Warning: Use dis list in context.*

You decide on which side you fall.

disappear
disregard
disaster
displace
disqualify
disrepair­
disturb
dissipate
disability
dispose
dismal
distribute
distrust
­disturb
discriminate
discuss
disdain
disguise
dishearten
disinher­it
disown
disparage
disagree
disgruntle
disclose
discolour
disput­e
disarm
discover
disassemble
disadvantage
disallow
dispossess
di­scontent
discontinue
disrespect
disincline
discomfort
disrepute
d­ishonest
disillusion
dishonor
dismiss
disobey
disjoin
disappoint
­discipline
discord
discern
discrete
disfigure
disconnect
disappro­ve
discharge
disbar
disease
discord
disfavor
disengage
disassocia­te
discipline
discount
disembody
displace
dissaray
disembowel
dis­combobulate
discredit
discourse
disentangle
disenfranchise
disemb­ark
discard
disburse
disbelief
discover
disable
disagree
disinteg­rate
dismay
dispense
dislodge
disclaimer
disapprove
dissatisfy
di­srupt
dispel
dislike
dismantle
disloyal
disbatch
disrobe
disperse­
display
disaprove
disciple
disavow
disconcert
disinfect
disorder­
dismal
dismember
displease
dissemble
disunity
dislocate
distort
­distrust
distress
dissolute
disassociate
distill
discect (?)
distemper
distain
distasteful
distraught
dissolve
dissonant
d­issuade

And dis isn't de end.

1737

Rearrange a “Wife’s” affection!
When they dislocate my Brain!
Amputate my freckled *****!
Make me bearded like a man!

Blush, my spirit, in thy Fastness—
Blush, my unacknowledged clay—
Seven years of troth have taught thee
More than Wifehood every may!

Love that never leaped its socket—
Trust entrenched in narrow pain—
Constancy thro’ fire—awarded—
Anguish—bare of anodyne!

Burden—borne so far triumphant—
None suspect me of the crown,
For I wear the “Thorns” till Sunset—
Then—my Diadem put on.

Big my Secret but it’s bandaged—
It will never get away
Till the Day its Weary Keeper
Leads it through the Grave to thee.

I've never met a ******* like this.
My ex would complain of my *** tasting
like battery acid and would always put on a pouty child's face when
her *****
was the strongest I've ever had to trek into.
Yet I would make her *** numerous times because I thought I loved her
and could see past superficial
     c r a p.

but this new girl,
***, so young but ***** as though she's a seasoned pornstar. She'll dislocate her throat like a boa and engulf my **** and as I *** and spurt into it she inhales it and then gently moves to my *****
and caresses my **** then kisses all over my thighs and says "thank you daddy, that was yummy"

She does this multiple times a day. some girls are fakers, this isn't one.
I'm looking forward
to the pissplay tomorrow

Foster, what family? Lower class, dream of  vacation
******* what trickles down, affecting a life situation
White to Blue Collar; a rebuild or invasion?

Millions inside the boxes of convention
Justified superficial, backhanded salutations
Refute Love, proposed as mankind’s invention
Pulled by a string of instant gratification
Finding freedom’s temporary
If ever, long term locations
Constricted, system of classifications
The socially admissible connections,
Not to mention gangs of corrections
Flowing through the previous, my own generation

For the infinite hours
One after the other
Trade integrity for the illusion of power
Not all those with a gun should be considered a coward
Face the souls sold on Wall Street,
Remember those from Twin Towers

Ground zero, abandoned. Now bare, desolate
The idea of terrorism denied, while some wrestle it
Rationales dislocate, post hairline fracture
Frontal lobe imposter, posing in rapture
As if talent, love, or hate could ever be captured
Held at gun point, then forgotten years after
My children will one day look to me for the answer

What’s society, this twisted maze we live in?
I will gaze in their eyes with the same exact question
And don’t ever allow me again not to mention
Real criminals can’t learn from minute or life-long detentions
Some incapable of that level of retention
As our battered soldiers forever sleep at attention

Politically correct, tongues in consistent hesitation
Kiss police ***, only to go to the station
Before the thought of who signed the citation
Treated as if it were a felony violation
Our basic rights according to our nation
Arizona & Co for minority elimination

Die fighting the statute of poverty’s limitations

vi.i.xi

“Sanity is not statistical.”- George Orwell

The tour guide elucidates black and white scenery.
Unamused clients grow weary of following blindly…

Beyond the barren trees lies a horizon of dirt.
The patrons’ eyes assume a bedraggled trail
Ostentatiously drawing them into its depths.
Unable to sense the malignity; compliance is inevitable.

The seemingly infinite nave reveals a peculiar door,
Hexagonal in shape, displaying no visible ****.
“This heavily armored door hath been open since
the dawn of pandemonium. Enter if you dare,

my humble insanitorium.”

Their dreams have intruders,
Infiltrated by an obscure entrance
Remote in the fact that even they
Are ignorant to its location.

The intruder takes hold of,
their brains, hearts and blood.
Drives them to brink of insanity
Then leads them back home.

Metamorphosis: their messiahs
Were once smiles and gold
Now they are maggots, cole
And decayed linen for skin.

They are the peaceful violence
That occurs among the leaves
Existing for a short time in beauty.
Than drying up and withering away.

