"deconstruct" poems
On the Packing of Intersectionality: A Cross-Cultural Study
By M. Poncy Hector-Tworbst, B.A., M.Ed., Ph.D. Candidate
Unpack that intersectionality
And privilege transphile autonomy
Unite the paradigm’s hegemony
In the diaspora of agency
Cross-gender all peripherality
In post-colonial diversity
Dialogue augmented reality
And deconstruct avatar identity
All for the cause of authenticity
(But mostly I’m all about me, me, me)
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 3:39 PM UTC
1.
Nymphomaniac-addicts,
Overweight bisexual vegetarians
Climbing trees to stay fit
and eating 80’s fried chicken *******
2.
just imagine
Aquarians full of class valedictorians
Swimming on display for graduation ceremony…
reverse-symbolism of how Moolch drowned His *****
3.
Better yet, just imagine
Holy wars,
Beautiful words written to describe the burning pains
Of holocaust...the Kristallnacht nights
Under the mistletoe,
Watching Hall of fame ball hawks on pivot toes
Driving through hoes
After the whistle blows
4
College Literacy classes teaching basic:
Ideas that good questions leads to good answers,
Reading reminders
Free association conceptual constructions
5.
But ************ professor:
free association **** shticks
misfires, false alarms
are all art, too,
Like sticking a dagger into an apple,
Not the edible, but the technology.
6.
Go head, deconstruct the philosophy
Of oral cute-tification,
according to the Tautology of Leviticus,
With the same three half truths, pogroms
against biological deviant... FLAGS!
7.
Cryptic gospels of a ************
Where three F.F.F’s
Stands for six six six
Like how 1mg of juxtaposition
And a dose of metamorphosis
is the repertoire of a king of curmudgeon
‘cause even the Holy Ghost
drinks from the cup of Christ’s blood.
8.
Reading,
Self-flagellation gospel-manual of Pope John Paul II,
At shrink sessions under the daze of heron Piper methysticum blunts
With sweet phat butts like lit lickerish that droop eyes
Like the psalm of Valeriana officinalis root extract.
Feb 12, 2012
Feb 12, 2012 at 12:46 PM UTC
complexity bias
how you love to criticize my poems
as too long and overly complex
poor me, I’m no genius, don’t prosper by exploiting
unrecognized simplicities, rather deconstruct the
intricate complexities that I flatter myself are the me-sinews
Writing is a **** temptation -
we focus on the 10% that is complex and ignore the easy 90%
perhaps this once I will surrender my bare bones
put aside the rich, satisfying of cave diving, urban spelunking
word caressing tongue verbiage rich tapestry exploring -
give you the plane of plain where nestles my destiny: nesting near motionless where the couch is my kingdom and cold cereal is
easily digested and there are no consequences
I am a member of a discriminated-against minority
we have no charismatic leader, no marchers anywhere, and government programs say
hey you’re free white and twenty one plus, get the crap out of
our faces, you useless piece of rhymes with **** and includes dirt, though I shower twice a day to keep myself occupied
25 years old, a high school dropout, of course I’m white,
my occupation is playing video games and making sure
my supply of opioids is adequate in these great United States
where I was born
there are fewer jobs than none that my application survives
a first glance discardation, and now my disability preempts
any demand to pretend there is gainful employment in store in
my future
this reductio ad absurdum is a technique to expose the fallacy,
ah what’s that you say no interest in hanging about,
on your way out, of course, of course,
we are the wrong flavor of downtrodden
my life is simple - simplistic in its a chaotic entropic way,
order slowly declines into disorder
my rituals are a fight against slip sliding down, falling off the
the Herzog continuums
and the poems are desperate hand holds to prevent my
going, gone under
so forgive me if I tax you without possessing not the
requisite taxing authority
you hone in on the obvious disparities and my contradictions
resenting my sending you this bill of extravagant length
compose with me and a mean will be located and to sleep I go,
perhaps to undress my dreams and explicate the wealthy multiples of complexity in the simplicity of a junkies life
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 3:56 PM UTC
A bridge from colloquial to courtly fare
A span where idealism and fantasy pair
A railway to the existential realm; celestial lair
A conduit through which rational discourse can flare
Deep medium to: forage, inculcate, and inform
Broad brush to paint rare beauty; sculpt surrealistic form
Incisive scalpel to surgically alter the societal norm
Delicate utensil to educate on civility and decorum
A literary ***** a prosaic construct
A mechanism our syntax to deconstruct
An analytical tool; an observational viaduct
Introspective milieu to reduct; extrovertive sphere to reconstruct
A semantical edifice that aspiring wit, lofty orations implore
An experimental structure gramatical anomalies to explore
A thematic repository in which concrete ideas, abstract notions to
pour
A vernacular cathedral butressed by an idiomatic core
Jul 25, 2012
Jul 25, 2012 at 6:37 PM UTC
I have left, pig-mudding drunk,
having sipped from stock to stock on fraying cheer, stages.
