"corpuscles" poems - Hello Poetry

"corpuscles" poems

Sometimes I wake up to spatial tension and awkward sting, where there are fractions of unwanted proteins and dripping enzymes. Sometimes I wake up to obsidian corpuscles of unknown origin and encounters with sentiment-shakers, dream-eaters, and rafter-rattlers. Sometimes it is as simple as dripping beige, intangible amber, and cold, cold, blue. Sometimes I wake up to nothing, too.

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Apr 23, 2014

Apr 23, 2014 at 10:46 PM UTC

Sometimes I wake up to spatial tension and awkward sting, where there are fractions of unwanted proteins and dripping enzymes. Sometimes I wake up to obsidian corpuscles of unknown origin and encounters with sentiment-shakers, dream-eaters, and rafter-rattlers. Sometimes it is as simple as dripping beige, intangible amber, and cold, cold, blue. Sometimes I wake up to nothing, too.

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You come in late, wiping your lips. What did I leave untouched on the doorstep--- White Nike, Streaming between my walls? Smilingly, blue lightning Assumes, like a meathook, the burden of his parts. The police love you, you confess everything. Bright hair, shoe-black, old plastic, Is my life so intriguing? Is it for this you widen your eye-rings? Is it for this the air motes depart? They rae not air motes, they are corpuscles. Open your handbag. What is that bad smell? It is your knitting, busily Hooking itself to itself, It is your sticky candies. I have your head on my wall. Navel cords, blue-red and lucent, Shriek from my belly like arrows, and these I ride. O moon-glow, o sick one, The stolen horses, the fornications Circle a womb of marble. Where are you going That you **** breath like mileage? Sulfurous adulteries grieve in a dream. Cold glass, how you insert yourself Between myself and myself. I scratch like a cat. The blood that runs is dark fruit--- An effect, a cosmetic. You smile. No, it is not fatal.

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17.8k

You come in late, wiping your lips. What did I leave untouched on the doorstep--- White Nike, Streaming between my walls? Smilingly, blue lightning Assumes, like a meathook, the burden of his parts. The police love you, you confess everything. Bright hair, shoe-black, old plastic, Is my life so intriguing? Is it for this you widen your eye-rings? Is it for this the air motes depart? They rae not air motes, they are corpuscles. Open your handbag. What is that bad smell? It is your knitting, busily Hooking itself to itself, It is your sticky candies. I have your head on my wall. Navel cords, blue-red and lucent, Shriek from my belly like arrows, and these I ride. O moon-glow, o sick one, The stolen horses, the fornications Circle a womb of marble. Where are you going That you **** breath like mileage? Sulfurous adulteries grieve in a dream. Cold glass, how you insert yourself Between myself and myself. I scratch like a cat. The blood that runs is dark fruit--- An effect, a cosmetic. You smile. No, it is not fatal.

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Discoboli of African poetry has now sparked above aphasia The aphasic silence today breaks eardrums with cacophony Of the world audience in the by standing duty of workshop tubes, Executing poetic experiment on the origin of **** poeticus To link the archaic baboonish proteins to the black chimpanzee Cradling African man, the sire of all and their poetry. That when the Chimpanzee blood we poured Into the African veins of vena cava and aorta, Feeding the heart with viscosity of nutrition, And the Chimpanzee blood fell into deadly Tomperousness like Shakespearean impetuosity Once seen in Romeo and Juliet, giving timely Birth To untimely half the yellow Sun That juxtaposed planet of poetry Behind the star of tribe as a priority Condemning to stark oblivion all the fated, in full uniform of tribal dimunitions, or mimesis. Ever predated on when tribes form nations. A time to try the chimpanzee blood in the veins Of white humanity, battling cynosure Historically evinced in Antony and his father, Or Tybalt and Mercurial of mercutio, Or Macbeth and counterparts Or Hamlet the Danish and the inheritors of his mother, As the white blood cells of the white blood, Militantly attack the white corpuscles Of the misfortunate chimpanzee, Converting the later into A chewer of misfortune.

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Apr 26, 2014

Apr 26, 2014 at 11:55 AM UTC

alexander-k-opicho

CHIMPANZEE BLOOD INSIDE AFRICAN VEINES

Discoboli of African poetry has now sparked above aphasia The aphasic silence today breaks eardrums with cacophony Of the world audience in the by standing duty of workshop tubes, Executing poetic experiment on the origin of **** poeticus To link the archaic baboonish proteins to the black chimpanzee Cradling African man, the sire of all and their poetry. That when the Chimpanzee blood we poured Into the African veins of vena cava and aorta, Feeding the heart with viscosity of nutrition, And the Chimpanzee blood fell into deadly Tomperousness like Shakespearean impetuosity Once seen in Romeo and Juliet, giving timely Birth To untimely half the yellow Sun That juxtaposed planet of poetry Behind the star of tribe as a priority Condemning to stark oblivion all the fated, in full uniform of tribal dimunitions, or mimesis. Ever predated on when tribes form nations. A time to try the chimpanzee blood in the veins Of white humanity, battling cynosure Historically evinced in Antony and his father, Or Tybalt and Mercurial of mercutio, Or Macbeth and counterparts Or Hamlet the Danish and the inheritors of his mother, As the white blood cells of the white blood, Militantly attack the white corpuscles Of the misfortunate chimpanzee, Converting the later into A chewer of misfortune.

