"detectors" poems
It all begins
With pronouns
I becomes the subject
Of my project
Adding you
And collectively we
I choose you and me
And I exclude the he and the she
Until I am certain of we
You and I pick verbs
actions
Inflect them to match
fit
begin narratives
Transitive verbs take objects
You touch
tickle
tease
taste
take skin
*******
lips
me with words
Words have become a clause
But still a simple construction
So, you tickle me where?
For this you need a preposition
To position your tickling ammunition
Do you touch
tickle
tease me ON my *******
*******
thighs
buttocks
****
Do you feel me INSIDE my mouth
****
soul?
Positioning is envisioning.
Then you use adjectives
To modify descriptions of
Sensory inscriptions
So, gentle complements touch
Soft and passionate kiss
And you become superlative
And adverbs elaborate experience
expression
exploration
You fill me deeply
thoroughly
violently with all that is you
But adverbs can also mean time
Not sweet or cursed time
Or time denoting age
But timing is always important
And grammar dictates
That
Time adverbs are placed
As a beginning or an end
Like a lover's embrace
Thus,
This morning, you woke me with
A demanding "here and now! " and I will reciprocate this, tonight, I vow.
Conjunctions are sentence connectors
And sentences behave like detectors
Bodies balancing with and, but, or
Otherwise subordinate
And the scale tips towards
Conditioning hypotaxis
Making actions a complicated praxis
(before my mind can connect, you will have to pursuade it /pursue it)
But we coordinate conjunctions
Equally
I touch you
You touch me
Exploring
Exploding sensory functions
So, together we cry imperatives
Completing our ****** narratives
Moaning
Whimpering
Begging
Yelling: Please... bind me!
touch me!
bite me!
take me!
come!
Oh! Please, come!
I love the English language... ;)
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 5:10 PM UTC
Just because it's suggested doesn't make it right.
In the hands of teachers, other staff.
What other purpose could this directly serve.
To defend our institutions.
To further endanger those around.
The knowledge instilled from book to teacher a different practice.
Now holstered, hidden in the drawer of a desk.
What goes through the mind of the victim that's been bullied.
What training can be set in place to stop the next bulletin.
Shooting across the screen.
The kid in 10th grade that carries the weight of the world.
Sitting all day staring out the window.
Mother in hospice.
A fragile thought swallowed by deafening silence.
It no longer becomes a listening session of encouragement.
The after school sessions of comfort sped up.
Another bulletin of hysteria fired across the screen.
Teacher student affair.
15 year old student found with 42 year old man.
When in reality she was seeking help due to a troubled home.
Afraid to sleep knowing the door would creep open.
Leaving her terrified to close her eyes. The relationship between step daughter and father without boundary.
Where's the specialty training for those who care.
The proper resources that extend beyond that of a pamphlet.
The dark skin kids that's made fun of because they look different.
Stereotyped as aggressive.
The dope boys, the baby mamas.
The light skin girl that's made to feel inferior because she turns red with every hit.
Her hair is longer than theirs so she wants to cut it.
Aggressively forgetting all the beauty she possesses.
The active shooter managing to make it pass the metal detectors.
Rallying the attention he didn't get at home.
The debate carries on across every wall except the right ones
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 11:33 AM UTC
Engineering to the Bridge:
"Time passed, but without us. A bit like Kepler's third, I suppose."
Express your "law" another way. Throw rocks at the moon. Stone the satellite because of your own despicable sins.
I see demise in your face. There's something strange about the through lines of your crew, the yellow journalism of their spacewalk.
Posters of the wild frontier, staggered and torn, said nothing will go wrong. That sometimes death is merely the devil changing colors.
"I think not, Captain. You laugh when you should cry. You tear to pieces the pictures of the overtaken. You run from the lie detectors. Otherwise, your narrative falls apart and all you're left with is your withered mind funneling down a ****** abyss..."
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 5:44 PM UTC
Men who look like ferris wheels
every color representing different aspects of their personality
The first three words don't have to be beautiful
they just have to make sense
like connecting dots on paper
men who love with their fists
and hate with their mouths
who once were boys taking things apart
like remote controls their own fathers used to beat Obedience into their small bodies. Left them with a fury tattooed across their hearts
Just to give them the challenge of putting themselves back together
They buy their wive's flowers after
a four day bruise isn't so glaringly purple anymore
not so accusing-
kiss her broken ribs
and tell their children midnight stories
children trained as mood detectors
human robots
*know when to shutup
speak when you are spoken to
Men who speak like cutting boards
Every slice of the knives in their toungues leave
hollow aching missing parts
just to teach their children that not all
things can be put together once taken apart
whose daughter glues together the parts of old telephones
to spite the missing pieces
so every welt he beats into her bones
she sings herself unbroken
until she stands robust and imperfect
there are holes in her armour
but she holds it together
with her fathers fists.
