"congregated" poems
*Hello.
Hello.
Lillies please,
just a handful,
keep the change.*
He asked if they were for a loved one
No sir, for Benny, sir. He questioned the King.
With that I turned and left.
As I broke into the outside air,
my eyes turned to the sky.
It was no use holding back the tears.
He slept beneath the tree as his friends and family congregated
To abandon oneself to principles is really to die - and to die for an impossible love which is the contrary of love.
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 1:11 PM UTC
So...there's this girl who's rather smart
that, when her lips begin to part,
drives me up the wall in a good way.
I sort of want to see her everyday.
She's usually busy though,
so I occupy
time with one constant sigh
until she calls and then I go.
I don't really know too much about her ---
she's Aphrodite's caricature! ---
no,no, that's a bit rash and inflated,
but in my stomach butterflies've congregated
each time her face comes to mind.
Severely interesting,
her hands are often clean
and she's never proved less than kind.
I think it might be good to write her a song
(I should've been writing this all along)
so that she'll feel sublimely delighted
and is happy, though consistently derided
by the upkeep of her garden's flora.
She could use a lot
of things uncommonly wrought,
like poems stuffed with anaphora.
*In time all the snowflakes will evaporate.
In time the sun will sleep under an iron leaf.
In time acetylene darkens human hate.
In time all time will seem quite brief.*
So, in honor of her I have created
this mediocre song so dominated
by use of the Yeats-stanza's rhythmic-rhyme,
offering it to her as ends to the crime
of my deplorable mannerisms.
I hope it's well-received,
being arduously conceived,
but I'll openly accept criticisms.
Coral, though you must (and do) work a lot,
work harder at those things which can't be bought
(i.e. relationships, love, and empathy)
for even the natural workaholic bee
requires mutual love.
Even while working
find a small moment to sing
this song. I hope it's enough.
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 2:54 PM UTC
#*“You cannot hold it, but it will cradle you.
You cannot see or touch it, but when contact comes,
You will see me, hold me, as in the days of your youth,
When you loved me best,
And I, you.”*
**From: Seven New Poems for Seven Days #2: Hover
... by Nat Lipstadt**
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
in memoriam to memories:
for Miriam and Nat
reading each thought numerous ticks of days,
imbibe the silent of the silence
hanging from the rafters this wilderness roof;
grayed heartwood walls that separate
fractals of inseparable distances ― celebrations
the roads taken ― memories of those left behind
at the side of the mile untrodden
Congregated love and sorrow’s spoken words
scribed on paper bark touchstones ―
etched watermarks of perpetual tides
patina the afterglow of life's ebb and flow,
traces of everything and naught can ever fill
Experiencing intimate moments immemorial;
the whispers of living pulse still murmurs
in the gentle breeze between the gathered words of heart
breathing deeply ― a rush of systemic truth
born in the wholly sacred blood bequeathed
A soul outside the lines ponders ―
the sum whole of a life well lived;
coming to understand, although
all might not see the same light shine:
there’s a place one day we’ll return
we found along the way
because one day will come by here …
harlon rivers ... Memorial Day weekend ... May, 2018
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
May 24, 2018
May 24, 2018 at 2:29 PM UTC
"Come, thou clear-voiced Muse, Erato, begin thy song, voicing to the tune of thy lovely lyre the strain of the children of Samos." (Stesikhoros, C7th-6th B.C.)
Upon a dim and distant telling,
Fared a maid of noble dwelling;
Rhadine was so beautiful,
Her suitors fought to claim her hand.
Unbeknownst, her father sold her
To a vile old tyrant soldier;
Rhadine sobbed, but dutiful
She boarded ship to foreign land.
Leontichus, her secret lover,
Swore an oath that he'd recover
Rhadine from the tyrant's grip;
He took the task of a deck-hand.
Many moons would find him weeping,
Ever watchful, never sleeping,
Till the day his mighty ship
Reached distant shore of foreign land.
Leontichus planned and conspired;
Cunning schemes would see him hired,
In the palace of the tyrant,
Where he could be close at hand.
There he watched, and there he waited,
As the nobles congregated
For the wedding, where defiant
Rhadine stood on foreign land.
Songs were sung and vows were spoken,
Then the tyrant brought a token,
Glinting in the bright sunlight
He offered it to Rhadine's hand.
