nobody ever talks about There starts the debate you did not want to participate in "Oh wow you're so harsh to these guys" "We were just slamming what they were doing, you slammed their actual personality wow" "I just said they sounded like a brogrammer" "sure if you say so" "Isn't that just an arbitrary description" How do you explain How do you describe every nuanced experience about Every male in your life who have been exactly like this to you How do you explain the light discrimination The harsh discrimination The systemic problem as a whole How can you condense all this into a workplace environment talk Where you don't usually talk about this? Where you don't know if you can actually talk about this Where you know that you ultimately don't want to talk about this cuz how can you explain these feelings that they can never understand You shut up and move on with coding. But inside, you're conflicted with ideas of presentations to express the fact, or never speak about this again Because in the end, You're just a developer, not a woman developer to them.
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Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 10:42 AM UTC
An Arbitrary Description (not really)
Most days, you're not a woman developer, you're a developer. You work just as hard, You (try to) talk just as fast You keep your feelings under the surface (barely) Actually, scratch that You're always a woman developer. you're just so used to internalizing these habits Trying to have confidence in your skills despite the impostor syndrome pulling you down each time slowly, like quicksand Trying to make up for the confidence you never had compared to someone who always had it all Trying to not cry in the kitchen because god who is allowed to have feelings Trying not to talk about men who made you uncomfortable because oh my god for the fact that people call women overreacting most men seem to make every little statement about them, have you noticed? oh wow, isn't this just reverse sexism? oh wow, can I even talk to women? Being so vocal about being queer and Indian but if you make one noise one sound one phrase about your experience as a woman because in such welcoming company you subconsciously thought why not You let down your guard But There goes the shattered glass as the topic of gender-based discrimination is finally broached There goes the thing nobody ever talks about There starts the debate you did not want to participate in "Oh wow you're so harsh to these guys" "We were just slamming what they were doing, you slammed their actual personality wow" "I just said they sounded like a brogrammer" "sure if you say so" "Isn't that just an arbitrary description" How do you explain How do you describe every nuanced experience about Every male in your life who have been exactly like this to you How do you explain the light discrimination The harsh discrimination The systemic problem as a whole How can you condense all this into a workplace environment talk Where you don't usually talk about this? Where you don't know if you can actually talk about this Where you know that you ultimately don't want to talk about this cuz how can you explain these feelings that they can never understand You shut up and move on with coding. But inside, you're conflicted with ideas of presentations to express the fact, or never speak about this again Because in the end, You're just a developer, not a woman developer to them.
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51
I find myself pacing and sighing trying to condense my feelings into words. My mind recalls insignificant details and moments accumulated in my memory that spark my feelings for you. igniting my love into a feeling of ecstasy like no other. I translate these moments into reasons. Reasons that add up to other reasons or multiply into even greater feelings for you. But as for words..there are none. **** it I can try but it will just fall short every time. These words don't exist. Words aren't passion or love they are means of communication. And passion or love I can not communicate. In every smile. In every look. In every long car ride I spend laughing beside you. In every day I spend with you for the rest of my life. Thats where my love and passion resides. I hope that you find it there and I hope you find comfort within that.
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Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 11:02 PM UTC
Communication.
Like a drop of dew I condense— Onto a leaf where I sojourn. And as swiftly as that I fall Beneath the clouds Hand in hand with gravity Offering zero resistance.
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Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 5:33 AM UTC
Rise and fall of a life
Inside the drainage basin Bounding my soul Fluid dynamics Condense Phases of water Gather in the Mountain towers Over time Gravity plus precipitation Converts Into snow pack Come spring That snow pack Braids it's way down the mountain Co-mingling with groundwater Bubbling up in springs Gathering momentum In mountain streams A constant conversion from Potential to kinematic Energy Streams make their Way into prairie rivers Meandering along Through riparian pockets Of biodiversity Reaching a levee Then breaching Local, national, and international boundaries Are no match As my soul Finds it's way to base level In the ocean of your love
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Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 7:15 AM UTC
Base Level
not the milk, you see, is too sweet, thick, which will rhyme if i write, for me. thick like the wool that filled breaches in the wall, saved the lives. save some with shelter, needing shelter, while others lean to watch the birds fly, talk of the bell tower, and all the implications. the man parked his car, tidily went to poundland, bought cards. sbm. *notes verb verb: condense; 3rd person present: condenses; past tense: condensed; past participle: condensed; gerund or present participle: condensing 1. make (something) denser or more concentrated.