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 4:12 PM UTC
1. Kissing is not boring.
Something I had never known.
2. ***** are just ***** but you like mine because they're mine.
3. You are a camel.
You drink water in large and spread-out doses
Just like you drink in my affection
Stocking up on love because you're not sure when you'll get your next fix.
4. I'm happy to give and give so that you never forget how it feels.
5. You can never be too close to someone.
Eyes flitting back and forth
Fingers tracing
Bodies crushing in a stedfast attempt to defy the laws of physics
And melt into one.
6. Sing-alongs do not have to be on-key to be entertaining.
7. Kissing is not boring.
Something I had never known.
Never understood how one person could
Spend hours with another's lips.
8. You called me a *****
And
I might be good at something I'd never done before.
9. Secrets can be magical and torturous.
10. Hand-holding can become an addiction
And "too comfortable" an understatement.
11. Love is, in fact, blind to distance.
Terminals and metal detectors
Are water off Love's wings
And
Baggage claim can be an utterly thrilling place.
12. You don't know what loneliness is until someone leaves you
Exposed
In the middle of a bed made for two
For a bathroom break.
13. Kissing is not boring.
Something I had never known.
Never understood how one person could
Spend hours with another's lips
Tongue-tied in the dim light,
Until I had it all to myself;
Until you were there to prove it to me.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 4:08 PM UTC
clear thumbtacks hold the
few blades of grass
collected from the meadows
of the Magnificent Days.
no baby blanket can wrap up
these times;
no perfume from the 80's
mask such greatness.
driving home at 8:56
in february feels like four-thirteen a.m.
while it's raining
(how strange)
we don't feel like talking,
we don't feel like junk food
but scratchy blankets to tuck
in the snow-less mountains
this time of year.
something has to cover them,
because our society doesn't approve
of ******
or happiness, really
for our smoke detectors
are dead and the mirrors are stained
the rugs are frayed
and our poetry *****
our candles smell like grandmothers
but that future for us isn't so
far away.
we focus on the water that will burst
past the controlled walls
in a few months;
that's so close (too close) to tell
because we are told
we won't end up being what we thought
we'd wanted at sixteen.
our christmas lights are getting dull
and we don't strive to make people jealous
anymore.
we just sulk on the loss
of the Magnificent Days,
bright and kind.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 12:28 AM UTC
In my dreams there are smoke
detectors and crashes and lies.
There is a kiss in an atrium right
before it catches fire. There is placate,
stay straight, evacuate.
Neodymium nitrate always smells
a certain way and always looks
a certain blue. Why does an alarm
go off after I dream I've kissed you,
but never if you kiss me?
What doesn't my brain want me to see?
As Orion slinks into view
I stand mixing solvents at the centrifuge.
There is always a healthy dose
of things I don't know. Always something
for Orion to pin with her next arrow.
If I am not here, asking questions of the world,
demanding answers from what I put
into test tubes,
the next thing could be you.
Mar 8, 2019
Mar 8, 2019 at 10:55 PM UTC
i
I kind of knew
in the back
of my mind
that there was more
to come
ii
An urgent message
rings through the streets
"The Romans are at the gates!"
As soon as the news
reaches the house
giant catapults
start to pound the roofs
with rocks.
iii
Hoovering out
the cat hairs
scrubbing out
the loo
iv
The woman put her sad moon-face in
at the window of the car.
"You be good," she said.
"Yes, Momma," they said.
She slung her purse over her shoulder
and walked away.
v
Being James Bond
in miniature
is way cooler
than being a wizard.
vi
The park grew wild
and where we played football
the grass was torn
by the bombs
vii
At the time
everyone thought
that Elizabeth planned
to capture Mary.
viii
I'm so excited
I could burst
It's this cracking idea I've had
It's been worrying me away for weeks
It all started,
you see,
When I was showing some of my students
Where Greenland was on a map.
iix
Unbelievably,
the brown square
is identical
to the yellow square
ix
All us friends and relatives
are told to sit at the back
mind coats and bags
knowing our way
in the dark
x
Mum glared at Dad.
How many times
do I have to tell you
that the twins are called
James and Rebecca;
not Cheese and Tomato?
Granny shook
her head.
xi
The hard work
hopefully won't end
and we will stick together
no matter what
xii
Experimental
native style
knows
no boundaries
xiii
The fire detectors
are fitted
at regular intervals
along the tunnel
xiv
As an adult
Tarzan is once again
faced with the question of belonging
when he first meets humans
and discovers creatures
who look like himself.
xv
My heart misses a beat.
The girls have seen me
in my bikini.
They all gather around
looking and laughing at the sight.
How embarrassing!
It is a long way down.
Jan 11, 2012
Jan 11, 2012 at 11:34 AM UTC
You empty your pockets and remove anything metal.
