"corkscrews" poems
Eats the lovers head after coitus
Something tells me a black widow is better
Dogs get stuck together
is that a style?
Pigs can ****** for 30 minutes
little corkscrews
mules can't reproduce do they have fun?
seahorse males carry the pregnancy to term
penguins take turns incubating
in extreme conditions
humans get joint custody
Mar 22, 2010
Mar 22, 2010 at 10:44 PM UTC
Our trajectory is unknowable, you tell me: the planet
corkscrews around the Sun, sure,
but the Sun corkscrews around a black hole at
the heart of the Milky Way,
and our whole galaxy travels on some mysterious,
incalculable vector. But sister, I saw a photograph
in which two whale sharks were brought to
heel by men in simple reed boats just
off the coast of the Philippines. All that they had
to do was often feed
the sharks many gallons of grocery-store frozen
shrimp, poured from plastic garbage bags into
their yawning six-foot maws to portside.
Gargantuan, sure, but still
as obedient and eager for food as backyard
squirrels. I remembered a grainy
internet video—I saw it probably seven or
eight years back—in which
a captured whale shark was winched
ashore in Madagascar, or
maybe it was the Philippines again—no matter—
the thing still had life left
in it and struggled to breathe while a crowd of
people gathered around—there were
women carrying babies, girls holding baskets atop
their heads—and then the
men came with a long slender blade and sliced clean
through the whale’s spine, vivisected it
right there on the dock, and the onlookers stood there quite
unfazed—I remember
being shocked at the effortlessness of the cut,
the pinkness of the whale’s blood,
and the boredom in the onlookers’ eyes. Our father
took us down to San Antonio
on one of his business trips there when we were five
or six—I think
you were probably too young to
remember it—
it was when you and I saw the ocean for the first
time. We drove down to the Gulf
of Mexico, and we saw waves breaking
out near the horizon in pale
sunlight. I kept scanning for a dorsal
fin off beyond
the breakers, thinking that I might spot one—
sandy brown, mottled with
cream spots and glistening—so that I might be able to
say to you, pointing, “look,
sister, there is a whale shark!” Years
later we would learn
that he traveled down to San Antonio so
frequently because he was a philanderer. As
a child I believed that whale sharks
crisscrossed the ocean following
paths that we couldn’t fathom, that
their concerns were somehow
beyond our comprehension, but then
Keppler pinned down
the shape of the Earth’s orbit over four
hundred years ago,
and the lives of ancient sea
titans are sundered
effortlessly
by men with indifferent faces.
Sep 22, 2023
Sep 22, 2023 at 2:27 AM UTC
South Maine
the white beaches of Ogunquit
where the tide shrinks the shoreline
where the mud is made new
Lucy corkscrews her toes
digging deeper and deeper
What are you doing sweetheart
though she's my niece I pretend she's my daughter
I want to hit bottom so I can climb to the top
though she's four she's wiser than me
squawking seagulls float above
an orange glow seeps off the edge of the clouds
as they hustle west
Josh
Yes
Is the ocean forever
Of course I say as a wave washes her feet clean
I wish we were oceans
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 4:41 PM UTC
I wish I could breathe
in free poetry
It'd make it easier
for me
to pick locks with
diamond corkscrews
and drown my veins
in the sea
*I never chose to be
a prophet
Lucky for me that
I'm not
and I'm too busy
shooting dynamite
in an overcrowded
lot.*
I don't believe in
Angels' rib-bones
or self obsessive
killer whales
I only picture
sonic-boom clouds
and some lucky
monkey tails
Hey there, kid
look in the mirror
You've got some gerber
on your face
"wipe it off
with my corset"
said the Queen in
all her grace
The knights abandoned
all their fresh blood
and the courtesy
of blades
for the sake of a single ruby
to be run through
by four spades
I hid my eyes
from the man
who covered himself
in tattoos
like a demonic
kind of blanket
and twisted letters
in a noose
May 9, 2011
May 9, 2011 at 3:53 PM UTC
twisted words turn into twisted people
as they run around trying to seem well
and when they're twisting themselves more and more;
and when they unwind, slowly and vapidly,
they all start to hit the floor.
the bottle slid down to the floor so long ago,
but you were the only one who were to ever know
the reason i'd twisted the truth so much into a lie;
the reason i'd twisted what you saw, languidly,
through your twisted eyes.
as we all fell out in our fallout shelters
our twisted lives all, in an instant, began to welter
to the corkscrew sound waves coming out now;
to the corkscrews and corks lying about, sadly,
because we were all gonna die here, someway, somehow.
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 4:14 AM UTC
Those lips: The lips that turned that smile into gold-
So I persist.
As I leaned in, so did you.
So fun and new and oh!
Oh my,
Those lips.
The feeling went from my head and trickled down my spine;
Oh ****
Those lips.
I didn’t know how but ******* my heart felt so fresh,
Because of those lips.
Your smile got so wide and I couldn’t help but blush,
God I get so nervous- those lips!
As I got up, you took my hand in yours,
Oh my gosh,
Those hands.