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Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 2:44 AM UTC
condensing
*entering arms entwined a state of grace offer you body warmth to burn us together for always tongue licks your love the buds of taste blossom yet again chest beating thrum celebrates your continued existence fingers tease you at the junctures that pleasure reveals the magi's adoration but I love you best with the love of words, for this is the poet's way, condense touch sight sounds smell sensual into what words he can give that cost so much, held so dear, that it is the cherish that is the best of him*
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Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 7:49 AM UTC
I love you best with the love of words
From love's first fever to her plague, from the soft second And to the hollow minute of the womb, From the unfolding to the scissored caul, The time for breast and the green apron age When no mouth stirred about the hanging famine, All world was one, one windy nothing, My world was christened in a stream of milk. And earth and sky were as one airy hill. The sun and mood shed one white light. From the first print of the unshodden foot, the lifting Hand, the breaking of the hair, From the first scent of the heart, the warning ghost, And to the first dumb wonder at the flesh, The sun was red, the moon was grey, The earth and sky were as two mountains meeting. The body prospered, teeth in the marrowed gums, The growing bones, the rumour of the manseed Within the hallowed gland, blood blessed the heart, And the four winds, that had long blown as one, Shone in my ears the light of sound, Called in my eyes the sound of light. And yellow was the multiplying sand, Each golden grain spat life into its fellow, Green was the singing house. The plum my mother picked matured slowly, The boy she dropped from darkness at her side Into the sided lap of light grew strong, Was muscled, matted, wise to the crying thigh, And to the voice that, like a voice of hunger, Itched in the noise of wind and sun. And from the first declension of the flesh I learnt man's tongue, to twist the shapes of thoughts Into the stony idiom of the brain, To shade and knit anew the patch of words Left by the dead who, in their moonless acre, Need no word's warmth. The root of tongues ends in a spentout cancer, That but a name, where maggots have their X. I learnt the verbs of will, and had my secret; The code of night tapped on my tongue; What had been one was many sounding minded. One wound, one mind, spewed out the matter, One breast gave **** the fever's issue; From the divorcing sky I learnt the double, The two-framed globe that spun into a score; A million minds gave **** to such a bud As forks my eye; Youth did condense; the tears of spring Dissolved in summer and the hundred seasons; One sun, one manna, warmed and fed.
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4.2k
From Love's First Fever To Her Plague
From love's first fever to her plague, from the soft second And to the hollow minute of the womb, From the unfolding to the scissored caul, The time for breast and the green apron age When no mouth stirred about the hanging famine, All world was one, one windy nothing, My world was christened in a stream of milk. And earth and sky were as one airy hill. The sun and mood shed one white light. From the first print of the unshodden foot, the lifting Hand, the breaking of the hair, From the first scent of the heart, the warning ghost, And to the first dumb wonder at the flesh, The sun was red, the moon was grey, The earth and sky were as two mountains meeting. The body prospered, teeth in the marrowed gums, The growing bones, the rumour of the manseed Within the hallowed gland, blood blessed the heart, And the four winds, that had long blown as one, Shone in my ears the light of sound, Called in my eyes the sound of light. And yellow was the multiplying sand, Each golden grain spat life into its fellow, Green was the singing house. The plum my mother picked matured slowly, The boy she dropped from darkness at her side Into the sided lap of light grew strong, Was muscled, matted, wise to the crying thigh, And to the voice that, like a voice of hunger, Itched in the noise of wind and sun. And from the first declension of the flesh I learnt man's tongue, to twist the shapes of thoughts Into the stony idiom of the brain, To shade and knit anew the patch of words Left by the dead who, in their moonless acre, Need no word's warmth. The root of tongues ends in a spentout cancer, That but a name, where maggots have their X. I learnt the verbs of will, and had my secret; The code of night tapped on my tongue; What had been one was many sounding minded. One wound, one mind, spewed out the matter, One breast gave **** the fever's issue; From the divorcing sky I learnt the double, The two-framed globe that spun into a score; A million minds gave **** to such a bud As forks my eye; Youth did condense; the tears of spring Dissolved in summer and the hundred seasons; One sun, one manna, warmed and fed.