Leontichus was gripped in sadness,
Taken by a sudden madness,
Running forth to save her plight,
He held Rhadine on foreign land.
Anger swept the tyrant's features,
Ridiculed by worthless creatures!
Taking sword, its sharp edge keen
He ran them through with his own hand.
As they lay there, deathly dying,
Midst the nobles, wailing, crying,
Leontichus held his Rhadine
And there they passed on foreign land.
The tyrant ordered their remains
Should scatter over hills and plains,
He placed them on a chariot,
And sent it with no guiding hand.
Late that night when all were sleeping,
Still the tyrant's eyes were weeping,
Knowing he could tarry not,
He ordered search of foreign land.
Days had passed when news arrived,
The chariot had still survived;
A soldier brought it to his door,
And placed the reigns into his hand.
The two were buried side by side,
Their hands were clasped, their arms entwined,
And there they rest forever more,
Two lovers lost on foreign land.
Leontichus and his Rhadine,
The greatest love the world has seen,
True lovers laying hand in hand,
Forever lost on foreign land.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC
Going once the
cruise_______*
One specific lover
What do we uncover
More advice going
twice in (2)
You see an
unexpected
attraction
Like twins with
two heads exact copy
Say Action your movie part
"The offer you cannot refuse"
You cannot duplicate her heart
With another Flower rose
Another heart obligation
"Alaskan Huskies
Twin Adoption"
Two heads better
than one snipper
She- Wolf surf and turf
Mexico taco, at the gulf
Her green planet thumb
Mount Fiji we climb
Right force ruler the heart
divider the duplicate lover
"To Reproduce" over the
a million light-years
duplicated love tears
Years we treasured
It's in our duty
Congregated
United we stand
Imagine the world
stopped to be buried
The duplicate became a
twin maid of honor
She lost her duplicated purse
"Twin Identity"
Doppelganger
Your heart couldn't
hold on____
Any longer
To reproduce the same
forbidden fruit
voiceover singer
The rare find
someone with a
Giving heart
Having a double
scotch doing the part
The pirate wearing
Eye patch*
Twofold twice the gold
one heart match
Poems true believers
One is the snitch
To love life singles or doubles
subjects to catch up in triples
The full house
what a spouse
Your boiling minds
Twice around the
coffee house
The day she or he
was born
The comfort
comes with love
Fire eye lit bedding
(Forever young
double wedding)
You're the one so
gifted hearted*
Feb 13, 2019
Feb 13, 2019 at 3:00 PM UTC
*"What is your name?"
Her Dark Eyes Reminded Me Of The Ocean At Dusk. They Were Dark, Deep, And Endless; Harboring Many Secrets.
"My name is Sydney."
My Lips Pealed Back Into A Smile Even Though Her Expression Was Quite Puzzled.
"Sydney?"
She Smiled.. The Sweetest Smile I Have Ever Seen. She Turned To Her Friend Who Had The Same Dark Eyes. He Smiled Too. The Corners Of His Eyes Morphed Into Sharp Points As His Plumb Cheeks Stretched Upwards.
"We shall give you a new name."
She Turned To Him.
"What shall we name her?"
More Of Their Friends Gathered Around Them.
One Boy Approached The Group Which Had Congregated Around Me.
"Let's name her Maudie."
"Yes! That is perfect. Do you know what that means?"
She Softly Stroked My Hair As Her Dark Eyes Locked Onto Mine.
"It means Rose. Beautiful Rose."
I Smiled, My New Friends Watched As She Took My Hands.
"Maudie... Don't Ever Forget That This Is Your Name. Never Forget Who You Are."*
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 1:16 AM UTC
Marching, hopping, running, waddling
down the street, people with working feet
oblivious to the stares of the woman
in a chair.
Why would they see her?
She's not even their height!
They are just people plodding and
plotting, lives rotting slowly away.
But, back to the woman in the chair
Snooping on the crowd
Watching the mothers tug at toddlers reins.
Rowing teens shouting "bruv" a lot!
She's mocking the crowd in her own way
She has become them, just invisible.
She likes it like that, knowing of you
Yet them not knowing of her.
Her awareness is acute, sees the businessman
in his suit. The homeless man in his home
called box, the elderly matrons
moaning about bingo.