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THE Government--I heard about the Government and I went out to find it. I said I would look closely at it when I saw it. Then I saw a policeman dragging a drunken man to the callaboose. It was the Government in action. I saw a ward alderman slip into an office one morning and talk with a judge. Later in the day the judge dismissed a case against a pickpocket who was a live ward worker for the alderman. Again I saw this was the Government, doing things. I saw militiamen level their rifles at a crowd of work- ingmen who were trying to get other workingmen to stay away from a shop where there was a strike on. Government in action. Everywhere I saw that Government is a thing made of men, that Government has blood and bones, it is many mouths whispering into many ears, sending telegrams, aiming rifles, writing orders, saying "yes" and "no." Government dies as the men who form it die and are laid away in their graves and the new Government that comes after is human, made of heartbeats of blood, ambitions, lusts, and money running through it all, money paid and money taken, and money covered up and spoken of with hushed voices. A Government is just as secret and mysterious and sensi- tive as any human sinner carrying a load of germs, traditions and corpuscles handed down from fathers and mothers away back.

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7.4k

THE Government--I heard about the Government and I went out to find it. I said I would look closely at it when I saw it. Then I saw a policeman dragging a drunken man to the callaboose. It was the Government in action. I saw a ward alderman slip into an office one morning and talk with a judge. Later in the day the judge dismissed a case against a pickpocket who was a live ward worker for the alderman. Again I saw this was the Government, doing things. I saw militiamen level their rifles at a crowd of work- ingmen who were trying to get other workingmen to stay away from a shop where there was a strike on. Government in action. Everywhere I saw that Government is a thing made of men, that Government has blood and bones, it is many mouths whispering into many ears, sending telegrams, aiming rifles, writing orders, saying "yes" and "no." Government dies as the men who form it die and are laid away in their graves and the new Government that comes after is human, made of heartbeats of blood, ambitions, lusts, and money running through it all, money paid and money taken, and money covered up and spoken of with hushed voices. A Government is just as secret and mysterious and sensi- tive as any human sinner carrying a load of germs, traditions and corpuscles handed down from fathers and mothers away back.

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What will you do when the clocks no longer tell? After you smash to pieces Cronos' clock And you slip into the stillpoint as the Eye opens In the palm of your hand; after you cross The Threshold and return to offer up your Boon To man. When the ego falls away and you begin your Gift of servitude. When the trees drip light, and each child you See has around their head a circle of light. Light surging up and over, Bleeding from eyes and hands; Oceans of light illuminating beaches; Lovers enveloped in a cocoon of light; The crow blasting through photons, Climbing currents into the face of the sun To erupt in all-consuming flame; Like William Blake driving Apollo's Chariot into a supernova; Walt Whitman pulling from the River Why a fish erupting and igniting his Beard, showering him in corpuscles of light; Like a Devish whirling, shooting off sparks And laughing like a madman dancing and Burning in the Dragon's jaws. And Vincent, in your dreams, deep in a Sea of sunflowers looking up at you With the wondrous eyes of a child And waving his arms like a Sorcerer Conjuring and you see what he sees: Heaven in a wildflower.

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Oct 30, 2010

Oct 30, 2010 at 6:50 AM UTC

christopher-crow

Heaven In A Wildflower

What will you do when the clocks no longer tell? After you smash to pieces Cronos' clock And you slip into the stillpoint as the Eye opens In the palm of your hand; after you cross The Threshold and return to offer up your Boon To man. When the ego falls away and you begin your Gift of servitude. When the trees drip light, and each child you See has around their head a circle of light. Light surging up and over, Bleeding from eyes and hands; Oceans of light illuminating beaches; Lovers enveloped in a cocoon of light; The crow blasting through photons, Climbing currents into the face of the sun To erupt in all-consuming flame; Like William Blake driving Apollo's Chariot into a supernova; Walt Whitman pulling from the River Why a fish erupting and igniting his Beard, showering him in corpuscles of light; Like a Devish whirling, shooting off sparks And laughing like a madman dancing and Burning in the Dragon's jaws. And Vincent, in your dreams, deep in a Sea of sunflowers looking up at you With the wondrous eyes of a child And waving his arms like a Sorcerer Conjuring and you see what he sees: Heaven in a wildflower.

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There is no dusk in this city penetrated by the raging Potomac, Night just crams itself in and rapes the day dry - lays her flat against the horizon. Mothers and children run for covers and put each other to sleep; in a few hours harlots and nighthawks will do the same. Sweet Siren You are this city Petticoated and pretty, Cunning and stunning Winking and blinking Red Yellow Green eyes popping open like sunken headlights, Ready for the night. I hear your wailing red-flashed and flaming like an open heart, piercing the black with it's plea. I feel your pulse-pumping red corpuscles thrusting me deep into lusting for things forbidden and hidden Somewhere inside this neon wonderland. Sweet Siren, Sing your teasing tunes for me Deliver me from your shelters and streets, Where infidels and angels Fall at your feet. Sweet Siren, Deliver me to the Trembling shelter of your sheets. Liars and their lies roam this concrete jungle begging for love and razors and other disposable items. You go screaming passed them though, determined to save at least one numb drunk *** in some rain cleansed back alley of vices; only to fool your own conscience with the lithium laced smile of charity. Sweet Siren Quiet your angry shrill to a hush The tarmac and taxis are tired of us And your princes and saviors have fled this town. Sweet Siren, It's time for us to burn this city down And leave the ashes For the thieves and the clowns.