Obscurity is a terrifyingly beautiful renaissance
A peculiarity that rock them to the core.
The ghosts that occupy their souls,
And the cavern that’s missing from them
Experience is theirs to have or to lack. For they
haven’t much time before the dirt takes them back.

An elegant yet dismantled courtyard comes into view.

They.
Know not of the geometrics that seem
To have replaced the techni-colour trees.
Once overgrown in the tainted court-yard
Roots overharvested and interconnected,
A corn stock maze burnt to the ground.

She.
Used the finest twine, sharp and strong.
To tie her soul to the cage that houses her heart.
“Two mad rabbits were dancing by a tree.
Before one vanished down the hole,
I swear he looked right into me.”

They.
Watch in dismay as her chest is scalped.
The unsound artist tugs (she does not protest)
Bones shatter and he eats the remains.
Soft fingers caress the pulsating red ball.
All the women cry as he claws at her soul.

An aghast audience enters the house in
Hopes of a less unsettling spectacle.
A tiny jar sits on a wooden table, curiosity
Causes a member to remove the lid.

“To exist in the subconscious is more terrifying.
The flame’s lick the nimbus and I am calm.
An angry cockroach lodged in my trachea.
The soil is more sinister than it was yesterday.

An abstract design, the lines infinitely overlap.
The drawing continues and I try to unravel,
the circles and squares but I simply cannot.
They are now in my blood, a pentagonal paradise.

It would be lovely to hold my heart in my fist.
Squeeze it until the blood becomes a fourth
Of July spectacular. The circles and squares would
Be emancipated from the charred remains of the jar.”

Prying is never rewarded. The jar goes up in flames.
The great herd is lead to a theatre-like abode.

The tourists snap pictures as they assume their seats,
The Insanitorium’s owner makes a gut-wrenching speech.

“I’m wandering aimlessly through the in-between.
The face-painted crowd watches with open mouths.
As I search for and seek out self-fulfillment.
On the edge of their seats, waiting impatiently,
For my humble home to self destruct.

They gnaw on my self-worth, ripping and tearing
My well-though out decisions into tiny,
Unmanageable quadrants that I cannot repair.
The herd is well aware of what lies along the line.
But I strayed long ago and am of a different time.”

The applause drowns out the sound of the speaker’s screams.

The patrons are lead through a dimly lit hallway,
Another peculiar door materializes, triangular in shape.
The room is a vessel for conscious and unconscious ramblings
Of minds left to rot and decay like rabid corpses.

“Enter respected patrons and feast your eyes upon the truth.”

The first trembling hand finds its way to the door.
A striking man is seated, muttering cloud-cuckoos.
His hands and feet bound to the ancient wooden chair.
The blade hovers above his hard skull threatening to fall.

His brain is dissected; life-long deception is evident
The black cats in his mind are visible to probing eyes.
Sinister felines stretch their brittle bones; it is not
Long before they’re biting and scratching his insides.

Like all apparitions, the vision returns to the dust from which
It was created. It’s true home among the asteroids and
The planets that contain the same star dust that once
Composed flesh and bone. Not Reduced, but reused and recycled.

Before the disappearance is final, he chokes on his last words…

“A pearl that is flung,
From the stars overhung
Will dislocate like a plastic doll.

Alas…

One pearl turns to millions
And a million turns to dust.
The doll’s expression ,
remains stagnant.”

The tourists are angry and appalled at what they have witnessed.

They have not come to the harsh realization,
That in order for a man to see, his eyes
Must be pried open. Stunned into epiphany.
Become aware of the demon residing behind them.

“You are not sane devil woman,
For your tour reveals horrors of many kinds.”

The woman’s mouth contorts and her eyes darken.

“All entities, dear guests, hath been drawn
from your own mad minds.”

i am
--am i?--
yeah, i think i am

drunk drunk drunk
and signing myself up for
selective service so i
will be able to access my financial
aid and not have to cough up
almost $2,000 for one term
that me and my bank account
just really do not have, ya know?

and that little dropdown menu
well it doesn’t offer the option of:
“i am being forced to sign up for this
so i can afford college”
because i guess that sounds less
appealing than my being recruited
during lunch while i watched my fellow
(cis) male students dislocate their shoulders
doing pull ups so the older boys in uniform
would be proud of them and
maybe even give them a
nice little lanyard

because after over $100 to get
the right name and gender marker
on my id and $60 to get a new
birth certificate
i’m male enough for the government
to want to make into cannon fodder
but i’m still not male enough to
use the men’s room without the
threat of being verbally harassed
or physically assaulted

and that just makes me so angry
because here’s “bone-spurs donnie”
a known draft dodger of
at least 5 times who had the money
to pay off any doctor he wanted
trying his hardest to ban trans
people from enlisting
to fight in a war backed by a country
that wants them dead

yet that little M on my id
that i paid so much for
makes me eligible to be blown
to bits or come back to
a country that doesn’t want me anymore
with my brains scrambled from
shell shock and ptsd

because this country is willing
to pretty much force-feed young men
into the bottomless belly of the
war machine

always stoking the fires of the
military industrial complex with
money and unscarred flesh
and so much lies
and so much fear mongering

and i am just so tired
of having to fill in that
little bubble with my ballpoint
pen and a click of the mouse
pledging what could easily be the
rest of my life to being
riddled with bullets
miles away from home

just so i can grab that
financial aid
that perpetual carrot being dangled
in front of my oh so
transgender and queer nose
so i can afford an education
and not become another statistic

another person that the
united states of amerikkka
has failed

• Sometimes you need to discard the complex and return to the basic… how you’ll be amazed to find the answer there!