The hands that have touched previous entities:
Landscapes, buildings, cars, firewood, corkscrews…
…muses.
But those girls had such taste-
Who could resist that touch from those hands!
When you slowly brushed your hand against mine,
Embarrassingly, I hesitated.
Suddenly,
I found myself gradually stroking your head;
Stroking your chin, your nose, your hands,
Your heart.
Was this wrong? Is it selfish to give into a desire?
My fire, my flame, my love. It grew.
I was me and you were you; how beautiful.
It was all perfect, it all felt infinite,
But it wasn't.
We set ourselves up.
Right?
Or were we the ones set up?
A ploy, a “ha ha”, or rather a **** you.
I don’t get it.
I just want those hands,
I just want those lips; that smile.
Wait, those eyes!
Soft, warm;
Secretive.
Those eyes wouldn’t tell me anything,
They were so hard to read.
Was this just me? Can he see what I see?
Shades so deep and alluring,
I get lost in those eyes.
They have stories to tell, and I wanna know more.
Don’t take away those eyes.
But alas, we must part,
Maybe for a little while, maybe for good.
I had fun, and I hope you did too.
But oh,
I love you.
Don’t you see, I get you and you get me.
Maybe it’s just me who sees.
Goodbye my darling dearest,
Au revoir my sugarpie,
Until we meet again.
Your scent lingered on my shirt,
I slowly pulled away.
What am I doing?
Is this wrong?
I should have told you from the start,
You should have known my love,
But it wasn’t right;
I’m sorry.
Now you give me kisses, and I give them back;
For your lips are far too gentle to hesitate.
Your wit, your jokes, your laugh.
Stroking your hair and hearing that laugh.
Your dreams,
My dreams.
My world in those hands.
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 7:44 PM UTC
…For Now
the people I know are talking taxes, the price of heat, ******* food!
The people he serves
wipe their spoons on silk napkins, slap each others’ shoulders
take each others’ wineskins, corkscrews in their eyeballs,
walL sT. on their grins
The people I know get up in the morning, every morning,
everyday (in every possible way) to get to work,
work all day, then come home tired, a bit more afraid
The people he serves are out of his league
truly rich men with swash-buckle needs
avarice men with bundles of greed
to lay upon the stooges who desecrate the dream
who pick up the court jester and let him play lead…
we fund them both – the rich man and the clown
dress them up in emperor clothes, bow down
to their blows, we take it all and plead for parity,
wipe their smell from blistered hands
cuddle in cameraless work-cells
with a smartphone or a podcast jam
The people I know talk about the government
the inequality, the lopsided way it’s rigged,
the unfairness in squeezing every dime
tell each other things like – ‘chin-up’ ‘don’t give up’
‘nothing we can do about it anyway’
The people I know,
talk
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 11:58 PM UTC
Onward, we travel, eyes shielded by off-white --
optimism. The blind lead the blind. Around our feet
the decrepit lie unseen. The blinded lose their sense
and the sound of weeping is kept in the blacks
and deepest greys, swallowed by relentless light.
Limbs drag against gravel, knuckles
****** leaving trails. We stoop in our agony,
ankles twisted like corkscrews. Still we persevere.
It is our hope that should we press on,
the pain will be rewarded. We are
consumed by instinct – survive.
We suffer most as we ignore the sting of existence.
We try to ignore the inevitability of death as we strive
again towards our prayers of a golden, personal prize.
We need salvation in the form of shelter
from the rain of sickened green and haze
that has stolen our sight.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 11:13 PM UTC
Often passion is drawn out of the earth
Through the feet and it radiates upwards
Through the body, tracing the limbs
Finally it bottles at the neck,
Never making it to the head
Where it can be reasoned with
Taking out our corkscrews
We pop the bottles and
Drink in the ecstasy
Like wine
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 10:37 PM UTC
You get on as soon as you’re born
No maximum or minimum height requirement
Your body tenses up and becomes warm
As you get strapped in for the ride of your life
Throughout the many twists and turns
The different amounts of speed and velocity
Leaving small little wrinkles and wind burns
Scarring your body until the very end
Everyone’s ride on this coaster is utterly different
Many different experiences between all individuals
Some of these riders will encounter many hills
While others will experience more corkscrews and spirals
Even though some rides are shorter than others
And although everyone ends the exact same way
Only most people have a calming and soothing finale
At the end of everyone’s ride is the exact same
Finally they come to the end, entering into a dark, quiet valley
A valley that leads them to their final resting point
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 7:49 PM UTC
And as the day approaches
the knife slowly corkscrews
its way through your heart.
and though we can see the effects,
the pain that threatens to swallow everything,
we cannot see the knife anymore.
You cannot see the knife anymore.
We stand by helplessly
unable to do anything
but watch its path and the holes it leaves
and watch you grapple with yourself
while still holding the knife.
Sometimes by the handle.
Sometimes by the blade.
We cannot see the knife anymore.
You cannot see the knife anymore.
The knife digs its way deeper with each day
and we don't know if the holes
are there because of the knife
or if the knife is there
to fill the holes.
We cannot see the knife anymore.