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Aug 14, 2013

Aug 14, 2013 at 1:58 PM UTC

There is no dusk in this city penetrated by the raging Potomac, Night just crams itself in and rapes the day dry - lays her flat against the horizon. Mothers and children run for covers and put each other to sleep; in a few hours harlots and nighthawks will do the same. Sweet Siren You are this city Petticoated and pretty, Cunning and stunning Winking and blinking Red Yellow Green eyes popping open like sunken headlights, Ready for the night. I hear your wailing red-flashed and flaming like an open heart, piercing the black with it's plea. I feel your pulse-pumping red corpuscles thrusting me deep into lusting for things forbidden and hidden Somewhere inside this neon wonderland. Sweet Siren, Sing your teasing tunes for me Deliver me from your shelters and streets, Where infidels and angels Fall at your feet. Sweet Siren, Deliver me to the Trembling shelter of your sheets. Liars and their lies roam this concrete jungle begging for love and razors and other disposable items. You go screaming passed them though, determined to save at least one numb drunk *** in some rain cleansed back alley of vices; only to fool your own conscience with the lithium laced smile of charity. Sweet Siren Quiet your angry shrill to a hush The tarmac and taxis are tired of us And your princes and saviors have fled this town. Sweet Siren, It's time for us to burn this city down And leave the ashes For the thieves and the clowns.

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This twilight sky Is like an indigo-orange symphony, In which the light is absorbed To be decomposed in corpuscles. It may be ours until we die. I may be your tree-woman ,a Ginkgo, That Ginkgo having a stony trunk And pure violet spiritual eyes To look at you, While the leaves are trembling Their green sound. Slowly, you may become my tree-lover-man, While a star in the universe is dying for our love. I may feel that force aspiring the quanta of light Near you. Come and be my black infinity, While this earth is cracking its crust From time to time And especially now As at any end of the time. Wind is your embrace, Next to this field of Nepal poppies trembling their hypnotic Red melodious shadow And near this ripe wheat field Loudly shaking its tired yellow. The wind is crazily singing and dancing around. I seemingly hear some astral blue songs. It's like a jazz blues chord progression. Our leaves cling to its long hair. I feel the rainbow of sounds, I feel this love.

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Jan 9, 2012

Jan 9, 2012 at 8:42 PM UTC

The Rainbow Of Sounds

This twilight sky Is like an indigo-orange symphony, In which the light is absorbed To be decomposed in corpuscles. It may be ours until we die. I may be your tree-woman ,a Ginkgo, That Ginkgo having a stony trunk And pure violet spiritual eyes To look at you, While the leaves are trembling Their green sound. Slowly, you may become my tree-lover-man, While a star in the universe is dying for our love. I may feel that force aspiring the quanta of light Near you. Come and be my black infinity, While this earth is cracking its crust From time to time And especially now As at any end of the time. Wind is your embrace, Next to this field of Nepal poppies trembling their hypnotic Red melodious shadow And near this ripe wheat field Loudly shaking its tired yellow. The wind is crazily singing and dancing around. I seemingly hear some astral blue songs. It's like a jazz blues chord progression. Our leaves cling to its long hair. I feel the rainbow of sounds, I feel this love.

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My trajectory But for the lot of Gravity Upon branches as corpuscles divinely drawing The blood work into ORGANS:(n) 1) those unsteady agreements of chemistry warring Seeping into the lea of each moment We wince As sunlight finds its way in

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Jul 30, 2018

Jul 30, 2018 at 10:26 AM UTC

My trajectory But for the lot of Gravity Upon branches as corpuscles divinely drawing The blood work into ORGANS:(n) 1) those unsteady agreements of chemistry warring Seeping into the lea of each moment We wince As sunlight finds its way in

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You visit this place You do not stay long There’s nothing here that speaks of settlement Everything you do has an edge of intensity wet by the weather sharpened by the clock If you try to be still in what passes for shelter the wind will find you seek you out So with the camera your primary tool begin to collect - image after image after image Point and click : view and share Eventually the mark-making begins though fraught with difficulty it seems just hopeless this testing out of the body’s response to what passes before the scanning eye Blink and the image shifts There is this fierce and on-going campaign between the near : between the far What lies at your feet : what decorates the horizon. After a few hours wrapped round in nature’s vortex the eye and brain are exhausted by the profusion of it all wearied by the press of wind, the touch of rain, the glare of sun Always the problem of what you do with what you’ve seen and touched with cold hands pulling out metal objects from the sand whose rusted and distressed forms will lie exposed on the studio table The place marks you Rain and wind on the face raise new freckles there’s a salty veneer to the skin the rub of sand : a wash of seawater the grasp of pebbles : wood’s chiromatic grain The lexicon of texture expands under your fingers changes of temperature : degrees of saturation and further uncompromising perspectives unimaginable yet in two dimensions Beyond beachcombing this is seacoast surgery Away from it all (and out of the wind) your memory stretches to the corners of recall Wandering through a home-centred day as in a waking dream knowing you’ve already gathered all manner of sensory matter held and stored in the pineal gland flowing free in Meissner’s corpuscles Even absorbed in conversation’s company as you turn away to fill the kettle you are on the beach back in the wind scanning the memory tin : priming the future.