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50
When was the last time I felt a raving hunger for life? When had I but an eternity in moments, on the edge of something vastly different? How was it me and not you who staked her soul high on rolling hills of green, took long draughts to savour, to condense the weight of the world into one precious drink, cup the shortest days in her palm and release them, for her thoughts to balloon into the wild? The delectable now— ripe as berries for plucking in winter, and all things, like music must peter into silence. So I suppose my question to you is not concerned with the stack of newly-minted green in your pocket, nor the fleet of shiny cars, but your pure self, simply being. It’s prodding the heart, a tiny critter fluttering with wings, wondering: when will you ever get a second chance at this— all this storm and inexplicable happiness— or will you go hunting for things, whirling at mere traces of power in your name— or will you turn around only to find a life or a lie, staring back wide-eyed in endless shame? © BT
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Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 6:21 PM UTC
When Was the Last Time
The idea of money is funny we need a piece of paper to go out and look stunning or to condense myself in familiar vapor. I wish I could offer my service instead of a greasy old dollar. It would make me feel less nervous to have success weighed by a collar
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Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 9:14 PM UTC
Money is funny
Feel the chains change in me tonight Condense me to evaporate in want The long of a bounce to another world Light the fire to burn deep and fervour A belly roasts in repetitive embers flushes Hearts tied connate as the essence flashes A tangle ribboned to last after the dawn Testify as our sparks infinitely ignite dances Titaniums of our tectonic plates merge motions A convergence entwined in bordered emotions Link me in the convections of transformations Conversations of a lasting warm benevolence Paradisiacal chum of a past in resonance A photographic collection of a lived long life Unwrap the snare, unwind the erased tapes Lay back as we hide away behind the moonlight
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Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 4:18 PM UTC
Lithosphere- λίθος
streams of salt and H2O leak down reddened cheeks and condense in a golden beard. a war-torn nation, half-a-world-away, crystallizes clear as dayspring in an insomniac's screaming and fragile psyche at half-past-three in the morning. what strength must a seven-year-old posses to persevere amidst the perversity of cluster bombs? munitions bought and paid for with the taxes we fork over to the United States. will her blood one day stain our hands with crimson? will her mother's? a girl who just wanted to read, to escape the tragedy that inundates our surroundings, to a magical realm of pure imagination. where we can summon spectral stags to save us from the misery of humanity and learn to disarm those who would harm   us with the charm, Expelliarmus! the bastion where i found the first seeds that grew into a rebellion opens its doors to you, Bana. there's a crater where your house used to be, rubble strewn in Aleppo, Syria. but know that Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home.
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Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 4:05 AM UTC
Bana
There must be more than this. More than what lies beyond the deep, blue sky. Where stars condense, and collide. Where glalaxies spin, and multiply. Where life blooms, but never dies. There must be more than what lies at the end of an ordinary life.
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Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 9:18 PM UTC
Prayer
The rattle is shaken and life becomes unfixed Torrential rains cascades downwards on ancient bricks These stunning moments have been rediscovered In wonder all is flustered in awe as the state of silence honks Love creeps out of tune in time, the unsureness of cold feet The voice fades, the toned whispers continually erased Stormed and soaked, stilled and stalked by a heart that stole my dream Drenched in uncertainty, non-favouring multitudes won't let me be These flutters flattens and deflated, I stroll and I will not run The floating fun fares vanishes, the morning bird furnishes The time capsule evaporated, unstripped and frozen Ohh, how I wished to plant and harvest inspiration Wake up with a renewed breath of air, the flowing river Of the days when the gloom masked, I hated what life had become How could humanity be so self centred and selfish? I looked for silence and the banging never ceased The masses rushed, never to let me be, they snatched my freedom I inhaled the hope of the freeness and longed for the racing momentums How so? That over time the weather collapsed to coldness, the darkness marbled A nag of the songbirds, as I escaped in the ****** ozone layer A disconnect of the mind, body and soul; when I saw my spirit sail A snail sailing on its own course and journey slowly but steady Reflections and visions of the timeline of growth and fertility A heart of one, the soul of all, the mind of many, a tongue in sums The chandelier hanged on a ceiling, high, holding the flickering bulbs A condense of energy, the modelled nature of a prognostic intervention A laughter and synergy rests in the symphony of the unsung melodies
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Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 6:24 PM UTC
A Nag of a Songbird (300 Darkened Marbles)