The drunk with his bottle clutched as tight
as the baby clutches her bear.
The smokers all congregated at the altar of tar
The shopkeeper eyeing the kids, missing the thief
The security guard, guarding the pretty
Little things, no, not the jewellery the
teenage girls! Oh, his eyes are popping!
His legs are twitching. His fingers itching to touch!
Along with the sights are the sounds,
shouting, laughing, heckling and coughing
Smell,also plays a part in people watching
fast food, sweat, the great unwashed.
All plodding along, flocking like birds
clogging the street, swapping gossip,
unaware as always of the
young woman in a wheelchair.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 5:02 PM UTC
Submissive shadows of the night flee like frightened children
As the sun rears it's incandescent face to kiss that of the earth's.
A quiet dew rests contently in it's grassy green crib
And it does not stir.
The birds have since congregated
To wake the earth with their sweet songs of worship
Poo-tee-weet!
So the sun and the earth meet and make love
as passionately and as curiously as when time began
oblivious to the ever-envious stars
that they chase away.
Good Morning.
It's broken, so they say.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 11:38 PM UTC
The elves congregated
In the back room of the shop,
Muttering amongst themselves
And chattering on nonstop.
One elf stood on a table
And scanned the angry crowd.
He raised his hand to shush
The others from getting too loud.
"Fellow elves, be quiet.
We have work to do;
This isn't just a trivial
Elven ballyhoo.
"Santa's expectations
Have risen exceedingly.
He takes no action when
I ask him pleadingly
"For a raise in pay
And better working conditions.
He only chortles and laughs
And speaks of old traditions."
An elf spoke up from the group:
"The reindeer have it made.
We work our butts off;
But see how little we're paid.
"Why they earn so much
Isn't really clear
When they only work
ONE night of the year!
"Platitudes and promises
Do nothing to assuage
Angry workers. Santa
Must increase our wage!"
"Yes," chimed in another.
"Not keeping up with inflation,
Our pay keeps us living
In serious deprivation.
"Our benefits also haven't
Kept up with the times.
They are slashed while
The cost of insurance climbs.
"I know we've a lot to do,
And I think we're pretty meticulous,
But the hours we're forced to work…
I mean…this is ridiculous!
"And what about part-time elves
Who have little enjoyment
Working for no benefits?
You call that employment?"
Disgruntled, all the workers
Considered taking action
And wondered what to do
To get some satisfaction.
Another elf said, "Santa's
Heavy demands are an onus.
And we elves don't even
Get a Christmas bonus!
"Frankly, it takes every
Ounce of faith I can muster
To think that dear ol' Santa's
Not a union buster!
"Furthermore, there's something
That I've got to say:
We all have to strive
For equality of pay."
"Yay!" the elves shouted
And in unison chanted:
"Equal pay: Yes!
Take nothing for granted!"
The work discussion lingered
Well into the night.
They knew that gaining ground
Would require a fight.
(In thinking about life,
Struggles, work, and fairness,
It doesn't hurt anyone
To have some elf-awareness.)
Eavesdropping here,
You've seen for yourself
That life's not always peachy--
Even for an elf.
Let's just hope that Santa
Doesn't be a ****
And save a few bucks next year
By outsourcing the work.
- by Bob B
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 5:40 PM UTC
My roommates and I congregated in our suite's great room and we’ll head out for dinner soon.
“Have you ever eaten dog food?” Leong asked Anna.
“No,” Anna answered, “it smells like chicken - it’s got chicken in it”
“OOO!” Leong pounces, “Busted!!”
“What?!” Anna reacts.
“How would you know that then?” Leong asks, doubtfully.
“My mom told me!” Anna cries, in self defense. “She’s a vegetarian too.”
“Your mom told you.” Leong said, like a prosecutor raising an eyebrow for the jury.
“I just took my last English class,” I report, pony-tailing my hair, “my teacher told me - privately - that my writing destroys.”
“Nice,” Lisa says.
“Yeah,” I say, smiling and grooming with pride, “I thought that was a ballin’ complement and I’ve been riding that high.”
“No doubt,” Anna says and nods.
“My English professor..” Leong says, exasperated, “is driving me crazy, I’ve written three final papers so far and she’s rejected them ALL.”