• Don’t seek truth where there isn’t, otherwise you will spend time on things of no value.

• Do not ignore that which nags your heart, solve it, and peace and happiness will quickly spring out.

• It is true, the path of goodness requires sacrifice, and thus your willingness to sacrifice reveals your desire for goodness.

• [To those who are perishing, this is useless (but can be life-giving)] The recent conviction in your heart is a sign that ‘Hashem’ calls you… If you have ears may you have heard! No more will I continue with this…

• The rich man tries to ignore it, but the soul of a man shall live forever and ever and ever. He has chosen where it shall be but he may, and I hope he does, misplace it.

• Man runs to anger or loneliness for security, but he knows not that this is the highest pride, where you even deceive your own heart.

• Your repulsion towards him or her is not because they are wicked; they simply bring forth emotions that compromise your security.

• The desire of the past is the regret of the present and hope of a better future.

• To be a limited being distresses and therefore man ignores He who is unlimited, out of envy to fulfill [such] wretched desires.

• The realities of the world are pitiful, how painful they are!

• Love conquers all, even will-power bows to it.

• Now I know why the father of lies [and sin] is called a snake, how sin [and its condemnation] wraps itself around you.

• Beware of that sin that lingers, for soon you will tolerate it and it will send you to the abyss.

• The beginning of exceptions is the wind up of [progress and] stability.

• The urgency unseen leads to the vanishing of dreams.

• Sometimes the silence speaks better than words and the wind comforts better than a friend.

• There comes a time when a theory must be put into practice, where the [false] security it gave you will escape as water through ones fingers, and only its execution will set you free…

• Maturity is a river which like the Mississippi, disallows retreat.

• In the quest (or desire) to move forward, the former must be broken, that greatness may emerge.

• A woman’s weakness is her strength

• A woman’s weakness is her strength, and no man can deny a woman’s strength.

• Here’s a teaching; never cut in line as you wait in that test of patience. To cut in line is to insult all those who are behind you.


• Ignorance is not bliss, even when [the] reality is painful.

• Don’t look for faults, for in this fallen world you’ll always find them.

• The needs of a man are not physical, but spiritual.

• What is [the power of] hope? It is the reason to continue fighting.

• Beauty does not equal value or worth.

• Love is not a sign of weakness, but of strength, for not all are willing to humble themselves to it, or Him.

• You many never understand what this means, but perfection is liberated.

• There are three stars that all nations seek to achieve… These are: freedom, honor and prosperity.

• Humility will give you a name, a name the Most High will give to you.
  
• When the clouds cover the sky, and darkness falls upon the land, it doesn’t alter the fact that the sun is still shining. Again, regardless of the circumstances that may engulf your capability, the Son still shines.

• No one understands… It’s not that they can’t, but they can’t.

• Do not grab the bull by its horns, it will dislocate your arms and trample you down. Invest in a gun rather and shoot it from a distance.

• Words have the power to hurt more than sticks and stones. They have the power to wound and dislocate the soul.

Dislocate me from existence
Put me with the stars
Far enough away to see the distance
Into darkness without reprieve
Under burned down trees
and their shadows

I do not need your voice to convince me of things
like worth
or the color of my blood
These things I am sure of
My heart writes me letters about these things

Forget about what we said we were
Remember I was alone in your company
Your words filled with hot air
Boiling your words
Evaporating anything permanent

Liberate our nerves from any feeling we might of shared
Untie my limbs
Stretching out the presence
Drenching my skin with freedom
Calming the gooseflesh upon my bones

The well in our chests hides secrets
Ones that your words never pulled
The well filled with tainted water
So I added whiskey
And liberated your grasp

I will forever forgive you
Blending business with pleasure
Drowning yourself in an empty well
Dragging feet into the desert
of our yesterdays choices

words come to me from the roots of a resonant hazard
I wonder if we fool ourselves that the future is open
Heisenberg paradox in our eyes, starseeds in yours
billions of years of solitude haunt me
we carry supernova physics in our bodies only they
know what we are attempting, we are crazy
enough to dislocate the inception of language

we should carrefully ponder the meaning of the words
with which we slowly killed our bonds
we should consider the poiesis of living
words have no meaning, only texture

Down
the streets that whisper names,
through lace curtains
people play their parlour games
twitching
sneaking looks from behind Gothic scripted leather bound books and overstuffed chairs
where ***** is taken and sherry drunk
and tea biscuits dunked in warm Earl Grey
and another day begins in mill house town.

Locomotives sweating steel feel their way
across the bridge
to Morecambe bay
where there's a different class of folk
used to smoke and steaming coal
to steam the fish within the bowl.

And the bowl is either empty or it is not
never in between,
Like the life we live a lot is never seen
but talked in murmurs on street corners
by former miners
agitators
free creative thinking men who know to use the pen and not the sword but they're starving all the same
all in the name
democracy.