The rattle is shaken and life becomes unfixed Torrential rains cascades downwards on ancient bricks These stunning moments have been rediscovered In wonder all is flustered in awe as the state of silence honks Love creeps out of tune in time, the unsureness of cold feet The voice fades, the toned whispers continually erased Stormed and soaked, stilled and stalked by a heart that stole my dream Drenched in uncertainty, non-favouring multitudes won't let me be These flutters flattens and deflated, I stroll and I will not run The floating fun fares vanishes, the morning bird furnishes The time capsule evaporated, unstripped and frozen Ohh, how I wished to plant and harvest inspiration Wake up with a renewed breath of air, the flowing river Of the days when the gloom masked, I hated what life had become How could humanity be so self centred and selfish? I looked for silence and the banging never ceased The masses rushed, never to let me be, they snatched my freedom I inhaled the hope of the freeness and longed for the racing momentums How so? That over time the weather collapsed to coldness, the darkness marbled A nag of the songbirds, as I escaped in the ****** ozone layer A disconnect of the mind, body and soul; when I saw my spirit sail A snail sailing on its own course and journey slowly but steady Reflections and visions of the timeline of growth and fertility A heart of one, the soul of all, the mind of many, a tongue in sums The chandelier hanged on a ceiling, high, holding the flickering bulbs A condense of energy, the modelled nature of a prognostic intervention A laughter and synergy rests in the symphony of the unsung melodies
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28
A cider and a minder Passing time as a reminder Pink glow and songs flow A waxy time erodes the mow Renegades and perspiration responds Swimming in winded seas of  Jordan Heated in space, evicted in their pace Libido fails as the liquor dilutes in taste Catch an esse as the moonlight smite Hold another to fake a romantic right Filter to the cards of ace as the one winks Emotive intruders farm in fields of pastures Imbued with alcoholic waterfalls Molehills of termites condense lose soil A lack of connection a taunt that apes Future anthems triumph in hungered strums Amused by the music erupting volcanoes A morrow blows as the candle slows To tow the tall grassed disused straw A spring to summer that promises sun rays A resolve to moderation to preserve modesty A kiss stored forever peeping the awing stars To guard a heart and hatch uniformity Trembles justly forgotten in termed premises
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Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 2:42 PM UTC
A Cider My Minder
The Great Outdoors Doors open every which way and it's impossible to escape you since you are behind everyone of them. The overflowing cascade that is your hair the splendor of the sun at noon that is your smile and the ever present flawless work of art that is your body. The gorgeous landscape of your chest needless to say how much I love the view. The great outdoors lives and breathes within you. Let me take you indoors so I could breathe you at dawn take off the weight of all those weary kisses and slowly nourish me in your lips. Let me spend an eternity attached to your hips. Let our anatomies condense into one another creating record setting heat. Let me taste the warmth of your mouth and feel the cold of your feet. Your implacable thighs, your indomitable abdomen the pearls of your eyes, your button nose and pillow cheeks. The softness of your hands as your fingers run all over me. The flirtatious ways of your walk inhaling your fresh essence in the air with your aura by my side knocking down the door to my lair and awake from my self-imposed hibernation to dedicate this loving prose in ode to Mother Nature's greatest creation. Like an impatient Great White I can still sense your flesh when I can't see devouring everything in sight and this hunger towards you it leads because my waters are yours I can smell your thick blood algae, seaweed or other life forms are not nearly enough to keep me from craving you and fulfilling this unfulfilling love to find a way to repress what my flinching body has become from the Savannah to the Sahara I can't suffice this longing night, afternoon or morning for your great outdoors.
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Dec 26, 2009
Dec 26, 2009 at 3:49 PM UTC
"The Great Outdoors"
The Great Outdoors Doors open every which way and it's impossible to escape you since you are behind everyone of them. The overflowing cascade that is your hair the splendor of the sun at noon that is your smile and the ever present flawless work of art that is your body. The gorgeous landscape of your chest needless to say how much I love the view. The great outdoors lives and breathes within you. Let me take you indoors so I could breathe you at dawn take off the weight of all those weary kisses and slowly nourish me in your lips. Let me spend an eternity attached to your hips. Let our anatomies condense into one another creating record setting heat. Let me taste the warmth of your mouth and feel the cold of your feet. Your implacable thighs, your indomitable abdomen the pearls of your eyes, your button nose and pillow cheeks. The softness of your hands as your fingers run all over me. The flirtatious ways of your walk inhaling your fresh essence in the air with your aura by my side knocking down the door to my lair and awake from my self-imposed hibernation to dedicate this loving prose in ode to Mother Nature's greatest creation. Like an impatient Great White I can still sense your flesh when I can't see devouring everything in sight and this hunger towards you it leads because my waters are yours I can smell your thick blood algae, seaweed or other life forms are not nearly enough to keep me from craving you and fulfilling this unfulfilling love to find a way to repress what my flinching body has become from the Savannah to the Sahara I can't suffice this longing night, afternoon or morning for your great outdoors.