I have stood in foreign basements; sweaty cellars of youth;
begot by attitude breeding spaces of the hip;
drawn circles searching for love in recreating nonsense:
a silly pupil, moon-eyed, out of breathe.
I have heard them quack, reveal their cords;
heard them whisper a thousand and one secrets,
heard them deconstruct their circumstances as pilgrims, penniless and sick.
I have their memories now, an image of a depressed,
ass-imprinted pillow soaked in liquor and a feeling of nausea
where ribs sleep on this couch tonight, every night.
I have heard one refute the weight of living, ******
on the banks of his best friends hospitality, and thought
How much is it worth?
And I have envied every **** greasy pored hipster,
the ones fixing on makingitnew now kind of clan; stared blankly at fashion,
a culture back door where pink fish scales sparkle high from runway halters
to the tops of grown men, bearded and chesty.
And your mothers pearls sit, not your mother’s pearls but your mother’s, mother’s pearls,
that old world clout ornamented around those hairy *******
Oh yes, I have seen men become peacocks, charmed animals of **********
seen them teeth at discourse in the noise they create, wide-mouthed and pointed;
I have seen them masked like frantic felines: wooly bully cats trying-to-roll their own meter,
their tobacco stained black charcoal over soft bricked lips quiver to their beats:
those painted lemmingings, without a parachute: kamikaze felons.
I have desired absolute sterility: white china,
in the egg of a toilet bowl I spewed out, shut-up my exuberance for the night;
sorry-pleaded my resolutions to gag out the naughty nouns in my life.
I have quit; turned in my lust for performing the lioness, paw-licking,
snarly creature: the predator of my youth, and now,
I am pretty-headed, tamed in bath oils and schedules;
a spotted fox, in plain view, one medium-sized mammal getting by.
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 5:05 PM UTC
Who do you call when your brain is on fire?
When sunshine strips
begin to fade from the bed sheets,
And you find, yet again,
That you've allowed a day's worth of stability
To deconstruct itself.
For a while, a silhouette you will remain,
Chasing the origin of light,
Only to fall into the one thing blocking it.
What happens when a brain is burnt out?
Drawing out breaths that latch to the cold air,
When you stand with weary muscles,
A title wrapped around your forehead,
And a frustration festering.
Holding close to the last remaining memories,
Of security, of solidarity, of purity.
Losing yourself to yourself,
Costs less and less each time.
When do you decide a brain needs fixing?
When the ride home is full of regret,
And your legs cannot stop shaking.
A miserable night will be swept under the rug,
So dogear the scripture you spoke belligerently,
And the world will suddenly seem small.
A breakdown happens when most needed.
A breakthrough happens when least expected.
How do you fix a brain?
Probably, the day without questioning it all,
Will be the day you figure the most out.
If we can get a mixed up mind to settle,
Then the first thing to learn would
Be the acknowledgment of a new, better life.
We will all survive our demanding brains,
if only someone will show us the way,
Will someone please show us the way,
Before another brain is ignited?
Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 7:59 PM UTC
I am your scapegoat
deconstruct your rivalries
you love to hate me
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 3:35 AM UTC
Once I looked to the Bard for words profound;
ageless, his wisdom ran unabated.
Yet Hamlet is now ideologically unsound,
“the slings and arrows” historically Iocated.
I wept for the creature of Frankenstein,
spurned by his master, forced to roam the Earth.
But I’d been subjectively positioned in a paradigm
by Mary’s anxiety about childbirth.
I read Balzac, Hardy and Henry James
describing “worlds” which seemed quite sensible.
Now Eagleton’s exposed their bourgeois games
I find them morally reprehensible.
I dreamt of being Robinson Crusoe
or proud, fierce Hawkeye in his buckskins dressed,
but Fenimore and Defoe have to go,
they’re culturally encoded and empirically obsessed.
Inspired by Guinness, did James Joyce sit down
to see what magic flowed when he was ******
The stream of Ulysses floats Bloom-about-town
dreamthinkingnever : “I’mamodernist”.
I’d gladly give Woolf a Room of Her Own
and be one of the boys with Hemingway,
but sensitive guys leave their bulls alone
say de Beauvoir and Luce Irigaray.
No more fun with Wordsworth being daffodilly,
no simple pleasure reading Mickey Mouse;
Steamboat Willie can’t help but look silly
dissected by Foucault and Levi-Strauss.
The Bible shows intertextuality
says the two Jacques, Lacan and Derrida.
Judas, a construct of bisexuality?
The **** fixations of Herod are?
It’s got so bad I deconstruct a holiday brochure.
I can’t even **** without Roland Barthes and Ferdinand de Saussure.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 12:06 AM UTC
Ebola Sars and *** sounds like a big deal to me
Isis recruits Australians, Russia bombs Ukrainians
Economic bubble crash is starting to give me a rash
Tumblr just gets really mad when you say a word they think is bad
Hyper fervent slactivism causing me a social schism
Picking up the pieces of a shattered governmental system
Cliches of a topic piled up into a rhyming pattern
Pundits pumping such hot air they might as well just move to Saturn
Tumblr just gets really mad when you say a word they think is bad
Post Modern kids all broke it down as something they could
deconstruct
Idealists will polish turds, while cynics just don't give a ****
Focus on your social status, eating healthy, getting hotter
Better drink my own **** cause we're quickly running out of water
Tumblr just gets really mad when you say a word they think is bad
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 6:38 PM UTC
Days go with you and bid goodbye
Hours slide down and die
And drape down
The innocence of the Noun!
With the experience of Adverbs
Of place, time and frequency, the Verbs
Replace the endearing use of Nouns
(Slowly moving from lisping sounds )
To the stable use of personal Pronouns!
Individuality stands alone keeping the Subject alone
Sometimes with a defiant adolescent tone
Distractions, doubts in the use of Determiners
A shaky ground for the beginners!
Disagreement with the Subject-Verb agreement begins
Early during this period and lurks within, and at times springs
With the Nouns like mathematics, rhetorics and news
Without any tension to meddle in don’ts and dos!
What I wish to say in a few sentences
Is not enough about life’s infinite time and tenses!
To deconstruct the grammar of growing up is not enough
As adolescence is a diamond in the rough;
It is a living discourse; both simple and tough
Ironical, unpredictable, surprising, puzzling stuff
Needs patience, pardon, perseverance and fun
To handle its substance for every daughter and son!
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 1:19 AM UTC
Deconstruct that which may not serve many,
and reassemble it so that it may serve more,
and you have creative destruction.
Deconstruct that which may serve many,
and reassemble it do that it may serve only a few,
and you have destructive creation.
Either way, there are resources relocated
to create or destroy something.
To deconstruct something
would be to separate it
into that which can be used to construct it...
Yet,
to construct something
is to reconstruct what which has already existed...
So is there only the illusion of creation and destruction?
