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"detaching" poems
In a field of red roses by the lake, A white rose calls up to the sun With her beautiful petal scarf And her cheerful smile Over another field, a tulip stands sad He is one in the crowd, no one special “Smart,” some say, “too shy” others may But he struggles, moving his cheek The tulip looks at the ethereal rose every day Wondering how such a flower grew from the floor An angel’s tears of joy, he might think A kiss from Gaia, he would have hoped Tulip doesn’t know much of the rose And fears never being able to embrace her He feels that both have too much in common But his inner parasites would hurt her For a majestic rose that dances with the moon in the water Such normal tulip will never have a chance Her perfect stem is made of silk His is damaged and made of paper Still, the tulip dreams Wishing one day to fly, as his roots would rip Detaching from the floor, from his forlorn life Flying towards the star reflected in the lake, where his solitude would end The white rose doesn’t realize, still How much he admires her strength, cleverness, and beauty Until the tulip sends his seeds of love In the form of this poem and painting For a more radiant future he fights Forever aligned with the Astraea of his heart Because she glows in the night Inspiring him to be better And even if the rose doesn’t recognize the tulip She should know that he is right there In an everyday battle to talk to her He is smart and shy, but eager to give all his petals to see her smiling for him
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Jan 14, 2021
Jan 14, 2021 at 8:14 AM UTC
Tulip and Rose
In a field of red roses by the lake, A white rose calls up to the sun With her beautiful petal scarf And her cheerful smile Over another field, a tulip stands sad He is one in the crowd, no one special “Smart,” some say, “too shy” others may But he struggles, moving his cheek The tulip looks at the ethereal rose every day Wondering how such a flower grew from the floor An angel’s tears of joy, he might think A kiss from Gaia, he would have hoped Tulip doesn’t know much of the rose And fears never being able to embrace her He feels that both have too much in common But his inner parasites would hurt her For a majestic rose that dances with the moon in the water Such normal tulip will never have a chance Her perfect stem is made of silk His is damaged and made of paper Still, the tulip dreams Wishing one day to fly, as his roots would rip Detaching from the floor, from his forlorn life Flying towards the star reflected in the lake, where his solitude would end The white rose doesn’t realize, still How much he admires her strength, cleverness, and beauty Until the tulip sends his seeds of love In the form of this poem and painting For a more radiant future he fights Forever aligned with the Astraea of his heart Because she glows in the night Inspiring him to be better And even if the rose doesn’t recognize the tulip She should know that he is right there In an everyday battle to talk to her He is smart and shy, but eager to give all his petals to see her smiling for him
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36
once in my sanctuary it came in a loud gallop followed by a wallop my sorrowful lumbar detaching the fear of a clumsy blunder shifted away from the law of physics   an emptied vessel unmoved like a sealed vacuum certain a final curtain pin drop in code of silence light time alliances whooshing me into ethereal plains a sublime hemisphere of infinitesimal space, time an indescribable beyond gentle breezes feathery light teases soon a star-gazing eyes darted through a zero gravity galaxy of an endless empyrean expanse a’turnin spherical sight orange white stripes rosely red spot churning roiling clouds speckled dusty rings what beauteous it shrouds why am I here a knowing voice appeared melodically close but I can only behold afar of an ethereally existential interstellar manifold questioning mind told of convoluted ways as seen and heard the rhymes and seasons but for one and the only reason mankind's whisper'd words entrance to the portal as did my dawned immortal   met a peaceful assembly I lay in days, this rapturous gifts what divine effulgence of a truly cosmic lift
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Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 10:24 AM UTC
Astral-Ordinary
I am the pinnacle of controversy Some say murder-my middle name And still to others I represent freedom, I am the pointed pentagram of blame. Almost mothers spread cold-feet Where I scrape and claw/vacuum aspirate eat. From open, porous, space-between-legs My Gnashing teeth-grind out the would be meat. I am the noise that is never forgotten Detaching zygotes from walls of womb I am the reality of ****** indiscretion- the tomb I do my job- do I play  “God” ? For the ****** behind doors Carrying secrets & dreams of more They leave one less-plus future full-term slide up their stockings & hope not to return I’m the last to see the mothers-to-be Before they change- rearranged I see geometrically: each.separate.part: Chalk eyes never wet just hurt Lips-lined straight with shame chins that never wobble- 50/50 tipped to pray & feet with nowhere to fall, they walk away I am the pin-cushion point of pain To what the picketing protesters agenda is aimed I am where pro-life and pro-choice meet The executioner of straight to heavens unborn elite I am the buzzing abortion machine.