We see it differently
a heresy that's being perpetrated to dislocate and disengage and put poor people in a cage.
In the zoo you'll come to see
democracy through iron bars
Tsars that's what these suited tyrants are
well suited to the task in hand
to strip the land of all its wealth
and let's not forget the National health which is good enough for me and you
they'll feed us anything here in the zoo.
Bupa now that is super for the supermen and ladies too who come to visit on Saturdays at the zoo.
I don't know what to do
should I laugh or cry or demonstrate
or have I left it all too late?
What a ******* awful state we're in
It's one for all or ****** all and then we'll fall
into the straw
strewn ******* across the floor in cage 3b
I see but can't decide
have I died and gone to hell?
well
only time will tell.

my feet dangle by the edge of the rooftop
and i am terrified that i have every ounce of courage slowly building up inside of me
my soles still sting from the glass shards that sliced my knuckles open
and it was odd how my mind exclusively focused on my feet and not the hands that engaged into combat with my reflection
my hair is in the way, quickly growing into the nuisance it will always be
it tastes of cheap shampoo, cigarettes, fumes and yesterday's drug abuse
but let me tell you this, i do not do drugs
but the cuts on my fingers, and the dirt under my nails, will tell you that i do
it was just a misunderstanding, a punch to the face, a jaw i thought would dislocate, and tears swelling up, obstructed by a lip bite away
i am not clean, i can show you my wrists as proof and more on my arms to gain your sorry's and mercy
but i do not want attention
it's funny since i'm the one seated at the edge of the rooftop, the top floor, the 22nd
and i am trying to capture the entire city by a single look, including my peripheral vision
trying to picture, the edges of the photograph it will be
but my hair is in the way, and i can barely see
so i pretend to perceive the scenery yet attempt to not disregard the words i think they speak
their sounds start to appear as turbid as a puddle of mud
and yet everyone looks happy enough from up here

i grow eager by the second
thoughts do not outstretch and remain abrupt as my legs suspend high up from the ground
and i hope to stay irrelevant
as my fingers slip from the concrete and my wrists twist toward the wind

i will not think of my last words until i am close enough to outline the features on their faces, and trace the roads that are lining up with vehicles, boarded with individuals who will not see me until i am scattered on the pavement

n.j.

I may have taken you for granted but you took me too soon
Adulthood,
What about you makes me feel the need to embellish this rune?
I look down from my eyelids onto the hands in which I mold
Manipulate; take shape, as the do as they are told
Except with too many chemicals these extremities begin to shake
Dislocate and replace what I enchant to what I make.
Furthermore,
I may have taken you for granted but you took me too soon
I don’t mind the responsibility but it’s my mind that I sometimes loose
Over the slow man, the pedestrian and all the chatter from the rest of them
In the simple things is what you’re supposed to love but it’s the simple things that **** me off
When I have one point to make and nobody knows the difference
And finally,
I may have taken you for granted but you took me too soon
I’m always away doing something that the other kids never do
Was I the only one who got the message from my god?
The holy ghost of asking questions followed by a subtle nod
As neurotic as that is followed by how it could be
I found the script to the autobiography of being me
Sincerely

A look can tell you a lot of things.
Between lover and haters... or even those maybe laters
Suffocate or dislocate, procreate or...
Not.

Is life really that simple?
The literal hammer-time or a coke with lime
Friendly fire or boy for hire to do your...
Dishes.

Not complicated at all.
Can we really look into the eyes of our lover and see all that we wish to happen?
Or is it a simple diversion, conversion into...
Nothingness.

I tend to see it simply.
I care about you, we like to **** and otherwise **** on...
Lollipops.

Take out of it what you will, but I’m not going to change or leave
I like it here, hunting deer, and smelling fear in
Love.

this poem is a note on the fridge,
written in a passive aggressive language,
and it is valid humour when reading out the note
once more in social situations
to read it as if you have a grape in your throat

this poem is usually a rash decision
the typewriter can’t be…but it looks *******—
writing should be easier than this
I should have visions to draw from
and an imagination to explore

something like sand should be forming words
in my written hand like it did before,
when restraint was what was so badly called for


this poem is a girl I have met and
I bet she has conquered my sorry mind
with battleship magnificence and I, surrendering
at the very first instance of an instant

my pacifist stance has always been
consistent with my fragile optimism
I have a fondness, I have come to learn,
for chance encounters that grow
into the holding of hands
and the mounting of tension

there are mountains,
I’ve mentioned their beauty
in poems revisited since,
but now they blush and ask
who is this you have brought
to our seat in the skies?
observing the intensity
of her avalanche eyes,
and her craggy wisdom,
she was wearing a sort of deerstalker hat...

we visited the library together and read
in reading chairs side by side
this poem is a lamplight conversation and an apology
to Edgar Allen, for we laughed at his prose,
and I pretended to agree in seeing no value
do you see how I simply must be smitten?
(also because this is the worst poem I’ve ever written)

this is, as a poem, a miss/failure, about
a Miss, or perhaps Ms. I met, I miss her
I want to sit with her and her ridiculous portrait of Nietzsche
in a location [insert one here later] with potential for romance