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Feb 12, 2013

Feb 12, 2013 at 3:54 AM UTC

Textures of Spurn

You visit this place You do not stay long There’s nothing here that speaks of settlement Everything you do has an edge of intensity wet by the weather sharpened by the clock If you try to be still in what passes for shelter the wind will find you seek you out So with the camera your primary tool begin to collect - image after image after image Point and click : view and share Eventually the mark-making begins though fraught with difficulty it seems just hopeless this testing out of the body’s response to what passes before the scanning eye Blink and the image shifts There is this fierce and on-going campaign between the near : between the far What lies at your feet : what decorates the horizon. After a few hours wrapped round in nature’s vortex the eye and brain are exhausted by the profusion of it all wearied by the press of wind, the touch of rain, the glare of sun Always the problem of what you do with what you’ve seen and touched with cold hands pulling out metal objects from the sand whose rusted and distressed forms will lie exposed on the studio table The place marks you Rain and wind on the face raise new freckles there’s a salty veneer to the skin the rub of sand : a wash of seawater the grasp of pebbles : wood’s chiromatic grain The lexicon of texture expands under your fingers changes of temperature : degrees of saturation and further uncompromising perspectives unimaginable yet in two dimensions Beyond beachcombing this is seacoast surgery Away from it all (and out of the wind) your memory stretches to the corners of recall Wandering through a home-centred day as in a waking dream knowing you’ve already gathered all manner of sensory matter held and stored in the pineal gland flowing free in Meissner’s corpuscles Even absorbed in conversation’s company as you turn away to fill the kettle you are on the beach back in the wind scanning the memory tin : priming the future.

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“How can I get you to go down on me,” he asked, without preamble. His voice, nervous, laced with strength hums through her form, summoning a tatting of *** She moves her entire form Across the room pushing solar plexus With index finger The wingback chair collecting His form – assuaging her intent. Retreating nine steps To gather Her acumen in dripping her clothes off Adroit pivot portent gaze locked exteroception - engaged His exhale executed succinctly in shallow lung puckered alveoli - clenched resonates as her own. Pearls scooped catatonic atop lingering breast ascension - alone Remain – Summoning brine. She tastes his pulse Derma puckering sweat globules Redolent aeriform vapor corpuscles declaring his need. Fingers supporting her upper weight she glides - crawling pressing half inch spurs into the carpet Lackadaisical dactyl dance Seizes muscle calf to thigh Invoking listless leg drape Pausing Warm breath – rendered Upon knee cap parallel Framing shoulders Engorging - in aching silence Pulse thick, wrought in shaft Kneeling Primed Proud She flicks the button From slit fabric recess Cupping palms under thigh, She renders garment to puddle half-in – half-out whole chthonic shaft to palette Sliding exhale to mound lax jaw focus Iris entreats - narrowed corneal withdrawal Oblong lip array surrounds Supping the creamy, coppery, Smoky, saline inoculation. Latent dribble invokes tongue Furl about lip cusp Absorbing globule Into slaked smile.

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Feb 19, 2014

Feb 19, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC

Swallowing Pearls and Lace

“How can I get you to go down on me,” he asked, without preamble. His voice, nervous, laced with strength hums through her form, summoning a tatting of *** She moves her entire form Across the room pushing solar plexus With index finger The wingback chair collecting His form – assuaging her intent. Retreating nine steps To gather Her acumen in dripping her clothes off Adroit pivot portent gaze locked exteroception - engaged His exhale executed succinctly in shallow lung puckered alveoli - clenched resonates as her own. Pearls scooped catatonic atop lingering breast ascension - alone Remain – Summoning brine. She tastes his pulse Derma puckering sweat globules Redolent aeriform vapor corpuscles declaring his need. Fingers supporting her upper weight she glides - crawling pressing half inch spurs into the carpet Lackadaisical dactyl dance Seizes muscle calf to thigh Invoking listless leg drape Pausing Warm breath – rendered Upon knee cap parallel Framing shoulders Engorging - in aching silence Pulse thick, wrought in shaft Kneeling Primed Proud She flicks the button From slit fabric recess Cupping palms under thigh, She renders garment to puddle half-in – half-out whole chthonic shaft to palette Sliding exhale to mound lax jaw focus Iris entreats - narrowed corneal withdrawal Oblong lip array surrounds Supping the creamy, coppery, Smoky, saline inoculation. Latent dribble invokes tongue Furl about lip cusp Absorbing globule Into slaked smile.

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City-bus is crawling one zone to another Someone is recalling somebody silently Entering into the dustless cool mall I may dare to tell all the senior ladies love May open the cellular phone. Yellow champak smelling the teen-age Passerby may suffer from unknown blunder It's really an untold epic Somebody feels someone I may redesign my attributes May write some lines on the corpuscles. City-bus is entering into the yesterdays Yellow neon-evening is moving from tomorrows I may fall down to the stoppage May kiss the air might touch your lips someday. City-bus can't cross the globe Can't find your cyber destination! Poem 05 Book 'Beckoning Jade-Dreams' April 2007 Copyright Musharrat Mahjabeen Mizan Publishers, Dhaka, Bangladesh ISBN 984-8700-82-X

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Aug 15, 2012

Aug 15, 2012 at 2:30 PM UTC

ashraful-musaddeq

City-bus is crawling one zone to another Someone is recalling somebody silently Entering into the dustless cool mall I may dare to tell all the senior ladies love May open the cellular phone. Yellow champak smelling the teen-age Passerby may suffer from unknown blunder It's really an untold epic Somebody feels someone I may redesign my attributes May write some lines on the corpuscles. City-bus is entering into the yesterdays Yellow neon-evening is moving from tomorrows I may fall down to the stoppage May kiss the air might touch your lips someday. City-bus can't cross the globe Can't find your cyber destination! Poem 05 Book 'Beckoning Jade-Dreams' April 2007 Copyright Musharrat Mahjabeen Mizan Publishers, Dhaka, Bangladesh ISBN 984-8700-82-X