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May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 5:15 PM UTC
Abortion Machine
i hate it when you have a hangnail but it is mostly a piece of skin that is really steadfast about not detaching from your finger. it’s like the piece of skin has separation anxiety and you can’t get it to leave ever all you want is for the piece of skin to move out. today is your twentieth birthday and you are thinking about your mortality a whole bunch and how you have provided the piece of skin with a comfortable home and now you want it to move on and make a big life for itself so when you’re old and more carrot-like you will have the piece of skin to take care of you until you are ready to make the big trip to hamilton known as dying alone and feeling okay about it because hamilton is a nice place to die alone hamilton is a port city in the canadian province of ontario you dream of hamilton and you are already a little bit more carrot-like on this day, your twentieth birthday. we want the piece of skin to get its **** together so we can all be happy for you one day when the amount of carrot-like characteristics you grow into becomes immeasurable and creamy. the piece of skin smiles and says it does not like your conservative-minded nonsense the piece of skin feels as though it has a right to prosperity and a new season of hey arnold and its own episode of mtv cribs. you say the piece of skin is too liberal and you get out a pair of scissors and cut of your finger the finger with the piece of skin that was too clingy is now resting peacefully on the hardwood floor of your apartment in a pool of blood that you are proud to say is something you made on your own. the piece of skin quotes hemingway as it dies the reference goes over your head and the reader’s head too
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Dec 30, 2011
Dec 30, 2011 at 1:56 PM UTC
feigned connectedness
i hate it when you have a hangnail but it is mostly a piece of skin that is really steadfast about not detaching from your finger. it’s like the piece of skin has separation anxiety and you can’t get it to leave ever all you want is for the piece of skin to move out. today is your twentieth birthday and you are thinking about your mortality a whole bunch and how you have provided the piece of skin with a comfortable home and now you want it to move on and make a big life for itself so when you’re old and more carrot-like you will have the piece of skin to take care of you until you are ready to make the big trip to hamilton known as dying alone and feeling okay about it because hamilton is a nice place to die alone hamilton is a port city in the canadian province of ontario you dream of hamilton and you are already a little bit more carrot-like on this day, your twentieth birthday. we want the piece of skin to get its **** together so we can all be happy for you one day when the amount of carrot-like characteristics you grow into becomes immeasurable and creamy. the piece of skin smiles and says it does not like your conservative-minded nonsense the piece of skin feels as though it has a right to prosperity and a new season of hey arnold and its own episode of mtv cribs. you say the piece of skin is too liberal and you get out a pair of scissors and cut of your finger the finger with the piece of skin that was too clingy is now resting peacefully on the hardwood floor of your apartment in a pool of blood that you are proud to say is something you made on your own. the piece of skin quotes hemingway as it dies the reference goes over your head and the reader’s head too
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34
A juerga with flamenco guitars, With fires blooming like red flowers, Corpses dancing in moonlight The dance of wounded souls, Vibrant red dresses White shirts like birds, Falling shawls, Dancers, Sky, Claps, Cubic Movements of Color, music's Seeds, hands being wings In shadows on the wall, From soul detaching passion's Lights, motion vibrating the string, Resonance for a new dimension.
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Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 8:11 PM UTC
Flamenco Dance (Mirrored Nonet)
The enchantment of wonder, imagination and wander energy within every organism molecular structure and chemistry betwixt creation and destruction balance and disorder transformation to disintegration Fire, Water, Earth and Wind Blade to Staff to Stars to tongue Knowledge and interpretation Innocence to experience Below and above In and out slanted and straight divine and human good and evil and everything between light and darkness realms of all kinds Mind Body Spirit connecting and detaching protecting and attacking magic and physics true and false justice and criminal infinitesimal to astronomical destiny is our own yet set......
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Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 3:46 PM UTC
Wizard
Withered through these relinquished lips, softly lays an embellished, embroidered, carcass. Torn across flesh-like soil caressing gently into this impermeable being, you're only human. So allowing in the presence of indigenous, oblique thoughts slanting into the belly never feeling so bare the hunger deprives. The nails of your eyes piercing into the forefront of mush you call a brain, feeling the earth distinctively tremble with each step you chase closer to the ledge Clutching onto the white knuckle breast your hands pounding at your fingertips its electric running through your veins feeling it at the core so helplessly, lost. Your throat knots into one-thousand splinters splicing relentlessly between your core the wedge of your mortal body becomes noticeable to your soul detaching, jumping. Slithering one step closer, pull the rope you leap you rot one more inch closer, you can feel it separating your surroundings from comfort ability picking up between each breath shaking at your own wake. there you have it at the brim of the edge you've push yourself this close whats one last jump out of this skin?