Whether something is or is not,
from how we perceive it,
seems to rely on how and whether or not it is organized.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 9:03 PM UTC
I've got to beat this or it will bury me,
Deconstruct the tension even though i can barely see,
Un-cloud my vision so that i can fairly see,
Reform my mission so i can keep carrying,
on in a storm of dissonance in my beliefs,
it will rage on , and rage on, until i find relief.
I do not wish for escape this time, i want to find your face this time,
i need to know what's the truth and what's a lie,
can i love with love that's selfless, in a way I will not die?
Can i throw myself full on at the hearts of others
in some way that doesn't ********** me from my true lover?
Can i piece together by beliefs and find peace?
Can I put and end to this tension by cutting the string?
Is there a way lord to love my self and love selflessly?
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 8:03 PM UTC
The mountains are silent
serene
solid in their poise.
Birds laugh in the branches
over those living each day
spirits borrowed
at the prelude to all creation.
Take heart,
love will hold us together
uprooting discontent from the soil of our dreams,
a diligent gardener
devoted to maintaining all
which is beautiful,
all that is ugly
yet magnificent.
And
We with tangled souls
are deemed the unlucky ones,
who've arrived at the revelation
of our own insignifcance
in the greater scheme.
This unknown plan
(This is but the beggining)
(a cosmic comedy).
In the afterbirth of your re-emergence
You are cleansed and pure
but this is not the cause
of this unending cycle.
Hope exists inside you
a lighthouse of levity
no force can deconstruct.
It is part of your humanity,
much in the same way
you are a part of me
and
I
You.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 9:46 AM UTC
Deconstruct the established
Many ideas which supports them
Scrutinize them with precision
Dissect them to the core
Reveal the truth that they hold
In an endeavor to construct
One needs to deconstruct
To establish the relation and bonds
Nothing is permanent
Deconstruct to establish the truth
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 9:17 AM UTC
This is not a eulogy nor let this be my epitaph
For what i have in you, I've waited my whole life to see
Someone to hope for, something to believe in
Trusted and true
Blue nails, red lips and you
Something good that not ever can get lost
Even now as you must make your way
Out of these darkened woods, brambles and thorns
Breaking on through
Blue nails, red lips and you
*Forgive me now as i deconstruct this tempo, as I alter this key
And reflect on all that you'll continue to mean and to be for me
Yes something to believe in, a faith in you that knows no relief
A beauty, a grace, an honesty of heart, a purity of soul and mind
Be all you can be, travel your chosen paths, never falter nor once look behind
Be that shooting star that eclipses our sacred and shared celestial moon
Soar so high yet may you always have someone to watch over you.
Live, laugh, love
Blue nails, red lips and you*
So go now, take your leave my love
Open your precious wings once more, take flight
For my eyes will never leave your translucent sky
Dreaming for two
Blue nails, red lips and you
And if that sky should ever darken
Where foreboding clouds warn of storms to run through
Let me provide your shelter, let me be your refuge
All that i can do
Blue nails, red lips and you
I'll always remember you, for me we shall never part
As your spirit echoes within the chambers of this heart
Each night i'll pray to all the God's and none
To false ones and true
That those red lips may never turn blue
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 3:31 PM UTC
I deal in Ultimatums
I am the Scorcher of the Sky
By any other name God
My Dreams sway the movement of the People
Crowned Eternal for all to See
In My right hand , the World
My left, Reality
I conquered the saviors of the People
I've fed on the Blood of Sin's Virginity
I gave them fire and Greed
then showed them how to deconstruct the Seas
these Sacrificial heads roll just for me
I am the Sultan of the Sand
from me Spawned the most decadent brand
bombs and ticks, clocks and rickets
are merely the Product of my Seed
I made the Sun weep blood
I made the Stars shine in ecstasy
I built upon Avalon
I broke the Roman Siege
no Empire on this Earth will stand against me
creation and destruction is my creed
I Am Ego
Bow Before Me
Oct 20, 2010
Oct 20, 2010 at 8:26 PM UTC
Here we go,
take your pick:
which is worse?
to cry and not feel
or to hold back the tears?