I would relocate a knuckle,
dislocate my awkward self
and let’s drown in the quiet of the lake,
or almost drown, or almost fall in love
and almost climb to the very top of a tree

and almost spend every hour
in the comfort of what you believe


this poem is a kiss on the bridge and all
symbolic meaning that can be drawn from
bridges does not apply, we kissed on a
drawbridge when the drawbridge went up
and we zipped through the city in paper aeroplanes
kept warm by paper coats
and we have floated on lakes in paper boats

we crash landed and were shipwrecked
in the strangest and most unfamiliar places

once, mapless, beautifully hapless, we wandered
lost for hours straight,
when she recognised Community Square,
the sleeping butterfly
I keep in my heart—

    shifted its
     weight...

there was a little snake a funny sort of chap
he could stretch his body and round a tree could wrap
open up his mouth and dislocate his jaw
till his mouth got bigger and he could eat lots more
he could slide around and do it with such ease
then constrict his prey by giving it a squeeze
coil up in a circle and make a perfect ring
a perfect peace of nature and clever little thing
then when he had eaten he would fall asleep
and when he awoke off again would creep.

[Swearing Alert]


- INTRO; Angel Of Grotesque -


They say they need my help.

Can you believe it, MY help?!

It seems the crimson **** tide has finally turned - now here they are, tails between their sorry legs beg-beg-begging me for help.

Here I am, chained to a steel bed post and clothed in nothing but orange dungarees and socks - I stink of stale sweat, the odour mixing with the backed-up toilet reeking in the corner of the cell. I haven't seen daylight in over 4 years (I think) and I burn away the hours sharpening my nails and quietly ******* -

(often the latter first, don't want a paper cut down there(!))

I'm a man of no mercy. I have no 'better' nature or gratuitous soul - my ego is wholly puerile, at times pugnacious and others vile. I'm a self-centred beauty, a dancing Angel of grotesque. Grinning behind this mask of smiles, in leather and chains I love to dress.

I've long forgotten my name, there's no use for it when you've been stuck alone in a metal box for half your life - the only connection with the outside world is the crude letter box the guards shove food and drink through. Well, I say food but it's debatable whether the floury **** they give me is edible. Then again anything's edible when you're starving - toilet paper, clothing, even your hair and nails.

How did I get here, I hear you ask. Well basically once-upon-a-time in the ****** underbelly of Manchester there was this blindingly vivacious dealer who got in a teensy bit of hot water - resulting in some ******-off yobs dismembering his wife and kids for ***** and giggles. Said handsome dealer (yeah you guessed it, me) was then framed for the ****** of his whole family and locked away in some mental institution for just shy of 35 years.

It's safe to say I went stir-crazy - my brain sicked up all logical sanity and shat it out along with any humanity left in my heart.

What should a man fear when he has nothing left to lose?

I didn't **** my family, but I did the two officers when they took me to the station for questioning. I got tired of the twenty questions game they were playing so I snapped the lock on the inside of the door, slit the first copper's throat with the hook of my handcuffs (had to dislocate one of my wrists to get it free) and choked the other ponce with his own tie.

It took ages for their colleagues to get in, I guess it goes to show that reinforced doors do work.

Shortly after I was carted off to court, restrained in a straight jacket and chains (oh I did love that **** look) where the judge declared me insane and sent me to Greyhound Infirmary For The Mentally Insane.

And the rest is pretty much history from there on - I've slaughtered 4 nurses (one was an accident, I promise!) and a couple of patients, although I don't hear the Infirmary complaining about that.

I can't stand people anymore, when I look into a living face - be it man, woman or child - I see the killers that took away the only people I've ever loved, took away anything I've ever had and locked me away in a world of emptiness and dark.

All I want to do is carve the pain that gnaws at my stomach into their disgusting skin, make them feel how it is to be the freak that's laughed at, locked away, all alone.

That's why I've been incarcerated in this little metal box, left to rot away.

Forgotten.

Until today, when the seemingly dead cell door finally clicks open and I peer up at the first human face I have seen in over 20 years.

And ****, was it an ugly one!

Wasn't ready to be no millionaire, I was ill-prepared
I was prepared to be ill though, the skill was there
In the beginning, it wasn't 'bout the ends
It was 'bout busting raps and standing for something, ******* acronym
Cut the ******* act like you're happy, I'm ******* back again
With another anthem, why stop when it doesn't have to end?
It ain't over 'til I say it's over – enough when I say enough
Throw me to them wolves and close the gate up
I'm afraid of what'll happen to them wolves
When the thought of being thrown into an alligator pit, I salivated it
Weight is up, hands up like it's 12 noon, nah, homie
Hold them ******* straighter up, wave 'em 'til you dislocate a rotator cuff
Came up rough, came to ruffle feathers, nah, egos
I ain't deflate enough, last chance to make this whole stadium erupt cause

"Bad"
"'Bad' is just a huge promise of a song. A friend of mine, about as close as you can get, squandered his intelligence and his gifts to ******. Dublin in the late Seventies and early Eighties was a capital for smack. The Shah of Iran had been deposed, and people smuggled their money out of that country in white gold and pearls, by which I mean ******. It was cheaper than ****, it was cheaper than smoking spliff, and a lot of sweet teenage kids, who just liked to smoke a little bit of *****, were offered this cheap high, something beyond their imagination... I tried to describe that with the song, 'Bad, what it was to feel that rush, to feel that elation, and then go on to the nod, awful sleep that comes with that drug..." - Bono, U2 By U2 2006

If you twist and turn away
If you tear yourself in two again
If I could, yes I would
If I could, I would let it go
Surrender, dislocate