“Huh?” I gasp, “Show me one!” I demand, wiggling gimmie-fingers at her laptop.
“Here’s a question,” Lisa asks the room, “What would you change about your childhood?”
“I would have never grown up.” Sophy said.
“When I was in third grade, in the UK, a girl in my elementary school, was murdered,” I reveal.
“What?!” Anna says.
“Oh, my GOD!” Lisa gasps.
“Spill” Leong demands.
“Her name was Kennedy,” I begin, “She was in another class, I didn’t know her but I started to imagine that I’d known her. I’d think of her playing on the swings in a yellow dress, in daydreams and in nightmares.”
“I can see that,” Leong said.
“I was flummoxed, at the time, how a family could lose a little girl and a president.” I added.
Anna looked confused.
“I was in third grade,” I replied, ”what did I know?”
“Go ON,” Lisa prompts.
“We heard that she was walking home and got snatched,” I continued.
“Jesus,” Lisa said, shaking her head.
“Although I never walked home, I was careful not to be snatched for a while,” I summarized.
“I bet,” Anna agreed.
“That’s what I’d change,” I said, “Poor Kennedy.”
“People **** Lisa pronounced, and there was general agreement to that.
Apr 29, 2022
Apr 29, 2022 at 1:45 PM UTC
I had a boyfriend.
His name was - well, I can't tell you.
He came into poverty of spirit - like the rest of us.
Jesus! Who left us here!
We looked around.
Didn't recognize a thing,
which was why
we congregated, delicate souls together,
following one another around.
We recognized each other,
our sense of loss,
what was meant to be.
Like a dutiful pup
returning a dry stick,
we tried to make a go of it,
struggling against all hope
to navigate our way through
unfamiliar
hostile
landscape.
In the end,
it was not enough.
So sad.
Little did we know --
it was all just a game
and we were the pawns.
Far, far beyond the universe
could be heard tittering
teacup laughter.
Massive,
caliginous clouds
bowed to the sound, and
scattered,
foiling
their resolve
to wreak havoc.
In their wake,
a breath of dampness escaped,
a blessing.
The dry stick
has been planted.
Tiny outstretched
green buds
beg to be noticed,
nurtured.
Maybe we can make this our home
after all.
Sep 29, 2012
Sep 29, 2012 at 1:14 AM UTC
The bees took their brethren back,
veterans of the poppy fields.
I supposed it had been a gang war:
rival hives congregated for the conducting of a quick mess.
The buzzing echo of last hurrahs went back and forth,
ripping through the war-marred air.
All the pomp in young yellow coats was bled out,
the limp black blood of limp bodies staining the survivors with black stripes.
Busy bees,
no pollen-love today,
just the broken hours of cleaning up a quick mess.
Bodies are collected,
damages inspected,
and small minds prepare for the resuming of a honeyed life tomorrow.
Yet, to the wail of queens,
crying in cricket language at mass wakes,
I think to myself:
How many flowers stand awaiting
the coming of lovers that will never come.
Jul 26, 2012
Jul 26, 2012 at 3:16 PM UTC
paris...
no american in sight, or how i just see utopia...
songs on the steps of sacré-cœur, kissing
an american girl, then cheese and wine
next to the Eiffel tower, laughing, joking, trailing
and tailing off with talk of nabokov,
the nightclub scene with ping-pong ecstasy dances,
youth, youth, youth,
of youth that congregated once in those places,
parisian girls congregating for a game french hushes
with the chinese whispers and anglo comic charades
learned from the conquering normans...
paris back then, what wouldn't i have given for it,
but i learned of starving north,
where lecture upon lecture repeated david hume,
and i said:
it's the 21st century after all!
make edinburgh the new paris!
oh paris, but paris stay intact,
with the eiffel tower in my palm,
where all love met no love
but love met love all the more fictive,
written with a million reincarnations
that once told a tale of warring fractions known
as factions,
and it was told so: paris of my past where
i walked the streets with the compass height
ordaining coordinates that the tower was
to thus learn:
in times of panicky sentencing est mort,
people congregate in hawkish gaze
at monuments of their bone and marrow
turned into cement and irons of scaffold,
and there they congregate to ogle a new hope
when encouraged by a new fascination
of those that are less amazed by the phonetic
simplicity of animals than those who keep them.
oh paris, how i too wished things would have
remained a truer you begging truancy
from international press coverage,
how that one summer i became embedded
in taking to sleep on rock that felt like
woollen napkins filled with duck quills.
and in the memoriam altar two boys played
this song: as entombed by the title.