in public?...
which is worse?
living in a house made of glass brick?
or a house armored thick?
so no one can ever see you...
or harm you
or your house...
which is worse?
being in a body you cannot stand?
or being the person you said you can't
are you your own?
or are you being held captive
perhaps by a former you
are you your own?
or have you turned on yourself
lied and said that it was to protect the rest of the world
rationalized
you are too clever
you are too violent
you are too... much,
or so they say.
yet its all on credit, an unregarded tab
and someone somewhere is keeping track
your words they twist and turn
they are vines and veins
whose blood they burn
you deconstruct meaning
transcending with every verse
it is a blessing, it is a blessing
it is a curse, it is a curse
oh but which is worse?
immediate classification no, judgmental interpretations?
descriptive deliberation of informative investigations
soon as the information is deliberately delivered
to the perception of my appreciation
artistic systemization
or
casting all this self manipulation aside in finalization
and choosing self mutilation
for the preservation of the rest of the nation
all the while, pleading through consideration
which is worse?
which is better?
to be everything is to be nothing
lack of identification.
Jul 20, 2012
Jul 20, 2012 at 4:03 PM UTC
Does my very existence not fit into your narrow idea of what a human being should be?
That you even hold a belief that my identity should have parameters truly disconcerts me.
First, I feel a reactionary urge to be sorry for not fitting into this tiny little cardboard box you've made for me.
This box you want to close up and push to the back of a dusty shelf.
This is because I'm used to being swept under the rug like a mess you don't want to see but you don't have the time for.
Then, I want to crush it beneath my feet and tear it apart.
But the mother within me caresses your hateful glare with a sorry stare.
Disappointed... worried, I gently pick it up.
With a sad smile, I begin to open it.
Carefully, with the calloused pads of my fingers, I untuck each fold you have created in order for this box to contain my soul.
With each motion, I make sure not to rip it at the seams. That would hurt.
It seems, though, this material has been handled unlovingly to begin with.
Mold has made its way into the corners, and the fibers are fraying at each corner, at every fold.
But I am patient. I will slowly but surely deconstruct each and every hateful box that has been stacked in the musty warehouse of your heart.
I will be here until all unsuspecting souls have escaped their prisons.
I will be here until I die.
But that's okay.
It gives me something to do with my hands.
Plus I enjoy the company of the liberated.
I need their help to clean this place up.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 7:52 PM UTC
"Was that your brother?"
the colorist asked me at Empire Video
a reference to a Christmas Party
where you came, my husband
He was the same guy
who said I could be a hair model
after 16 hours editing a spot for Pantene
Laughing together
how funny, to be in sync
Sync, sync: sound and picture
must be in sync
husband and wife as well
How when I saw you I would relax
and your sense of humor would
deconstruct any trouble
"When he was a child, he could make adults laugh,"
your Aunt said
and I believed it
what a gift
Troubled by my boss, "he looks like a used car salesman"
a smile, it was true, the last thing I'd think
taking him so seriously
So many times, you'd pick me up
your response would puncture
the bubble of fear and angst and heal it with laughter
After parties, our impressions
are the same
this person, that person
Howling in the streets over some dumb movie
or chance encounter
anything upsetting
you can cut to the quick
and pull out the ridiculous
My best friend
I had you
I trusted you completely
If only I could remember just that
There would be no trauma
and I'd go on
without so much fear
If only I'd seen just that side of you
I guess I must pretend
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 7:33 PM UTC
Coal dust
+
asbestos
+
Silicone
pull J U G U L A R
straighten larynx
Plug my cord in.
Run:
digitized opalescent sky
Terminate process
heart exe. Cannot be found
reboot reboot reboot
sign up to facebook
sign up to dumb luck
sign up and sign off
C:/prey
C:/pray
C:/pray
that I don’t get swallowed
by this machine
that I don’t get swallowed
by this 01101101 01100001 01100011 01101000 01101001 01101110 01100101
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 5:53 PM UTC
#You were telling him about Buddha,
you were telling him about Mohammed in the same breath
You never mentioned one time the Man who came
and died a criminal’s death. [Bob Dylan: Precious Angel]
If Christ and His Gospel are offered you
you squirm—then dredge up the gods of the East.