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Your Levi's beat all I have seen Your ancestors had some good genes I love your good roots Your fine attributes From your head to your toes and between It's all very clear to me You're certified, high pedigree It so plainly shows There's some blue blood I know I hope that you'll share it with me LADY, IT'S ALL IN YOUR GENES YOU MAKE MY RED CORPUSCLES DREAM SINCE YOU CAME BY OUR CHEMISTRY'S SO HIGH LADY, IT'S ALL IN YOUR GENES Your figure is full thoroughbred You could raise up a man that was dead I want to be part Of your love from the start I can't get you out of my head

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Apr 28, 2015

Apr 28, 2015 at 10:26 AM UTC

ALL IN YOUR GENES

Your Levi's beat all I have seen Your ancestors had some good genes I love your good roots Your fine attributes From your head to your toes and between It's all very clear to me You're certified, high pedigree It so plainly shows There's some blue blood I know I hope that you'll share it with me LADY, IT'S ALL IN YOUR GENES YOU MAKE MY RED CORPUSCLES DREAM SINCE YOU CAME BY OUR CHEMISTRY'S SO HIGH LADY, IT'S ALL IN YOUR GENES Your figure is full thoroughbred You could raise up a man that was dead I want to be part Of your love from the start I can't get you out of my head

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Serpentine corpuscles trickle to his chin as they batter him in incensed anger's blow but couldn't they break the broken man within the sinner long used to seeing own blood's flow! **** him** the frenzied crowd storms over him ceaseless punches fall like moribund rain insane monsters' boiling wrath's steam would stop only when is numbed all his pain! His meek hands vainly struggle to defend cracked bones clang like splintered glass head bows then curves in crumbled bend till his frame yields to the merciless mass! Be scared not he has died thus in the past repaired revived and released from cell every time coming back in renewed lust to walk once again through the fire of hell!

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Jul 6, 2014

Jul 6, 2014 at 5:23 AM UTC

pradip-chattopadhyay

Serpentine corpuscles trickle to his chin as they batter him in incensed anger's blow but couldn't they break the broken man within the sinner long used to seeing own blood's flow! **** him** the frenzied crowd storms over him ceaseless punches fall like moribund rain insane monsters' boiling wrath's steam would stop only when is numbed all his pain! His meek hands vainly struggle to defend cracked bones clang like splintered glass head bows then curves in crumbled bend till his frame yields to the merciless mass! Be scared not he has died thus in the past repaired revived and released from cell every time coming back in renewed lust to walk once again through the fire of hell!

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I taste your pulse derma puckering sweat globules aeriform vapor corpuscles declaring your need embellishing sacral curvature in mellowed diaspora I glide closer upon the sheets drapes fingers supporting my upper weight pressing half inch spurs into the mattress dragging my whole self towards you for a kiss

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Jan 26, 2014

Jan 26, 2014 at 8:34 PM UTC

I taste your pulse derma puckering sweat globules aeriform vapor corpuscles declaring your need embellishing sacral curvature in mellowed diaspora I glide closer upon the sheets drapes fingers supporting my upper weight pressing half inch spurs into the mattress dragging my whole self towards you for a kiss

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like dulcet lovers twins on the Aegean two hearts beating in time bis vivit qui bene vivit* never shall innocent blood be shed yet the blood of the wicked shall flow like a river *time ran by leaving ****** footprints time mated with a vengeance does time run down or simply run out of time?* never shall innocent blood be shed yet the blood of the wicked shall flow like a river *blood speaks in a rush and mumbles in corpuscles blood measures heartbeats in pulses between two hearts a silken cord of caring* never shall innocent blood be shed yet the blood of the wicked shall flow like a river *time answers all questions in good time souls are thin rivers running into the same shivering ocean of memories* never shall innocent blood be shed yet the blood of the wicked shall flow like a river *hearts are cymbals beating out the old refrains in time He lives twice who lives well

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Oct 7, 2010

Oct 7, 2010 at 5:06 PM UTC

patti-masterman-heterodynemind

the cord blood is strongest

like dulcet lovers twins on the Aegean two hearts beating in time bis vivit qui bene vivit* never shall innocent blood be shed yet the blood of the wicked shall flow like a river *time ran by leaving ****** footprints time mated with a vengeance does time run down or simply run out of time?* never shall innocent blood be shed yet the blood of the wicked shall flow like a river *blood speaks in a rush and mumbles in corpuscles blood measures heartbeats in pulses between two hearts a silken cord of caring* never shall innocent blood be shed yet the blood of the wicked shall flow like a river *time answers all questions in good time souls are thin rivers running into the same shivering ocean of memories* never shall innocent blood be shed yet the blood of the wicked shall flow like a river *hearts are cymbals beating out the old refrains in time He lives twice who lives well

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We forgot. We do not distinguish the m e m o r i e s From ordinary moments, we do not discover it until later b e c a u s e o f t h e s c a r s. Everything we said will be corpuscles scattered in the wind a n d you l i k e me will forget. I am tired of looking a frozen sun, of being an e m o t i o n a l n o m a d of depositing l o v e in something that later transforms into absorbed thoughts and attitudes. But this is my condition and it is also c i r c u m s t a n t i a l.