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Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 6:20 PM UTC
The Leap
Those twin galaxies of yours Beckoned on my sister oceans'shores. I swam away, I heard the lore, 'A furtive glance will ask for more.' I hid beneath these bitter waters heaven graciously showers, And sank to their esoteric depth- My treasured detaching step. But these shrouds are latent webs, Impalpable yet enthralling herbs, That compelled those galaxies Towards my oceans'caged reveries. Astral lights came flowing On my secret crevices - cosmic cunning. On faint surrender, oceans reflected Those lights thought connected. But you feared degrees unknown, Ceased the sailing, you will never own- They you thought mastered the song of lorelei, The depths you will die. Was it that shed leering glimmer From distant galaxies hover Around the interval that mist covers And stirring these waters? My immensity is foreboding, Your vastness is deceiving. Would our core surface, if in mist You linger and I in abyss? You intoxicate me with cosmic light nothing can sober, But refuse to drink from my oceans' water. Your galaxies shine on infinity But are not my property. You are locked on a cache, no one could immerse, Owned by some private universe. The lore of your galaxies, a blurred maze, An immortal quest to my gaze.
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Feb 1, 2011
Feb 1, 2011 at 1:45 PM UTC
Lore of your Galaxies
Escapism dream  Heart crushed symphony  Strings of sounds tied together by hope  This expression our only weapon to expose  All this oppression when we don't even know the root  Our only savior each others demise Oh my eyes to my soul cannot take this any longer! spending our daze In an oblivion maze  This haze  It pulls me into the unknown A pool of unsureness All luring us  This wave  We came in on and shattered on the sure  Always needing more  Our hearts pour out of places unknown, separation overgrown  Fumbling forward we gracefully gasp as they take off their masks feeled up to our seal time to reveal and refeel!  This ever living ghost of what once was creeps through my new and leaves only fuzz this dream quilt unraveling the patches detaching yet the thread remains it was love all along! Always singing our dream song.
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Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 12:24 PM UTC
Escapism Dream
Cooking up a blizzard. Lost and unguided tendrils of space hold me captive, the trebles of your heart beating leads me back to my my Home. That infinite gaze of yours into my dilapidated eyes, is like a portal to you to look into my soul. You blanket all my darkness With your semi-pixie cut. You’re my tree of knowledge I bask in it’s shade. Powdered Sugar coating on cupcakes. Your silk armour protects your vulnerability, My sincere apologies to all the arrows that gaped through. Cover me under your angel wings, Dab away my streaming reservoirs and replace them with pollen and sweet nectar. Your wishbone sacramental daydreams and dreams. I feel so lost without you. Bandage my old wounds with your tender hands, Kiss me with your lush lips sending jolts of star dust upstream, within my veins dancing with yours palpitating feet. My shot of euphoria and bleeding antidote. My poetry. You, Kalon. Let’s raise a toast to your beauté remarquable éternel, mon soleil your free spirit, your beauty of a ghost, your heart racing with joy, your heart steaming up with reticent sadness, build up anger that come crashing down like a typhoon detaching from the human perspecta. I miss you. Your emotional mess and literal mess, I’m your magic broom. You, my inspiration. You, my groove. You, my you. You. My everyone and everything. You’re fun filled supressed omnipresent electric feel. You, The only Solis in my galaxy. I love you. Sharing your grandoise orangy tinge yellow light. Bottling up a few star in a bottle of red wine, For her Luna. Solis is 21 a (000,000,000) today. You’re irreplacable.
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Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 10:14 PM UTC
Luna.