Your act of avoidance is nothing new—
salvation proposed: evasion increased.
Waxing socialistic – as if on cue
your blustering is consistent, at least.
you brandish your anti-Christ point of view.
Descending like Darwin: angel to beast.
In Babylon’s gardens you disembark
to deconstruct Noah, the flood, the ark.
On Gilgamesh, Enkidu, in madness
you ramble—and it fills me with sadness.
There is one truth, undiscerned, unadored.
Be still. In silence, acknowledge your Lord.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
we're all shape shifters.
we
put on weight
and
give off heat.
we
spit on the sidewalk
and
**** up air.
holy ****
do we **** up air.
like they stopped making it,
or something.
and when we sweat
it evaporates into rain.
in the
composting
blast furnace
of our guts
we
reduce and deconstruct.
we
take the good
and
turn the rest into ****
and we apply this same
learned approach
to our fellow
shape shifters.
Jan 19, 2011
Jan 19, 2011 at 7:28 PM UTC
Is an old poem of mine that I tender to you to turn your mind away for just, even just, a few minutes from the sadness and the depression that I read about in poem after poem. I am an old man whose sighs are recorded in the lines on his hands. It will be better. You will be loved.
Be brave.
Lead to Gold, Philosopher to Poets
When the philosophers abandoned
castle turrets for ivory towers,
lost was the secret of
I and thou,
of turning lead to gold,
but these cagey, canny scholars in new residences,
who traded
perspicacity for pensions,
before they left,
they tasked to the poets,
a singular task,
cloaking them in a life long responsibility
charging them as follows:
Be the harpooners of the unexamined life,
with unfettered rhaposdy,
exhort the loopy
to light candles of illusions,
canonize the nursing mothers to deliver us
the kinder Ishmael's who will revel,
lead us with warmth and apprehension,
with the strength of sinews
fixed and flexible,
we will believe and
they will teach the rest of us
that the first commandment
is to empathize.
**with clinical observation,
dense and demanding,
make us laugh at
the comedy of our situation,
the comedy of our conscience,
our free to see,
the peep show of us,
explicate and deconstruct
our unexamined lives,
help us to extend the boundaries,
record the voyages of our timepieces,
declare us all free and victors,
file away the chains of language
and declare us all poets**
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 12:43 AM UTC
put your hand inside my dark
she relates to me and i relate to him and he relates to her
boom
- connections -
she said **** 14 and a half times--
i didn't let her get through the last--
honey, i'm not modest
but you sure know how to get me flustered.
could you help me understand?
red kiss lips linger
hands down stars shine
raw grab blush sweaty
could you deconstruct me
into your preconceived categories
do i fit
am i small enough
will you make me?
~~
i give him a hard time
i give him a hard on
i am not easy to take
you do not get to swallow me quick like a pill
i am a razor blade pointed oddity
grab you by your neck and make you listen
throw passive aggressive intimacies in your face
need 2 hours of cuddling after being tied up for 2 minutes
i don't trust but i've been trusting
- paper thin skin -
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 1:41 PM UTC
Be a harpooner of the unexamined life,
with unfettered rhaposdy,
exhort the loopy
to light candles of illusions,
canonize the nursing mothers to deliver us
the kinder Ishmael's who will revel,
lead us with warmth and apprehension,
with the strength of sinews
fixed and flexible,
we will believe and
they will teach the rest of us
that the first commandment
is to empathize.
with clinical observation,
dense and demanding,
make us laugh at
the comedy of our situation,
the comedy of our conscience,
our free to see,
the peep show of us,
explicate and deconstruct
our unexamined lives,
help us to extend the boundaries,
record the voyages of our timepieces,
declare us all free and victors,
file away the chains of language
and declare us all poets
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 6:21 PM UTC