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Sep 13, 2018

Sep 13, 2018 at 1:41 PM UTC

We forgot. We do not distinguish the m e m o r i e s From ordinary moments, we do not discover it until later b e c a u s e o f t h e s c a r s. Everything we said will be corpuscles scattered in the wind a n d you l i k e me will forget. I am tired of looking a frozen sun, of being an e m o t i o n a l n o m a d of depositing l o v e in something that later transforms into absorbed thoughts and attitudes. But this is my condition and it is also c i r c u m s t a n t i a l.

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rain down corpuscles of light into the salty ocean waves bend for me and smite the darkness of this drowning cave where I am held by the cross section of some fourth dimensional abnormality maybe it is just my reflection maybe it is just my reality something I can't seem to picture a Corpus Hypercubus sort of memory tied down by mental strictures left wondering in this somber reverie

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Jul 10, 2019

Jul 10, 2019 at 1:41 PM UTC

rain down corpuscles of light into the salty ocean waves bend for me and smite the darkness of this drowning cave where I am held by the cross section of some fourth dimensional abnormality maybe it is just my reflection maybe it is just my reality something I can't seem to picture a Corpus Hypercubus sort of memory tied down by mental strictures left wondering in this somber reverie

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The inverse of lamba squared is ten thousand to the power of the heist Your Presence has premiere rhythm; Substitute halving my health Estuary bearing burden standing true grit Loaded dice humanity Undertaken uneath forsaken aether Fluoridated month Perfect posse palpitating puncture buck shot Higher than an ambush ambassador Ceasing the sky fills wounded knee high to smokescreen rising Picking golden stunning silence Mesmerizing Ocean wind wild card crying colour All I want is form, yew grows always happy Death defying lateral trial Destiny Timings Legendary League of Ten thousand feet Emissary Ameliorate Stark inebriety phantoms fathom cat and mouse Sanctuary in Sensory Hustle bustle Gravity’s Blasting Muscle Pulses Corpuscles To Alleviate Spiraling Carcass harness the sieve erase the harvest remove the artist’s grin Smirk at Graves and hunt their Twisted Fates

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Jan 12, 2016

Jan 12, 2016 at 12:11 AM UTC

The twists of Fates and Graves

The inverse of lamba squared is ten thousand to the power of the heist Your Presence has premiere rhythm; Substitute halving my health Estuary bearing burden standing true grit Loaded dice humanity Undertaken uneath forsaken aether Fluoridated month Perfect posse palpitating puncture buck shot Higher than an ambush ambassador Ceasing the sky fills wounded knee high to smokescreen rising Picking golden stunning silence Mesmerizing Ocean wind wild card crying colour All I want is form, yew grows always happy Death defying lateral trial Destiny Timings Legendary League of Ten thousand feet Emissary Ameliorate Stark inebriety phantoms fathom cat and mouse Sanctuary in Sensory Hustle bustle Gravity’s Blasting Muscle Pulses Corpuscles To Alleviate Spiraling Carcass harness the sieve erase the harvest remove the artist’s grin Smirk at Graves and hunt their Twisted Fates

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My voice shrank and my entire body sclerosed to stone when you lifted a hand because I was never sure if this time would be the time you took it too far. The air left my alveoli, travelled through my bronchioles, trachea, and out through my clenched teeth as you walked out the door, safe to escape from my lungs because fear had paralyzed my diaphragm and overstimulated my amygdala. It was always a vicious cycle: My limbic system remembered the monster that escaped your ribcage when the rage inside that was instilled in you to win wars that was never fully extinguished came through yet the same system processed the love I felt when you played peek-a-boo with my niece on the grass; even my brain wasn’t sure what we wanted. Four weeks had passed since: I said goodbye to our cat because he was yours now, I took the trinkets I had scattered to make it our home rather than your place where I stayed, I erased sloppy alcohol-kissed love notes from the whiteboard where I wrote the therapy reminders you ignored. My mailbox filled with emails riddled with depression and post-traumatic stress and worry manifested as a knot in my throat that made it impossible to breathe so I searched for any spare key and drove the twenty-seven miles to ensure your safety. I grasped the doorknob hard enough to trigger Pacinian corpuscles throughout my skin, terrified of what was just beyond the threshold.

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Nov 2, 2017

Nov 2, 2017 at 4:00 PM UTC

allisonwonderland

Anatomy of Abuse

My voice shrank and my entire body sclerosed to stone when you lifted a hand because I was never sure if this time would be the time you took it too far. The air left my alveoli, travelled through my bronchioles, trachea, and out through my clenched teeth as you walked out the door, safe to escape from my lungs because fear had paralyzed my diaphragm and overstimulated my amygdala. It was always a vicious cycle: My limbic system remembered the monster that escaped your ribcage when the rage inside that was instilled in you to win wars that was never fully extinguished came through yet the same system processed the love I felt when you played peek-a-boo with my niece on the grass; even my brain wasn’t sure what we wanted. Four weeks had passed since: I said goodbye to our cat because he was yours now, I took the trinkets I had scattered to make it our home rather than your place where I stayed, I erased sloppy alcohol-kissed love notes from the whiteboard where I wrote the therapy reminders you ignored. My mailbox filled with emails riddled with depression and post-traumatic stress and worry manifested as a knot in my throat that made it impossible to breathe so I searched for any spare key and drove the twenty-seven miles to ensure your safety. I grasped the doorknob hard enough to trigger Pacinian corpuscles throughout my skin, terrified of what was just beyond the threshold.