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 8:46 PM UTC
Detect emotional obsession.
I confess
I'm obsessed with
Conversational progression.
Agressive, kinda reckless.
Something restless.
Only restless from these
Restless nights...
Depression?
Congregated thoughts don't
Cause emotional recession.
And rejection
Is the only way my pride can be
Deflected.
Forgive me, I am feckless.
My mother gave me life, and yes
I see that she regrets it!
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 8:28 AM UTC
As the last few heartbeats ticked away
The world stopped turning
Everyone stood still
Skyscrapers turned purple
Purple waterfalls
Purple skies
Purple tears
Across the globe
People congregated dancing to the beats
Of a fallen warrior
And people hung their heads low
Filled with sorrow
Over the death of a legend
Younger generations exposed to the music
That shaped their parents
A whole world stopped
From the loss of a single man
All around the world
Everything stopped
When all around the world
People are being killed and tortured
When all around the world
Children are being left to die
When all around the world
People are dying on the streets
When all around the world
People are killing themselves
What will it take for the whole world to stop
Just because I died?
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 1:22 PM UTC
and what of depth in dwarf heart
may man keep his balance
for emeralds of knowledge sought,
and knowledge neither emerald
nor sought, be that the eternal quill
of the sharpened elven ear guided
to hear its master's race:
for the darkened elf known as the yrc,
sauron the mighty dark elf,
who's eternal guise was not felt for the wave
upon wave of migrating elves into
the western lands... thus the story a story
of dwarfs who against the canvas of man
where men likened unto gods revealed
the partake of dwarf concern for knowledge
akin to precious gem stones lost kept with
a breeze's briefness emotionally superior,
second's lasting partake in minute, in hour,
but what of day of year?
none be congregated in such assumption,
in such an asylum of kept suntan...
this tale of dwarfs and darkened elves who
would never reach the immortal western shores,
on the canvas of men's story likening themselves
to the gods, here we dug up the ground
by the tree which confused our loot of prohibition
transgressed with neither knowledge of good
or evil; given the bias of numbering a singleton's loot
for a welcome praise unheard.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 10:19 PM UTC
black shadows spread
congregated silhouettes
torn from their sleep
anguish etched on their faces
where nightmares have been dumped
create an avenging rage
of systematic hysteria
beyond all human bonds
become blind
to the anticipated
repressions of reality
entities whose powers
are not fully grasped
grey noise a menacing presence
anthracitic, their blackest tasks
so horrible
creating night in the middle of the day
mischievous and malicious
they are no more
than an eternity away
where a box has no mother
black shapes beg
in their furtive
ballet once again
pure with night
sees the scene
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 3:08 PM UTC
On a filthy street corner
in a town on the outskirts
of the City
we congregated
I was the only white
& was dressed in my usual
tattered finery,
ripped jeans &
a silk shirt
halfway undone
I imagined myself
a sea rover of the Spainish Main
silver 38.
tucked in my
back waistband
I glanced at my 3
comrads, gangsters
of the lower class
sagging jeans
dreadlocks reeking of ****
I imagined myself
a rover
but in truth
we were nothing
but societys corrosion
words were exchanged
by my comrad
& another rover
from down the way
louder
&
angrier
until shots
rang out &
shattered the evenings trance
snapping into action
fire was returned
we held ground
until music
from the keepers
of law
sang down the street
we scattered
I sailed to
the train tracks
but was pursued
I turned & raised
my silver 38.
but the lawman's bullets
took me down hard
the last thing I remember
was the sky
beautiful and orange
with the coming of dusk
the most beautiful evening
I had ever seen
Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 9:00 PM UTC
I am here today, but i may not be tomorrow - a hitchhiker i picked up somewhere between Bennington and Marlboro Vermont
The library at Packer's Corners had
the smell of damp and old
as a lush august climbed the faded
wide wooden planks outside
and we schemed our
nightly dinner theatre performances.