If I could throw this lifeless
Lifeline to the wind
Leave this heart of clay
See you walk, walk away
Into the night
And through the rain
Into the half-light
And through the flame

If I could, through myself
Set your spirit free
I'd lead your heart away
See you break, break away
Into the light
And to the day

To let it go
And so to find a way
To let it go
And so find a way

I'm wide awake
I'm wide awake
I'm not sleeping
Oh, no, no

If you should ask, then maybe
They'd tell you what I would say
True colours fly in blue and black
Blue silken sky and burning flag
Colours crash, collide in blood shot eyes

If I could, you know I would
If I could, I would let it go

This desparation
Dislocation
Separation
Condemnation
Revelation
In temptation
Isolation
Desolation

Let it go
And so to find a way
To let it go
And so find a way

Oh, no
I'm wide awake
I'm wide awake
I'm not sleeping
Oh, no no

My wrists are tied to individual ropes
The ropes are taut and hold up my body
My head lays limp...
My legs hang swaying...
And my eyes are beginning to lose sight.
The ropes keep getting reeled in
And my arms...
My arms are slowly losing sense
Slowly losing sense...
As they are
Slowly
Ripped
Off and out of my
Torso.


But I don't scream.
As my arms are stretched further away
Further away
From my heart and my brain
I don't scream.
As my heart becomes numb and my mind slowly loses its voice.
I don't scream.
As my ears become powerless.
I
Don't
Scream...
I
Don't....
Scream
But...
But I whisper...
And each word echoes off of the cool grey cobblestones that rise over me
No person hears my whispers...
Not anymore.
No person can see me..
Not anymore.
And slowly... slowly...
I am forgotten,
As my arms begin to lose their cohesion
And my joints begin to dislocate...
And my eyes become blind.
And my ears become deaf.
And my heart and mind stop.

My arms are final ripped off of my body.
My body falls
Through the air...
And remains,
In a state of falling...

Opens with some lucidity
after the world has gone limp
                           like marionettes
slides up to a good posture
and the everything rises
                            and blooms

All is well-enough
Not to do any-thing
Sit back a relax

People crave the expected,
Give em' the song and dance act:

Unseal her, let the air out
Pretend her hair is different
Let the left-over shape mean something
Make it the secret of Life

Cue the yellow hue
live your memories in a fuzzy lens
Slow the images, it's raining sunshine
Demi-god celebrities play your part
you're the star
be able to keep your heart
                                                 in one place
                                                          l­ock it up

Take a pause. . . . . .

Hit the spotlight, change the focus, transfer the weight
                shift
                      the  
                          burden
Wide     eyed     shot
dark shadows back alleys open veins
american pulp love with an insanity twist

Make the events your life
dislocate the easiness
                     Cut to the bed
                                torn to shreds
Blood slow on the back, warm wine on the wrist
all reddened by friction

Drop
          Strange the angle change
dunce cap and a corner prayer
                        the catharsis framework

Go back to the clear cut beginning-end
               crawl through the webbed nothingness
                            the vapor of conversation
                                  reality pushed upon
                                                   the drooling stranger through the
bedroom window
              eyes like a bone-saw, artificial
Pity
him
Become
him
Time has been extended over the back-lit stage
         a lucky break waking up with an adrenaline needle in your chest
         a resuscitation
                 Take the life from the shelf
              Contradict yourself, very well, Contradict yourself
    Make the impossible concrete, the unreal cities grow like roses
              Cut to Black
rip a hole for light, you're gonna need it
                     Role the credits, see the forgotten names which mean forgotten faces
you've hung on
sit in the dark
clap to yourself
        to this far away distraction
you're the hero and you've made it make sense in the rearrangement
                              of
                                               blood
                                               love
                                       and voyeurism

it's a little but plenty
it's so cheap but expensive.
It's so brave but it's cautios
and so sweet nearly noxious.

it's so full, and so empty
it's so bright and so tempting
so fulfilling and breaking
what it gives you will take it.

It will knock you off your feet
it will dislocate your heart
it will wither your bones and
it's not even the worst part.

It will starve you and leave you
then take back and forgive too
it will beat you up daily
hourly make life dreary

it will spill, it will cry
when you turn away wry
lift you higher than heaven
bury deeper than hell
your vision will better
but blindness will find a way.

you will come out a *******
egocentric but lost
selfish, trustless and beaten
sell yourself for no cost.

throw yourself at a stranger
look for comfort and "it"
years will pass, pain will ease
you'll still die incomplete.

there was a little snake a funny sort of chap
he could stretch his body and round a tree could wrap
open up his mouth and dislocate his jaw
till his mouth got bigger and eat could eat lots more.

he could slide around and do it with such ease
then constrict his prey by giving it a squeeze
coil up in a circle and make a perfect ring
a perfect peace of nature and clever little thing.

then when he had eaten he would fall asleep
and when he awoke off again would creep.

Love you lots,
Despite the pain
Despite the rain
From my eyes
Under blue sunlit skies,
In spite
Waking up
Restless in the night
Were I
An abandoned pup
I cannot lie,
I miss you
Night and day
And I have no clue
What else to say,
My mind in knots
I cannot undo
As I think of you,
Minor relief
Knowing you're alive
But that disbelief
Still lingers
Nine to Five;
Dead ringers
All the pictures
Permanent fixtures
In my head
That I cannot
Dislocate
Until I'm dead,
And for that I wait
Patiently
Fervently,
Though a race
This is not,
It is a surer bet
Than to ever see your face
Again; which I will never forget...