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Wearing the "do" of death . (The Aura) The protective stance The mark of Cain ---- We who have come to separate Friend from foe Need from greed --- WE ARE THE IMMUNE SYSTEM OF THE WORLD . The t-cells out upon the street -- "Facing a dying nation" We are screaming ALIENS! poison ALIENS!! Bring on the WHITE CORPUSCLES , now But Nothing happens!!!! -- It is as if the Whole World has AIDS! -- I have no other words No other purpose No other language in which I speak --- IS ANY BODY OUT THERE?!?! CAN ANY BODY HEAR ME?!?!

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Mar 22, 2013

Mar 22, 2013 at 8:05 PM UTC

Immune system of the world

Wearing the "do" of death . (The Aura) The protective stance The mark of Cain ---- We who have come to separate Friend from foe Need from greed --- WE ARE THE IMMUNE SYSTEM OF THE WORLD . The t-cells out upon the street -- "Facing a dying nation" We are screaming ALIENS! poison ALIENS!! Bring on the WHITE CORPUSCLES , now But Nothing happens!!!! -- It is as if the Whole World has AIDS! -- I have no other words No other purpose No other language in which I speak --- IS ANY BODY OUT THERE?!?! CAN ANY BODY HEAR ME?!?!

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I cannot really it explain, but I can give it one helluva try. It's a million (or more) fuschia-pumpers, the spilling of hemoglobin & red corpuscles, broken bones bleached white, lying in the sun. And streams of blue tumbling from the duct-factory & the silent green fields.

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May 5, 2015

May 5, 2015 at 8:30 AM UTC

The Cost of Courage

I cannot really it explain, but I can give it one helluva try. It's a million (or more) fuschia-pumpers, the spilling of hemoglobin & red corpuscles, broken bones bleached white, lying in the sun. And streams of blue tumbling from the duct-factory & the silent green fields.

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The Gram sir, polygonal father firefly stand in Cibatus ... thread and thread form light. In the year 1300 miliérnaga great night, the Lucibatus provoke a detritment an ***** He fell back to Cibatus And her delicate body broke into two parts... In the center was in "A"; Her two columns Stumble down at the head of Mr. Gram. He in the compartment, The pulverized seeds scraped Galloping ice that undermined the Cibatus The year in 1200, Oh syllogism much light! You coordinate the central hole Cibatus basket; gramineous navel dim oracle Coming through the middle, Dodona River as light. In the center of barley, Mr. Gram healed their wounds; Fecracia corpuscles, Major ***** Susea ... that ruled with all his power by blizzards. "Not Cibatus or broken, traditional custom was broken by wind and not by Light gram " In the dark night of San Corinth, It fell night where Mr. Gram asleep ... happy told the fierfly your damage would not alter its sun. Toward the end of the day, He said his greatest roar... Their wings hawked loose Cibatus noise pain! Lat night came, and invisible, transparent body wanted spring, Love this protozoan Cibatus alone. Farewell said fierfly in 1300, when it fell by the protozoan crag ... Signs metal birds They said ...; Aaaah ..! and noise Gram God, They said! Aaaaah ... Aaah ...! Nor no hugs or charity, the rough particle spring circle flierfly donated the ***** ... Limestone Road He loved the feet of ash, white bodies laughed and they transmuted his absent body. Flierfly he opened his eyes... Cibatus looked at his winged whistling song: " Fly Fierfly, stretch your threads; Mr. Whiskers love Gram ... buried next to the root of Cibatus " Farewell Thousand Three Hundred ... ! JOSÉ LUIS CARREÑO TRONCOSO 10 to 11 July 1995.

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Apr 4, 2018

Apr 4, 2018 at 5:16 PM UTC

jose-luis-carreno-troncoso

The Gram sir, polygonal father firefly stand in Cibatus ... thread and thread form light. In the year 1300 miliérnaga great night, the Lucibatus provoke a detritment an ***** He fell back to Cibatus And her delicate body broke into two parts... In the center was in "A"; Her two columns Stumble down at the head of Mr. Gram. He in the compartment, The pulverized seeds scraped Galloping ice that undermined the Cibatus The year in 1200, Oh syllogism much light! You coordinate the central hole Cibatus basket; gramineous navel dim oracle Coming through the middle, Dodona River as light. In the center of barley, Mr. Gram healed their wounds; Fecracia corpuscles, Major ***** Susea ... that ruled with all his power by blizzards. "Not Cibatus or broken, traditional custom was broken by wind and not by Light gram " In the dark night of San Corinth, It fell night where Mr. Gram asleep ... happy told the fierfly your damage would not alter its sun. Toward the end of the day, He said his greatest roar... Their wings hawked loose Cibatus noise pain! Lat night came, and invisible, transparent body wanted spring, Love this protozoan Cibatus alone. Farewell said fierfly in 1300, when it fell by the protozoan crag ... Signs metal birds They said ...; Aaaah ..! and noise Gram God, They said! Aaaaah ... Aaah ...! Nor no hugs or charity, the rough particle spring circle flierfly donated the ***** ... Limestone Road He loved the feet of ash, white bodies laughed and they transmuted his absent body. Flierfly he opened his eyes... Cibatus looked at his winged whistling song: " Fly Fierfly, stretch your threads; Mr. Whiskers love Gram ... buried next to the root of Cibatus " Farewell Thousand Three Hundred ... ! JOSÉ LUIS CARREÑO TRONCOSO 10 to 11 July 1995.