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53
Don't let the pain infiltrate and condense into your skin. Let it be a layer that will soon fall off when it is ready.
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May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 11:56 AM UTC
Pain is Temporary
There are fleeting patches of light Within my confused and idled mind What once was abundant with mercy Has now presently been confined I find myself Picturing the worst within the frame Yet not wishing to let those wild thoughts Go about Untamed Its like a game you play by yourself When all the lights are out In the dark without a spark And no one to call for help Is this the conflict of a broken promise Or simply present tense Am I justified within my suspense Or should I rather... Attempt to condense Even though this makes sense It could easily be that or the other Don't get me started on the similarities Between interactions happening With she And my distant mother I don't wish to smother her Only desire my peace of mind I'm determined to soothe the fire Before leaving everything behind I don't want to call you a liar But its where I find myself treading Like that one event suddenly made a dent And fissures started spreading Like every last thing could be a deception Manifesting what I believe And I don't think I'll really get to know Is it you Or is it me?
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May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 12:34 PM UTC
The Game
We melt like aborted McDonald's ice, on top of a blistering, gum-stamped lot, under the sour heat of the Sun. I'm boy wonder and you're, 'Boy, how is he alone?' Olive-skinned cardigan, pearl pores. Hair like ink and a jaw-line sharp enough to cut an umbilical cord. Vintage Nikes come to a point, the swoosh as red as the cherry at the end of your cigarette. I watch you smoke and choke, before calling phantoms over. It begins like October: The leaves fall, like your friends steps, the bronze sweeps the air, like the curls of their smiles, the air is silent, like your words as they condense and drop into the mouth of a tanned canyon. What could they ever do to conquer you, my dear, fantastic frenzy?
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Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 1:22 AM UTC
Ezra
Memories of us as the sun set fire to everything I touch. Hands to myself and forget the idea of love. Our light has dwindled out. All that remains is a broken bulb hanging above the bed, in the attic of my head. Scattered shards of glass surrounding comfort. Every night I walk on our broken dreams and bleed before I get to sleep. I just lay in the shadow of my past looking for lines you once said. Only to bury the words again. Maybe it would make more sense if I stopped resurrecting the dead. There's a piece of me, no longer alive. From me to you is a far drive. So I dig in the dark attic for old and removable parts to repair my broken car. Flashing my lights at anyone who could be you. Because you're the only one who can see it too. Our connection is as consistent as me quitting bad habits For instance, cigarettes, but how could I know when I still haven't? I crave but can barely manage. I'm on and off in strange patterns.   A rusty pull chain hanging from the socket Stuck with our questions to questions,  irrational logic. I asked "why do you always escape from what you wanted?" You slowly whispered "how else would you know if you really got it.". I guess  I'll figure it as I smoke another cigarette. I take a hit, before exhaling, i stare up at the sun. Close my eyes and think of you. I imagine the smoke soaking up everything I ever wanted to tell you. Plans, ideas, thoughts, and the rawest feelings I have ever had. Once it feels right I open my eyes to the empty sky and exhale. An emotional release. February air will condense these dreams on to your car window. You will wipe them off to find your way home. The last thing you said before you left, "Just keep thinking of me And We'll meet again" There has to be another chapter before the end of this story being written in my head. But love and love lost is the ink to my pen of thoughts. Let it leak in my sleep. Knowing I'll wake up to her gone. But its okay. She left the chorus for my song.