APAD13 - 146 © okpoet

the subway is dark and cramped
fluorescent lights dim under the thick smog that shouldn't be here
your legs lock up
sudden
and then nothing
then only nothing
you don't come back until you're at the hospital
eyes bleary against the white light and yellow walls
as they press an oxygen mask against you
you can't help but wonder how you got here
here in the antiseptic dreams of cancer patients while you stare at the cracks in the ceiling
it's not that you can't dream
it's just that you don't
here against the black lights with pulsing music
here against the knife fights in dark alleys
you dislocate ******* and enjoy the pain
you chain-smoke Marlboro's for an hour and a half
and by the time you've finished two packs your head is spinning and you can't think
you scribble on a piece of paper until you can't move your arms and the ink bleeds through onto the kitchen table
you can't breathe for three days and when you can again
the doctors tell you that there's something wrong
you shut your eyes and you forget how to open them
i.v.'s appear in your wrist after two days and you keep taking them out
at your funeral, you can't hear the songs they play
because you can't breathe inside that wooden box
you can see the stars flickering above you but your eyes are shut
you stop being able to remember the third grade
suddenly nothing
and then only nothing

Thoughts can rearrange,
And feelings can dislocate.
But Memories could never change,
Nor could we modify our fate.

What’s meant to be might occur,
If we try enough to get there,
But I must give up I’m sure,
Even If I once would care.

Thoughts I had are gone,
They disappeared at last.
Your time here was far overdrawn,
Even if it seems you left fast.

But deep inside my soul,
A piece of you remains.
You made one big hole,
Why must people insist you’re vane?

You’ve shown me many times,
That not all of you is appalling.
You’re not capable of such crimes,
You’re really just pretending.

you dislocate a broken image of your frame
of a unrepentant distant life.

as sure as you are still alive

So off with the heads,
you despise a dream of lies.


i want to gaze into night skies
I only gave it a test,
make sure that love is safe.
you haven't slept in quiet awhile
and in the dark side
there are consequences set
in the dead of the night.

COLD,rush of warm,BLOOD ?,****,quiet,choices? confusion? feeling? grey,ringing in very low tones,911 in a blizzard? wait and find the cuts ,big mess ,broken tables,? will the others know I am "broken" pain LOL ,LIVING in short bursts,how many joints can you dislocate at once? IT pushes me down WHY,WHEN,MAYBE FORGET THIS TIME? clicking sounds dark,blue,green,feelings flat lined?VERY small mind,closed,peeking out? IT WON'T LEAVE RICK

Border line
Dead inside
I don't mind
Falling to pieces
Count me in
Violent
Let's begin
Feeding the sickness
How do I
Simplify
Dislocate
The enemy's on the way

Show me what it's like to dream in black and white
So I can leave this world tonight

Full of fear
Ever-clear
I'll be here
Fighting forever
Curious
Venomous
You'll find me
Climbing to heaven
Never mind
Turn back time
You'll be fine
I will get left behind

Show me what it's like to dream in black and white
So I can leave this world tonight
Holding on too tight
Breathe the breath of life
So I can leave this world behind
It only hurts just once
They're only broken bones
Hide the hate inside

So I can leave this world behind

Show me what it's like to dream in black and white
So I can leave this world tonight
Holding on too tight
Breathe the breath of life
So I can leave this world behind

When I was 3 years old my father was taken from me. He was never given back. A toy I didn't get the chance to experience. A memory locked in a bottle floating at sea. My father. He is still alive. He is having an affair with drugs and sleeps with alcohol. The same people who took my father have now accepted him as one of their own.

I have wanted him back in my life since before the day he left. Listening to the footsteps that echo in ever doorway I pass through. I would do anything to have my father back. So I have begun deconstructing myself. While giving him back every part of me he never had. Building a body for a man with no backbone. A fortress to protect his tattered veins. Something to plead for a path back into my life.

My hands. I will first shake your hand. Giving you the moment to feel the strength I gained from your absence. Then I will dislocate my mechanical joints from the elbow and surrender. Maybe then you will feel the soft parts of my palm. The parts full of love and forgiveness. A path to the right side of the bed. Explore my forearms. The same ones who have build classrooms without you. But I still have a spot on my wall for a our picture. I keep it dusted and shiny.

My shoulders. A sign of cooperation. Using them to cope with the weight of regret in your bear trap chest. Without both of them you are left weak. A team that has carried the weight of the moon on it's nights the sky turns out the light. God and the devil have convinced me of difference edges of the world and met me in the middle. Use these shoulders to pack up and leave your past. Then you will find your present, tucked silently under the crust of earth at your feet.

My legs. I will never walk a day in your shoes sir. For this, I can't grasp the pain you hold upon your bone marrow. But let me lend you mind. They are full of miles. Miles to find a better tomorrow. A way to get off our worries without feeling sorry. Your blood will adjust to my feet. When this happens, our DNA will draw stories all over the map. Give us a chance to take a walk. And walk out of the glass in your captivated steps. Travel back to your family. We are broken statues, arms open patiently paused awaiting you to complete  our family once more.