You cannot see the knife anymore.
It has grown into a part of you
So much that your silhouettes
Have melded and you have rebuilt yourself
Around it.
You do not know who you would be without it.
You like yourself with the sharp tang
of fresh blood
rather than the complacent scabs
of healed wounds.
I know all this and yet
Given the chance
I would draw out
the knife.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 2:36 PM UTC
There is a line that curves across
the middle of my stomach like the kitchen
of newly weds. Its twin is only two inches
above, rests right below my ******* which hang
like empty carcasses. I am still embarrassed
by them, even after a girl told me that it is ok
if they are not so full or small, in fact it is normal.
I remember that hers were full and small, I remember
that all of the boys loved her. I remember her complaining,
too; it was her skin, I think (its color). My skin falls from
the wrong bones like sinks or manmade waterfalls, both
of which I have learned are the same only nobody will
ever admit it, least of all my father. My eyes are the same
as my father’s, my hands are his hands, and then there is my face,
which rounds like a mountain range. My nails grow dirt easily.
My belly is the most vulnerable in that it corkscrews out
like the bottles of wine that my family drinks at holiday
dinners. Last night in the basement a boy touched
his hand to my gut and I had to move it away, I had to move
it again after he let it ground onto my waist. Today I
am afraid that this is why he hasn’t asked to see me tonight.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 11:15 PM UTC
Our first time was in a honey-colored
Cadillac on the caramel seat covers.
My hair was combed back;
yours was corkscrews at the ends
of fine blushes both ways.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 12:51 AM UTC
Dusk is brief in valleys.
but daytime slowly washed, skin, scraped carefully
to eat, covered in
scents delivered by transparent bag
mingling with garden trees and the cattle flies from fields nearby.
Rare, imported light-bulb light
passes through hair,
hands sit dwarfed
and distort in wine glasses,
the split *** mumbles rises on the hob
for Callisto outside, dancing prosaically about a very thin pole.
Conversations become excuses to stare at lips,
and songs suggested without conviction
play unfinished.
The music is softer now, the group diminished.
Getting heavier things.
Extremities in particular, and a few more sophisticated objects.
Corkscrews like ingots and eyelashes masscarad in lead.
There are the last lights and the thin summer sheets
that get in the way; stuck to sweaty –‘tertwined and clumsy--
Ash and tannin obscure the smell of gums
(and sometimes even the folded sent of neck and jaw).
More sweat is generated
Sleep does not come
or so it feels
when
morning is slightly too soon
bright and curtainless
and the beauty is sifted fruity and fuckless soft but moaning.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 12:46 PM UTC
Beings with trunks for ears, duct tape for eyes, and nozzles for digits…… Oh, what horror is this? I do not dream of the world anymore, just the rotten carcass of my amygdala. Suchasmall space to wade through…. so cold, yes? Coconuts falling down pants, with pinstriped sections separated by a ragged burlap fur. Googly eyes, slick and shiny, privy in decadence. A skinned raccoon goes soulless in splendour as it receives ******** from a malnourished Mickey Mouse. Corkscrews enter the ears.
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 1:03 PM UTC
The universe is stretching her arms
and I am a snake
winding venom in corkscrews to hide from the harms
The stars begin sounding their alarms
and I am an oyster
concealing my beauty, protecting my charms
Feb 1, 2022
Feb 1, 2022 at 3:39 PM UTC
The kisses of my Rainbow Princess leave me in bliss.......
I am the perfect picture of "ex static" happiness.
The first warms like the sun on my face when I'm colder,
it keeps me in line like a Chinese Soldier.
The second in my hair makes it curls on end, I sink like a snorkeler getting the bends.
The third on my neck from brown caramel lips,
so deep I can feel it down in my hips.
The fourth like an Olympic diver off the tip of my nose,
it does a "Triple Lindy" and smells like a rose.
The fifth on my forehead the tongues light protrusion,
just waltzing the edge of my waking confusion.
The sixth in my right ear as sweet as sin, corkscrews in my brain like that plane in "Tailspin".
The last on each eyelid so discrete, softer and lighter than Bambi's deer feet.
And my eyes open................
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 10:54 AM UTC
there’s something akin to nuts and bolts in my heart, i think.
sometimes i wonder if it’s made out of stone,
or if it’s a machine.
feelings are messy —
and even though the world gave them names,
i can’t match the descriptions,
so i just rename.
something within sometimes pinches too hard.
i’m left wincing,
rubbing at my chest
as if it’ll soothe my past.
i intend to move on — that, i do —
but i can’t put it into words,
can’t explain why i am just because.
"i wasn’t always like this" —
but this?
i don’t know which version of me i speak of.
i’m worried.
deathly worried, more so.
but i just want to keep existing,
’cause —
what if there’s someone out there
willing to oil up these corkscrews in my brain,
have it speak to my heart,
make it make me speak —
and spell it all out?
i intend to find a love.
a mate.
’cause if i was born with something that intends to hurt,
i can’t believe
i was born without someone
who intends to heal
and aid.
May 24, 2025
May 24, 2025 at 2:22 PM UTC