Walk between the metal detectors and all
The lights and sounds go off. They pull you aside and
They frisk you for
Your cellphone, iPod, earings, rings, wallet, headphones, coins,
Privacy, and dignity.
They find nothing and let you walk to the terminal but
You remember that they forgot to take something. You spin
Around and give them the finger.
Oct 10, 2011
Oct 10, 2011 at 2:01 PM UTC
I can’t wait
for stressful planning
and credit charges
for emptied drawers
and stacked luggage by the door
I can’t wait
for communication hardships
and endless researching
for early exhausted mornings
and lethargic confusion
I can’t wait
for belonging searches
and metal detectors
double checking my facts
and momentary panic that i messed up
.....
...
I can’t wait
for airplane seats
and window views
long tiring flights
and transfers in unknown territory
I can’t wait
for screeching plane tires
and strange new air
feet planted on foreign ground
doe-eyed awed
and misspoken anxiety
I can’t wait
for looks directed at me
cautious wonder of the one who’s not native
meeting new people
stumbling over rehearsed words
i don’t know if i’m saying it right
I can’t wait
for new apartment doors
and an unknown bed
thriving in the heart of
the place i wished to see
for several years now
where my dreams took root
and blossomed erratically
I can’t wait
for late night calls to family
i miss you from little sisters
backwards sleeping schedules
but finding my way just fine
I can’t wait for all of this
it couldn’t come any sooner
But most of all
I can’t wait to say
I finally made it
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 10:44 PM UTC
Here, I loaf,
Coffee in my left, a second wisdom in my right,
Shredding years off of "the plan" to pay the dues, society bills,
Thousands on thousands pile up in pre-season games,
Fingernails digesting in the stomach, slashing through the stream like a cross-saw paper-cut,
Here, my feet bounce,
Behind generationally equal minds, I peak over dandruff and hear nothing but dry lips,
Avoiding the eye, I dip into the ocean,
I wade, I pause, I sink,
My joints crunch and fingertips tap dance,
Here, the static fleshes out,
Every thought a raft, casted away, I play Tom Hanks,
Chalkboards accumulate fine powder, the particles tickle the sneeze,
Outside, the rain is still, falling through the ice,
Inside, my brain is still, falling to the vice,
Here, I watch those watching,
The wrapping on the box, present inside, today we learn tomorrow,
I sit on the bow,
Distraction by means of technology, we are all second-hand smoke detectors,
Together, we learn to strap our seat-belts on correctly,
Here, the window is foggy.
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 11:46 AM UTC
I almost died when I was in the 5th grade
I struggled to lift my baby sister up
My mom couldn't even do it
We woke up cause she started crying
and I threw up, everyone kept throwing up
My father slurred his speech
said we all caught the flu
and we all slept in the living room
Till my brother came out and said
we gotta get out, now
So thankful he slept with the door closed
He drove the minivan, 15 years old
off to grandma's house
Got a blood test done
cause even the dog was blowing chunks
Please check your
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 1:04 AM UTC
~
*Strange how
my feet won't touch
the ground.
Strange how
my bags are packed
with sadness.
Plight is
my fellow passenger
to Osaka sun,
or Artic chill,
or some volcanic
love nest.
Strange how
my jet-setting eyes,
they see paradise only
on satellite tv,
yet they see the once
beautiful people
and all their utter dismay,
as they pass through
the metal detectors.
So strange
that I can hear
their strife
their suffering
well above
the engine's roar.*
~
Jan 8, 2022
Jan 8, 2022 at 2:37 PM UTC
There's a faded scar on my right shoulder
from three summers ago,
two more on my left from this winter.
One on my chin from the pavement
that got the better of an 8 year old
who couldn't say "no",
and another on my wrist
to remind me that metal detectors
no longer find me empty.
It's alright that you left,
but please don't act
like I'll just be okay again.
I don't heal well,
never have.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 2:04 AM UTC
i must admit i am in awe of the way you walk past the immigration office
(or the way you walked out that door, but we musn't dwell on things.)
like you have nothing to hide - like secrets float off your cheek
(it's rather silly how your secrets are much more obvious when you toss and turn underneath my sheets.)
therapists told me to take a journey well into my soul
(they told me to dive, but we both know i'm only capable of unintentionally falling.)
i love watching your hands loosen their grip on the sides of the aeroplane seats
(although remembering you loosen your grip on me isn't quite as pleasant)
they told me to visit my happy place so i threw a dart at the map
(but let's be honest - without you home already feels like a hotel.)
and it amazes me how now with all the rust you've smothered onto my veins, you still expect me to walk peacefully through airport metal detectors.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 8:32 AM UTC
cremating cigarettes
in
a
swirl
of
steam
tricks overbearing
smoke-detectors
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 12:28 PM UTC
i have no right to have feelings.
i tried to smuggle them past the
checkpoints, metal detectors and such,
but i was foiled, tarred and feathered.