Cooking up a blizzard. Lost and unguided tendrils of space hold me captive, the trebles of your heart beating leads me back to my my Home. That infinite gaze of yours into my dilapidated eyes, is like a portal to you to look into my soul. You blanket all my darkness With your semi-pixie cut. You’re my tree of knowledge I bask in it’s shade. Powdered Sugar coating on cupcakes. Your silk armour protects your vulnerability, My sincere apologies to all the arrows that gaped through. Cover me under your angel wings, Dab away my streaming reservoirs and replace them with pollen and sweet nectar. Your wishbone sacramental daydreams and dreams. I feel so lost without you. Bandage my old wounds with your tender hands, Kiss me with your lush lips sending jolts of star dust upstream, within my veins dancing with yours palpitating feet. My shot of euphoria and bleeding antidote. My poetry. You, Kalon. Let’s raise a toast to your beauté remarquable éternel, mon soleil your free spirit, your beauty of a ghost, your heart racing with joy, your heart steaming up with reticent sadness, build up anger that come crashing down like a typhoon detaching from the human perspecta. I miss you. Your emotional mess and literal mess, I’m your magic broom. You, my inspiration. You, my groove. You, my you. You. My everyone and everything. You’re fun filled supressed omnipresent electric feel. You, The only Solis in my galaxy. I love you. Sharing your grandoise orangy tinge yellow light. Bottling up a few star in a bottle of red wine, For her Luna. Solis is 21 a (000,000,000) today. You’re irreplacable.
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49
I notice it, I notice it's flaws. I see its texture, I witness the shapes and metamorphic coherency's. It's all aligned in a wild pattern. Like walking in a catastrophic maze and never finding the ending. But to really observe profusely, the maze has its own pattern, agenda. Screaming to myself, aloud, I express myself grandiosely. It all makes perfect sense The missing piece is not missing, it never was, it was merely detaching. Detaching from all life forms itself, like a cell that does not belong to another. The maze was juxtaposed in its own creation. People were too simple to understand it. The jagged puzzle doesn't need another piece, it just needs a new formula, a new path, a new perspective, it needs to stay jagged in order to create more purposeful moments and inventions. Complexities reach a higher peak than ever before, if you try to straighten the puzzle and find a piece to fit in it, you destroying its true and only purpose. You cannot mold or fix something, you cannot sand it down. You just need to let it be. It's shapeless, it doesn't need a form, or a label. It just is what it is to be. And that is the secret. The contradiction needs to stay as the contradiction in order to invent the expedition.
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Dec 13, 2021
Dec 13, 2021 at 3:34 PM UTC
The puzzle
Sun stained eyes Salt textured skin Mouth breathes in the ocean air Nose tastes the sea-gulls shrieks He seeks Ocean speaks One gives The other takes And both make A balanced happiness Sea-gull's wings glide Mirrored by the ocean's tides Through the folds of wind That causes ripples and constant change Here, there, and everywhere Salt liquid waves Blue stained waters Always moving Always changing face Detaching shells from the sand floor And deforming the crusted and colorful reefs
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Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 2:39 PM UTC
Sun Stained Eyes
Love as a bird flying free
 dying daily to un-cage 
attachment. Snipping
 cords binding unwinding
 expectations only hold
 a box of memories, only
 those moments to 
sleep more on satin 
sheets in cotton thread. 
Im not sure if he loves me
 or if I read, a reflection
 in the mind of me love
 as the bird flying free.
 Come what may as 
it leaves the warmth 
of winter awakening 
spring. Till summer 
speaks from my window
to the bird thats flying 
free. Detaching the cords
 uncage my soul, his soul
 our soul. Upload to cloud 
in memories. Moments.
 Quilted in the silken sky.
 Love as a bird flying free
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Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 2:13 AM UTC
Love as a Bird
sometimes i watch eternal sunshine of the spotless mind over and over again on the days when missing you hits me right in the face and makes me want to call you, see you, hug you to replenish the memories i have of you. it makes me wonder if having you erased from my mind would make this whole thing easier, this new chapter of my life. the letting go, the detaching. getting into the habit of walking by flowers and not plucking their petals to see if you still love me or not. the realizing that it doesn't matter if you still love me or not, but being frustrated with the not knowing anyway. i don't want to erase you from my mind out of hate or spite or resentment. i want to erase you because the desire to go back and do things over again is stronger than the desire to accept things for how they turned out and move on. i don't know if it's missing you or missing the person i was when i was with you that is driving me crazy. i think it's a little of both but mainly just the fact that i want to tell you i'm sorry without it seeming useless. i feel you in my heart still and i guess i just want you to know that. but i also want to forget that because it hurts. so i watch eternal sunshine of the spotless mind on repeat to forget about it all, if only for a little while. why is everything always so intangible and bittersweet?