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Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 8:03 PM UTC
Unfinished 3 (Immoral Muse:ic)
Memories of us as the sun set fire to everything I touch. Hands to myself and forget the idea of love. Our light has dwindled out. All that remains is a broken bulb hanging above the bed, in the attic of my head. Scattered shards of glass surrounding comfort. Every night I walk on our broken dreams and bleed before I get to sleep. I just lay in the shadow of my past looking for lines you once said. Only to bury the words again. Maybe it would make more sense if I stopped resurrecting the dead. There's a piece of me, no longer alive. From me to you is a far drive. So I dig in the dark attic for old and removable parts to repair my broken car. Flashing my lights at anyone who could be you. Because you're the only one who can see it too. Our connection is as consistent as me quitting bad habits For instance, cigarettes, but how could I know when I still haven't? I crave but can barely manage. I'm on and off in strange patterns.   A rusty pull chain hanging from the socket Stuck with our questions to questions,  irrational logic. I asked "why do you always escape from what you wanted?" You slowly whispered "how else would you know if you really got it.". I guess  I'll figure it as I smoke another cigarette. I take a hit, before exhaling, i stare up at the sun. Close my eyes and think of you. I imagine the smoke soaking up everything I ever wanted to tell you. Plans, ideas, thoughts, and the rawest feelings I have ever had. Once it feels right I open my eyes to the empty sky and exhale. An emotional release. February air will condense these dreams on to your car window. You will wipe them off to find your way home. The last thing you said before you left, "Just keep thinking of me And We'll meet again" There has to be another chapter before the end of this story being written in my head. But love and love lost is the ink to my pen of thoughts. Let it leak in my sleep. Knowing I'll wake up to her gone. But its okay. She left the chorus for my song.
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38
alone cold November looking ******* anonymously serotonin depleted hours go as myself -- why not? pleasing things used relationship -- wanted *** desire supreme union *** is all of life enmeshed forms penetrate ****** there is nothing eyes entering one another nothing more everything unable to cut off so follows the ******** so-called unnatural containers natural pervert let it be simple It's the world no better confusion convoluted nonsense shoulders of an older age inhibit our natural blossom there is work I have prepared creature flesh and circuitry pleasuring it's lights like fireworks of ****** intent vines creep thighs apes grunt -- ****** into the jungle tigers mount stars operate strange new images life beckons fungus devouring bombs skeletons locked in copulation boys sit park & touch condense into infinite arousal shadow history confrontation nature you may not my body they not your history I am not yourself no words express truth simple realization most difficult dead myths wipe *** on brick bottle of wine glass of beer golden halo, dream, hat, shoe a puddle of ***** on my belly endless marijuana and diction handfuls of disappearing money born into the screaming hospital in the grass of a carpet nothing to do with it a concept, an idea a drunken slur misplaced affection a hand, a breast, a mouth in a car, a bed, a bathroom elaborate play that's all
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Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC
Dormivelgia
Everything I ever knew Bundled in a waft of air Weaving thru Branches of the deep forest Everything she ever knew Left in a compact she dropped Buried under Thin layer of snow in the deep forest Bright-colored tape stood out to me. I walked & followed a line of blue tape Crunching branches and leaf's under my boots Holding the tape like a stair-rail  A lifeline. The opposite hand waving off twigs. The blue tape ran into a red tape that Came from another forest corner I ran into a yellow and a navy blue tape line, too Soon, tape from everywhere, every color in the mist The fog of the deep forest seemed to condense and Flow Down to wherever these lines led Hundreds of different tape lines Used by campers to track their way back To track their way back. I held onto this story and followed All the way into deep forest sanctuary They all met at this dark spot. A massive entanglement of rainbow'ed tape Swaying like a hammock  Held frozen in the mid-canopy  A complicated dizzying web;  I stopped there, in awe of a feeling I got                                          someone felt missing.
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Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 9:51 PM UTC
Deep Forest
Alone here Another soliloquy in my head Only desires live and the living dead Alone here An abyss for company Only desires live and the dreams faraway Million voices swirl A black hole in a milkyway They sparkle and shine While I drift away Million voices swirl The Sun and the Moon and the stars Collide to condense ****** in an apocalypse Licking their fresh scars Darkness cuts into the deepest corners Living off the bright Out of mind Out of sight Alone here As the fates divined Dark and Light Intertwined
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Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 2:07 PM UTC
Drifting Away
Roamer on lithium-ion note, human discourse has evolved into the latest trend. We play lithium powered lip lag, kissing through the media. Tip-tap tag, a touch here and there, I slowly chisel away at you soul with the sharpest, finest pointed words. Are you in, or are you in? I keep it simple, stupid. I play Shakespeare and you play the audience. I condense words to their baresense. The script looks refined, doubled checked, sublime. We KISS through the media, taking turns in a game of finger freeze- tag. You're it. And I'm the audience. r u n r r u n?
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Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 2:05 PM UTC
Tip-Tap Typed with My iPhone on the Subject of Texting
condense my brilliance down to a single switch because you were raised in a world that taught you to use me before you ever thought to learn to understand me
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Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 12:29 PM UTC
Light bulb pt. 3