A big ******* chicken. Awesome.
If i had feelings, i would have no right
to allow them to be hurt.
I am the giver of hurt, not the receiver.
Things are not hurtful to me, for i have asked for them
and knew what i asked. Happy Days.
i should not discuss feelings i don't have
or hurt i don't feel with anyone,
for any reason, because i have no reason.
i should be grateful to be stoic
and rejoice in the fruits of my labors.
When or if i cry, it is only because
there is something in my eye, a
speck of sand or something like it.
Merely a body's natural cleansing
action, a normal automatic response.
i don't feel alone when i cry.
besides, i chose to be alone, that
is why i walked away in the first place.
Isn't it?
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 3:34 PM UTC
Inspired by “The Burning Giraffe” by Salvador Dali
I am defined by what clutters my drawers:
• Aortic—a tattered matchbook with a phone number I never called
scrawled to the inside cover as an inscription to everything
I never wanted. A half-empty can of butane with a missing
cap alongside a dollar’s worth of pennies that weight a scrap
torn from a newspaper tragedy: four killed, faulty smoke
detectors to blame.
• Ankle—a charred picture, curled in upon itself and kept as a reminder
of what I could become; a blackened nest as an omen of
losing all I’ve ever known and an ointment tube, squeezed
in the middle as a talisman against blistering tempers.
• Thigh—an empty Zippo with a scarred case, dull and pointless; a coiled
stove element with an ashen haze that could testify that water
doesn’t douse all flames; and an oily fuse, plucked from the top
of my head to serve as a yardstick of minutes, seconds, then
nothing.
• Knee—a fine layer of charcoal dust and half of a briquette from last
summer’s backyard barbecue when the wind kicked up to spray
red embers into the air like a meteor shower, streaking in bright
sparks and fluttering to shrieks and stop-drop-rolls along dry grass
until the itching ceased and the bubbles formed in small foamy
patches along arms and strapless backs and sun-red cheeks.
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 5:30 AM UTC
I’m thinking about the way you jump over things
And how you trip over guitar chords
And get angry
but that light in your basement
the one that reminds me of serial killers and lie detectors
it shined on you
and the dust that rose from your dying flesh
like feathers flying from a pillow fight
when one person gets more out of it than everyone else.
And how you believe in words like
“initiation” and “rad”
How you make me want to scream at the top of my lungs
Because I’m alive
And because you’ll let me.
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 11:35 PM UTC
The thundercloud parking garage swallows me whole
and drains the authenticity from my smile.
The descending escalator sends me to my personal hell.
All I can think of is my counterfeit countenance
or the carefree singing voice of my mother.
I grasp at the sound, the long lost curl of her hair,
the sun of her eyes. It's like trying to catch smoke.
The tears before security tell me I'm not alone
though the final embrace of my mom disagrees.
She disappears, fades into the metal detectors.
I'm alone.
I float through the crowd, past half-machine men,
their brows furrowed in stone as they slice through lines
without one last look at the family they wish they had.
They race to winged robots that autograph the sky
like the parting at the end of a letter. The goodbye.
The stain mochas of Starbucks beckon me.
The neon magazines cheer at me from Hudson News.
Together, we watch the clouds gobble the planes,
mourn the farewell of the familiar, the leaving of love.
Rain pummels the windows like tears down a face.
Again, the machine men, the magazines and mochas
comfort and reassure everything will be alright.
Aug 27, 2010
Aug 27, 2010 at 9:55 AM UTC
Oxygen, two 'me's'
We expire
Oxygen in threes
Ozone acquired
Ménage à trois
Three the same
Cards to draw
A hand, a game
One former
Introduce carbon
A home? or,
Latter two undone?
Life & death
2:1
Gasp for breath
Toxic, run
Detectors
Cry out loud!
Defectors;
Poison we laud
Breathe deep
Or sweet release
Eternal sleep
If you please
When your atoms bond
Mar 13, 2025
Mar 13, 2025 at 5:54 AM UTC
Woke to the smell of smoke
Only to find my family
Standing around our couch which was on fire
Like a group of homeless people trying to stay warm
This is just practice
For when the money runs out
Forget the missing smoke detectors
Forget the old man just standing there
Saying, “I’m sorry” like old men do
Forget four walls
Walls are flammable
There is this distance
The size of apathy
And we
Are in the middle
Huddled around a fire
Trying to stay warm
As our house burns down around us
Until finally
Dry lips whisper water
And ***** lungs
Die for air
And I grab a hose from the porch
As the smoke finally clears
As they huddle in the car
With the heater running
As I learn to finally see my home as broken
Still
I will always have a safe place to cry
And we will always have a safe place
To lie
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 7:24 AM UTC