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Shhhhh...ECOUTER LE SILENCE ( Shhhhh...LISTEN TO THE SILENCE ) the silence so loud one could hear the cat blink ( le silence si fort on pouvait entendre le clignotement de chat ) the music of the silence when the music stops ( la musique du silence quand la musique arrêts ) *** the cicadas weaving a sudden silence out of all their noise ( le tissage de cigales un silence soudain hors de leur bruit ) *** the only thing heard in the immense silence the cicada's beating heart ( la seule chose entendre dans l'immense silence les cigales battant coeur ) *** I could hear my blood circulating within me the hurtling of large corpuscles ( je pouvais entendre mon sang circulant à l'intérieur de moi le dévaler corpuscules de grosses ) *** in the darkness our hands our eyes we touch with kisses ( dans l'obscurité nos mains nos yeux nous touchons de baisers )

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Sep 28, 2017

Sep 28, 2017 at 5:59 PM UTC

Shhhhh...ECOUTER LE SILENCE ( Shhhhh...LISTEN TO THE SILENCE )

Shhhhh...ECOUTER LE SILENCE ( Shhhhh...LISTEN TO THE SILENCE ) the silence so loud one could hear the cat blink ( le silence si fort on pouvait entendre le clignotement de chat ) the music of the silence when the music stops ( la musique du silence quand la musique arrêts ) *** the cicadas weaving a sudden silence out of all their noise ( le tissage de cigales un silence soudain hors de leur bruit ) *** the only thing heard in the immense silence the cicada's beating heart ( la seule chose entendre dans l'immense silence les cigales battant coeur ) *** I could hear my blood circulating within me the hurtling of large corpuscles ( je pouvais entendre mon sang circulant à l'intérieur de moi le dévaler corpuscules de grosses ) *** in the darkness our hands our eyes we touch with kisses ( dans l'obscurité nos mains nos yeux nous touchons de baisers )

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I will crack pages open to reveal the worlds I have created Where whirling passion meets a depressed turmoil to dictate a further storm into an alternate being “Astral travel “ Let my wisdom flood through the gates of your cerebrum to enter and penetrate your thought cavity Visualize and I promise you will be transported Imagine ... Yourself , silk flowing just above your resting space Now focus , focus on the motion of your blood , the pace - your corpuscles will become more vivid Feed your body energy From your powerful realm Begin to pulse, I want you to breathe at the pace of the electricity Can you see it You are glowing , neon Like under the signs of an old diner in the American movies A glow, brighter than the stars A glow so toxic, one that a simple mind cannot fathom A glow both evil and pure This glow creates and destroys Destruction formulated by simplicity Simplicity forming art Dangerous art circulating ‘round the idea of breakage Every now and again, an oasis needed Not being able to reach far enough The art destroyed the painter The glow bursting out her veins Death by her own beauty

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Nov 4, 2017

Nov 4, 2017 at 1:46 PM UTC

Energetic realms

I will crack pages open to reveal the worlds I have created Where whirling passion meets a depressed turmoil to dictate a further storm into an alternate being “Astral travel “ Let my wisdom flood through the gates of your cerebrum to enter and penetrate your thought cavity Visualize and I promise you will be transported Imagine ... Yourself , silk flowing just above your resting space Now focus , focus on the motion of your blood , the pace - your corpuscles will become more vivid Feed your body energy From your powerful realm Begin to pulse, I want you to breathe at the pace of the electricity Can you see it You are glowing , neon Like under the signs of an old diner in the American movies A glow, brighter than the stars A glow so toxic, one that a simple mind cannot fathom A glow both evil and pure This glow creates and destroys Destruction formulated by simplicity Simplicity forming art Dangerous art circulating ‘round the idea of breakage Every now and again, an oasis needed Not being able to reach far enough The art destroyed the painter The glow bursting out her veins Death by her own beauty

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I am gone and out of sight. So why should you care? There is nothing left in this soggy sad tale, of childhood self-defeating. The center city of my times and my observations all out of sight. So why should you care? The silent soliloquies and trending electric doom. The death and reconstruction of vast empires and deserts blazing in their teething tyrannous rise. The unconscious attitude of millions quietly scoffed at by philosophers in dark, locked closets. The waves of our own gluttonous self classification completely illuminated on the firing line and who had no last words for any of their sins. The failure of our own cultivated mold, on our own rock, on our own time, surely a good place to stop this december. It's now, so why should you care? Things will see well, said the city. No neon corpuscles. No dead-light street corners. Just me and the Five lying about which way to get home. I seem to want to hate them all. Every last golden memory. Just find an other.

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Dec 9, 2012

Dec 9, 2012 at 4:14 PM UTC

I am gone and out of sight. So why should you care? There is nothing left in this soggy sad tale, of childhood self-defeating. The center city of my times and my observations all out of sight. So why should you care? The silent soliloquies and trending electric doom. The death and reconstruction of vast empires and deserts blazing in their teething tyrannous rise. The unconscious attitude of millions quietly scoffed at by philosophers in dark, locked closets. The waves of our own gluttonous self classification completely illuminated on the firing line and who had no last words for any of their sins. The failure of our own cultivated mold, on our own rock, on our own time, surely a good place to stop this december. It's now, so why should you care? Things will see well, said the city. No neon corpuscles. No dead-light street corners. Just me and the Five lying about which way to get home. I seem to want to hate them all. Every last golden memory. Just find an other.

Continue reading...