The gang congregated disorderly
across the rocky garden before the (stage) barn,
plates and carafes of wine, rapt in the play.
Marti, a painter with knobby hands, salt and pepper hair,
the face of a sage and a speech impediment;
Veranda must have been a muse with her sharp
bohemian features and sleek black bob,
smelling of rosemary and musky Parisian perfume;
Oona, so young and stormy crashed about
those mountains in moods as protean
as Vermont weather and jeans
that were more holes than fabric;
Cootie, in his black goatee and the scent of
cooking oils under his mottled and freckled skin
would squint through the bugs and heat wave haze
to Marco on the pitcher's mound
scuffing his mortorcycle boots into the
sandy tan soil riddled with stones and
laughing with the reckless abandon that
waters the eyes with antifreeze for the soul
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 12:29 AM UTC
rain continues to fall
on and on window
battered like a steel
drum and you don't
get used to it there's
something unsettling
about rain that runs
for days makes you
wonder about the state
of the oceans
are they still full or
has all the water gone,
congregated here on
our lips and skin so
much coming in my
gut is full to the brim,
i cough and it's a horror
movie; schools of krill,
seagrass, algae.
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 6:05 AM UTC
Birthed from the realms of finite
Exist the twilight purple hue
Bruised , sociocultural views
Congregated
Elevations of the so called unholy mundane , the evocative refrains of the woman's vally
Inexplicably shaped by the hands of men who can know no more what to be a woman feels and it is for a woman to feel what a man is
*** sells . *** sells. What condensed canned factory excuse is this ? *** sells , ah then we must continue to **** eah others minds - yes. That seems apt. Seems reasonable.
Oh , it makes money ? Right - quick up on the double put *** on everything ! WAIt! What is *** ? Make it taboo first , then sell it ... Openly ... Wonderful .. Wonderful.. Oh also whilst your at it ... Make sure you coin the word love ... Yes that should bring humanity to their knees... Oh no wait , haha , wait... Also coin the word God, take their faith and take thier hearts and yes make money , oh ... Oh .. No wait , one more thing ... Coin the terms right and wrong ... Stifle their imaginations with doctors notes ordering the consumption of scientific make believe ... Haha I deplore you one last thing .... Take thier children , and dictate exactly how a child enters this world... Cut open the mothers womb , tear it to shreds , call it medicine , call it anything as long as *** sells and money is made...
Do you see what I see ?
I see that this smog , this veil is very , very , very , thin .
And I've seen beyond the ingrained Pre-programmed neuron pathways that exist in sub ether relms ,these rely on the capacity for one not to notice..... Not to notice the infinite joy and beauty in the so called mundane - in the simple observation
Of the one doing the observing .
And beyond that.... Well it all crumbles away... Revealing ( at least for me) the Eden we never left....
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 2:34 AM UTC
The wind's blustery paw mauled the night
rattling slack shutters and
shuddering corrugated roofs
like small change.
Sodden leaves congregated
in walled corner pockets,
praying for a last crack at dryness
and the playful kick and crunch of kids' feet.
Stray tomcat slunk
beneath
an s.u.v.
cowering at the naked trees
whose limbs fumbled drunkenly.
Not quite Munch's infinite scream,
but the closest thing I want to see
this night.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 5:40 PM UTC
Growing up, I was stuck in this delusion where
Starving kids in Africa,
Homeless people from all over,
And boogeymen congregated at a large table,
Discussing whom to target next.
Stealing Santa’s Naughty list and
Checking them all off.
One by one.
That list grew ever longer,
Of course it did, my family wouldn’t
Stop having babies.
But they were stuck on me it seemed.
They still are,
Ruining me one year at a time.
Now I know the truth.
Now I know it’s always just been the two of you.
You’re both bandits on the run,
Catching a ride on the train that winds through my mind.
Thieves that steal the tracks after they’ve passed,
Leaving me nothing to fix myself with.
And when I say that you two
Are the tears on my pillowcase,
I mean to say that I cannot exhale
Enough carbon dioxide from my lungs
To rid myself of you forever.
I’ve cried myself dry,
And expelled all my breaths enough
Times to be an empty vessel,
Yet I still find remnants of
Shoelaces,
Glass cups,
And false smiles under
My fingernail when I awake.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC