"conflation" poems - Hello Poetry

I slept with her, my rapacious pen, took me in quiet vengeance in full on conjugation raken and taken, me, her overlording me now, her authorship, so long held in my maledom abeyance, a kept imprisonment, unleashing at last, a tongue lashing~leashing, de-spite my un-desirous craven lying supplications, excuses of innocence and accident, coincidence and conflation, ashes, ashes, denials incinerated, all fall down she wrote/stabbed upon my heartless chest, in the cheap crudités colors of a prisoner’s inking, “user of words mine, all mine” gathered up my innards of loose words, speculative notes & titles yet to be, born and kept hid in password protected silent back labor files, now hers, leaving me sputtering, unable to create, a homeless mute citizen, possession-less, helplessly hoping her hovering harlequin might relent, without any shelter, even a glimmering, a single aleph or bet she celebratory cackled and clawed, professed her reclamation ownership of all my poems predecessors, zola j’accusing that I, ripped from her forcibly, with no granted permission, her womanly touché of my scribing, warning of no more global warming for my unprivileged hands, daren’t try for pretenses of stolen legal guardianship, warning of a new, forced caining inscription, a tattooing of “thief” upon my 5 knuckled right ****** “plagiarist” boldly inked in back & blue upon my left palm I, predator, she, victim, of my now self-professed, admitted confess, she, my single victim, of a decade long serializing criminal coverup her parting poem a threatening, herein issued in this very verse, damning all who would falsely credit themselves, to suffer shame and an unimaginable curse, this, the newborn eleventh of ten commandments parting, she kissing my lips, even my emptied apertures, with warning bitings, she knew all my my numerous noms de guerre, no dead scrolls caves to hid in, and to be discovered some future day, and if ever marked as copyrighted, ’twas no tunneling escape, the exposed truth to be over-stamped upon all, upon each, in every language, ”copied right from the tongue of a woman!” and she would be wright...

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May 23, 2019

May 23, 2019 at 10:10 AM UTC

nat-lipstadt

slept with my rapacious pen (she, full on conjugation)

I slept with her, my rapacious pen, took me in quiet vengeance in full on conjugation raken and taken, me, her overlording me now, her authorship, so long held in my maledom abeyance, a kept imprisonment, unleashing at last, a tongue lashing~leashing, de-spite my un-desirous craven lying supplications, excuses of innocence and accident, coincidence and conflation, ashes, ashes, denials incinerated, all fall down she wrote/stabbed upon my heartless chest, in the cheap crudités colors of a prisoner’s inking, “user of words mine, all mine” gathered up my innards of loose words, speculative notes & titles yet to be, born and kept hid in password protected silent back labor files, now hers, leaving me sputtering, unable to create, a homeless mute citizen, possession-less, helplessly hoping her hovering harlequin might relent, without any shelter, even a glimmering, a single aleph or bet she celebratory cackled and clawed, professed her reclamation ownership of all my poems predecessors, zola j’accusing that I, ripped from her forcibly, with no granted permission, her womanly touché of my scribing, warning of no more global warming for my unprivileged hands, daren’t try for pretenses of stolen legal guardianship, warning of a new, forced caining inscription, a tattooing of “thief” upon my 5 knuckled right ****** “plagiarist” boldly inked in back & blue upon my left palm I, predator, she, victim, of my now self-professed, admitted confess, she, my single victim, of a decade long serializing criminal coverup her parting poem a threatening, herein issued in this very verse, damning all who would falsely credit themselves, to suffer shame and an unimaginable curse, this, the newborn eleventh of ten commandments parting, she kissing my lips, even my emptied apertures, with warning bitings, she knew all my my numerous noms de guerre, no dead scrolls caves to hid in, and to be discovered some future day, and if ever marked as copyrighted, ’twas no tunneling escape, the exposed truth to be over-stamped upon all, upon each, in every language, ”copied right from the tongue of a woman!” and she would be wright...