My spine. I will melt into this earth and pray to my slumped body that you will stand up straight. I promise it worked last time I used it. While you borrow this could you look me in the eye. Just this once. I want to see the empty hotel canvas of a shell you run. You have been begging for vacancy for years. Here is your ticket. In the present. Not a moment behind.

My ribcage. I am keeping. This is my only defense. My body is simply a vessel of your genetics. I will easily give you back what is yours. But these ribs, they held me every night you were not there. Reading me stories of a better you. Myths about a father who loved how children deeply yet did not have the proper body, soul, or mind to do so.

My forgiveness. Dad, take these words. Digest them. Eat them in your meals at night. Watch them carved on your ceiling at first dawn. Feel them crawling through your bones. Then take this body. A offering of forgiveness. Something to give you safe travels back home. I'll be waiting. With the light on and a beer in the fridge.

Don't you get it?
we sweat it
they get it all


I won't give in
and
be a cog in their wheels
but
it feels like I'm pushing up daisies,
I'm not yet pushing twenty
years

why is it they got plenty and
I have porridge for breakfast?

Fears for the future
and it doesn't exist
yet,
it might never

we might sever all connection with
what makes us human.

This must be the dislocate
it cannot be fate,
perhaps
I've tuned out from the show
does anyone else know
what frequency we're on?

On a chilling winter night
The quill slips and icy, has to fight
I wrap my frozen heart around a shawl
And frost traps my ink which freezes too.

However, inside, my body burns with desire
Making me tremble like red hot magmatic fire
But this poor quill, alas
Numbed in this weather is exhausted already!

The flame of my candle flickers and weakens
Inspiration shows a passing fancy and she wants to be desired
I’m going to break free from this heavy inertia
But how? Everything is still and tired!

Oh cruel globe! Why is my soul so mute?
She was able to drench me in its natural artistic flood
I can’t believe in her sudden inactivity
What’s going on, I’m going numb in my blood!

Oh you my muse, spread your silky artistic veil
Over my being beseeching you to save it
Oh you, my well of inspiration and mystical words
I implore you, listen and come to my bedside, hail!

But why is everyone, Heavens, deaf to my call?
Just who is willing to hear my plea of despair and silence
No one can revive this depressing poetry and her fate
Loneliness, to the four winds I’m going to dislocate!

In a certain hour of a chilling winter night
I’ve let my writing expire at my workbench
Farewell then, poetry, fie!
In my night I fade away and nothing muffles my plight!

But with this new dawn, don’t you cry my muse
I’ll write  with you,  I’ll be in your care
And we’ll content ourselves with sweetness, laughter and schemes
I’ll once again respond to your vital needs

However, aura of happiness and joy
I simply won’t do it tonight, but finally,
Don’t fret and rest in my dreams, hopefully
Tomorrow I’ll worship you, unconditionally!

Written on August 26, 2010,
Translated on November, 13, 2017

With delicate, yet awkward, fingers
I edge my way down my throat
And loosen the cut you made on my neck.
Nails crawl through my flesh
until I hear the strum of my failing violin, cat gut, vocal chords.
An ear drum bursting TWANG;
Reminiscent of the s c r e a m s
You forced from my bones.

My body twists around the thought of your
Gaze pounding down my spine.
You’ve buried your way into my skin,
A burdensome parasite I can’t shake, or dig out.
Despite the number of nails I break
And bones I dislocate.

i was working day in and day out
to carve out this life we had in our heads
but when your whispers turned into shouts
the worst seemed like the best that i could get

driving in my car thinking about your face
you really could light up the darkest place
when we touch i think the end is close
you bring death, bring life, neither of which we chose
sometimes i think i could die with you
but i know you don't reciprocate
you break me and you dislocate
my bones

Everybody is so
Sickening and ugly.
Perfect asymmetry,
Assembled imperfectly.
Grotesque figures,
Reaching fingers;
Scratch and shiver.
Impurity lingers.

Contort to fit inside the womb.
Disfigure yourself,
Dislocate bones,
We live in our tombs;
This world, our home.
Where we're scorned-
And scorched, by scourge
Of fear instilled into our hearts,
Where it hurts
Because we break ourselves apart-
So harsh, just to feel like we belong.
We're the same
I'll sing along, I'll sing along
Just don't leave me all alone
In this crowded graveyard,
Can't you feel that it's cold
And our souls are wayward?
Sadness is favored,
Happiness is always tapered.
In this planet created by destruction,
We feed off chaos and all that is disgusting.
I'll **** the pus out of your blisters,
If you make my mind feel like a twister.

Scatter my thoughts
All over-
All around.
And everyone is beautiful
Again,
Somehow.

-SLuR

Sit among the rustling leaves.
Listen for life,
Listen for death.

You'll find that life lives among the trees
Audible by whistles.
The freedom a seagull must feel.
Favorite food: tourist's french fries.

I once heard a story about a buoy.
From Maine to Europe it
Drifted for years.
Is that freedom?

Did the current grab it's limbs like
The medieval rack and dislocate it's ability?
Buoys can't cry for help as cargo ships float by.
The salt tastes like ignorance.

How would a bird feel to be stripped of it's feathers?
Ask a magicians dove.
What is the correlation between disappearance and freedom?
Ask the buoy. You can't get 10 years back.