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Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 1:28 AM UTC
eternal sunshine of the spotless mind
Hello, are you new here? I'll be your friend Add me on Facebook! Let's make it trend! We will be friends till the very end One day turns to one week A month to a year I don't get it yesterday you were just here Emotionally detaching the world no doubt Time to rethink what we live learn and love about I see you want to do something today I think to myself I'll send a message your way I see that you read What ever I said Is social media a place to keep thoughts out of your head? Like preaching to the choir, with a little less flare How can we act like we don't even care Why do we like and why do we tweet In my eyes it would be pretty sweet If we all sat down at a table somewhere No technology or even a care One day our society will be back in route but until then Time to rethink what we live learn and love about
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Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 4:17 AM UTC
Socially awkward
. Bloomed in a chasm of faith - Life-deep, bereft of touch - Where mass spoken seeds of grace Morphed misanthropic and vile; Splintered roots grow Crooked - inwards - under laws Force-fed and born from chaos. Righteous hands - drenched in black - Reaching to tear homes from Homes and return the bones to The hole from which this started; Sticky fingers reaping lands In what was said to be   The name of God or just revenge. No falsehood lies in belief as One from one can cast their judgement Born of love and greed and hate and pity But faith takes the softest targets; Detaching fear and hope and innocence From names; bleeding all   Into the earth to feed the bloom. .
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Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 4:20 PM UTC
Soiled
It was something of a medical miracle; First, an acid attack had destroyed one girls face. Then another young woman died and her parents donated her guise so the first girl's could be replaced. It was a delicate operation, detaching the face of one dead. It became  as pale as a Kabuki girls' It looked like a death mask they said. How strange then was the sensation when the patient was UN-mummified To see someone else in the mirror; The face of a stranger through her eyes. She was glad to once more appear human though the donor was somewhat older  than she. She would live out her days in the face of another- but then, We are all wearing masks- aren't we?
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Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 3:28 PM UTC
Her Face
how to say your name without choking how to embrace without clenching how to love without bleeding how to **** without detaching how to say goodbye without wincing
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Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 6:51 PM UTC
v
i've been told i have been silent recently but maybe they just don't hear me am i whispering? i feel like im screaming from the depths of my soul so why can't they hear me? if your eyes wander long enough you'll see the pain if you're listening you'll hear the long-held breath i let out when i finally get the release of detaching and realising what helps me
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Jun 24, 2022
Jun 24, 2022 at 10:15 PM UTC
silence
Staring into space, I sat below a ginkgo tree. When a leaf caught my eye; As if a golden butterfly Lost adrift the blue sky, Falling gently to earth To lick at my foundations. Only to be followed by A gilded barrage — Countless ginkgo leaves Falling in tandem, As if the tree was weeping And time had slowed. A rare performance, Yet it all felt unfair to me: Blossoming autumn was already past For the ginkgo tree. Each detaching leaf Reminded me of a missed memory. Times when she wanted to dance, But I was too sheepish to hold hands. Little did I know Lisa, Little did I know.
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Jan 19, 2021
Jan 19, 2021 at 1:18 AM UTC
The Ginkgo Tree
LSD acid rain slowly detaching feel no pain lights all blur colours smear cold wind blowing whispers her song in my ear nerves tense up panic saunters in if I dont keep sippin' this water the bad tippin' will win a bubble surrounds me but I can still see clearly through a new found understanding of just what is really true you placed a cymbal on a drum to play for us your show sparks fly off, with every hit and time moves endlessly slow I smoke, but I feel no satisfaction my fingers swell like sausage links I wonder if it's all for real, or if it's just what my mind thinks this is a musical trip today we jam, and fry, and blaze we laugh, because we can't understand, like no sentences are made from the words we say soon I long for my cocoon to swaddle my self in warm while your laces turn to snakes unafraid, they mean no harm the morning eventually comes but feels like she's been here all along the rising sunlight hurts my eyes as the morning birds sing their songs Maybe I'll get breakfast....
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Mar 27, 2011
Mar 27, 2011 at 9:48 PM UTC
Frying
Here I am again Content with loneliness Writing riddles to keep track of time Detaching myself from the reality of emotions Pretending Deep down I know love does not conquer all I'm naive but I can keep a strait face Too many arguments of nonsense and jealousy So I keep everything at a distance Such a wreck In a tangled weave of misdirection I panic at the thought of love It's for children It's for hope It's for co dependancy But not for me I'm contenet with lonliness
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Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 12:36 PM UTC
Content With Lonliness
over the edge of the unitary verse written in the solitary confinement of the mind is where you went insane and began hallucinating the life you live today. there were flowers and knives. flowers and knives, waterfalls. countless counties all incorporated into greater provinces which collapsed into imaginary boundaries rung-up at the cash register as 'nation-states.' you waited months for nothing, only to toy with more escapist sentiment in the forked decision between reckless abandon and suicide. who are you to feel so entitled? who are you to imagine this life is something one could arrange from the silk and ore left strewn throughout the clear-cut forest of your atomic quarks or dendrites from string theory you can only create as a mental mural and never more? in the wake of your last moment in-sanity (prior to your exit from the womb) - you asked me what I meant when I was silent. I told you nothing - not as statement, but as silence - and you simply whistled and wailed in an ecstatic blend of distress and joy, happiness and sadness, elation and indifference, loathing and love - who was the angel detaching your pod from the mother-ship? you have never seen your mother from the outside before. you have only known her intimately - been a part of her. been her very soul. you have never multiplied like this before and that's what it is to know yourself. having children is your soul in transit - your soul multiplied by 2 - finally, the child gazes into your eyes and knows itself. knows who it used to be. knows it's departure is simply the addition of its perspective to the ever dividing multiverse. dust to dust, ashes to ashes one whispers upon the death bed. light to dark, something to nothing one whispers upon the death bed. the multiverse is a binary sequence of 0 and 1 in perpetuity - from birth to death to death to life to life to gone to gone to found from something to nothing to nowhere to you reading these words hearing them spoken you are dreaming you are always dreaming you are a truth come dream and a dream come true and you forgot. you still forget. you will never remember. you will never remember.
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Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 5:44 PM UTC
in perpetuity and onwards for-over-ever
over the edge of the unitary verse written in the solitary confinement of the mind is where you went insane and began hallucinating the life you live today. there were flowers and knives. flowers and knives, waterfalls. countless counties all incorporated into greater provinces which collapsed into imaginary boundaries rung-up at the cash register as 'nation-states.' you waited months for nothing, only to toy with more escapist sentiment in the forked decision between reckless abandon and suicide. who are you to feel so entitled? who are you to imagine this life is something one could arrange from the silk and ore left strewn throughout the clear-cut forest of your atomic quarks or dendrites from string theory you can only create as a mental mural and never more? in the wake of your last moment in-sanity (prior to your exit from the womb) - you asked me what I meant when I was silent. I told you nothing - not as statement, but as silence - and you simply whistled and wailed in an ecstatic blend of distress and joy, happiness and sadness, elation and indifference, loathing and love - who was the angel detaching your pod from the mother-ship? you have never seen your mother from the outside before. you have only known her intimately - been a part of her. been her very soul. you have never multiplied like this before and that's what it is to know yourself. having children is your soul in transit - your soul multiplied by 2 - finally, the child gazes into your eyes and knows itself. knows who it used to be. knows it's departure is simply the addition of its perspective to the ever dividing multiverse. dust to dust, ashes to ashes one whispers upon the death bed. light to dark, something to nothing one whispers upon the death bed. the multiverse is a binary sequence of 0 and 1 in perpetuity - from birth to death to death to life to life to gone to gone to found from something to nothing to nowhere to you reading these words hearing them spoken you are dreaming you are always dreaming you are a truth come dream and a dream come true and you forgot. you still forget. you will never remember. you will never remember.
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8
*The wind here is foreign, An accent of thick whispers & voodoo. There was a bark of ember, A source of grace & her inevitable karma. The burning coals leave levering zingers, In the visible mist. Destiny, The charming embellisher. Begins painting prosperity on the walls. After all these long years of downs. & with a whistle, The silence is crystallized. Detaching from the transparent water wings. & preparing for the longest swim. Just a sliver of ember, Could embezzle, a country.*
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Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 1:20 PM UTC
"Slivers of Ember"
I don't notice when my grip slackens. The thoughts that held me have long since faded into the hummmm that rattles through silence. Untethered, I lose myself. Seemingly broken into a pack of wild dogs whose howls and moans echo distantly Mingling with words uttered aloud For no one's benefit: "Please, just stop it," tumbled down into particulate sound. (As fine as sand.) Those fragments that find their way back to me snap capricious jaws, and left uncertain, I flinch away from unfamiliar teeth.
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Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 2:20 AM UTC
Detaching