"dismantling" poems
born in illusory chains
gnarled metal
encrusted in my broken skin
the copper colored dust
of rusted steel
infectiously envelopes
shaving off antiquated layers
of fundamentalist religion
encrusted for generations
unpeeled until raw
an unsophisticated method
unveiling
ancient lodged glass shards
colored with deceit
brought before their court
interrogated
unfathomably skewered
an eerie salem witch trial
in modern times
barbarically they shun me
banished
i wander aimlessly
smelling the rotten decay of deceased community
as splinters pierce my feet
from the crooked wooden plank
i walk alone now
an unfathomable inner ache
kindled a residue within
igniting a wildfire from the darkest shadows
uncontainably erupting
i dance savagely
naked in the orange moonlight
and in every shaded edge
lit my soul ablaze
i am a nomad sheep
‘tho not one of their color
no pasture to contain me
no shepherd i can follow
theological safety nets
no longer there to catch me
bohemian-like
i plunge
free falling
plummeting
stripped wide open
magically
fearlessness
reverses gravitation
floating
untethered
i soar amongst
apricot tinged clouds
my skin still wet from rebirth
and rise with the flaming coral sun
you cannot destroy me
i twisted in your decrepit pencil sharpener
and with fresh mettle
cut through the chains that bound
you can have my ego
but you cannot have my soul
dismantling domestication
transcending limitation
wildly untamed
i fly
©2016janetaylor
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 6:40 AM UTC
She seems pretty queer
Yes she does
Something odd
Something peculiar
Is it in her insouciance
Is it in her audacity
Is it in her pirouettes
Spun with such vivacity
Is it in her defiance
Is it in her nonrepentance
Is it in her reveling so free
A form full of glee
Sometimes impetuous
All times ingenuous
Aflame with passion
An immersive intoxication
Cracking down on this mystery
A perplexing dichotomy
Let's remove the misfitting pieces
In sync with commonplace notions
Alas what dismantling of a girl
at peace with her pieces
What uprooting of a girl
at home in her body
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 1:22 AM UTC
#
*Laying in bed all day
with silky thoughts
in a champagne haze
**An empty glass of water
rests barren on the floor
her eyes light up
as he enters
through the door**
With every stride
across the room
whispered lyrics
begin to bloom
In an encore
from the night before
in her memories
now begins
a brand new score
**Thrums echo
as the rythmn keeps
time inside each beat
slight murmurs crescendo
and a long symphonic
overture erupts**
He draws his notes
in the cream of her curves
Dismantling her inhibitions
soothing her nerves
Tongues in a waltz
senerading to thunderous beats
in a rhythm more shattering
than the rolling waves of the Sea
**Lights flicker
as his eyes roll
visions of grandeur
in tow breathless
they gasp for air
not wanting this moment
to soon disappear**
Driving urgency tenderly drizzle
ending one where the other begins
melting in the stillness
of tangled bodies and limp limbs*
#
Jun 4, 2018
Jun 4, 2018 at 8:24 AM UTC
From the ripple in a glass of water
to the sonic boom of this internal
Pompeii, the erosion
of her etymology is the only
sense of movement in her
dilated, cave-pupil eyes, those
two ghost towns spanning
and encircling all the way back,
stretched like an elastic blindfold
past the moment the first brick was laid,
perhaps her first vivid memory,
or anecdote, or first word uttered
in a Cuban slum.
There are mountains of tumbleweed
over the once thriving metropolis
that expanded towards America;
who threw herself into
the architecture of seven pillars,
borne from her land and
minerals. Gone are the
huts that housed her
knowledge of basic motor skills.
The women who once imagined
Mami and Mima as her birth
name now scrub off
the graffiti of her excrement;
they saw a swarm of pink moons
the day she told the same story
to every visitor that came
their way, each day then becoming
a missing surveillance tape, a sinkhole
dismantling the awareness
in her bones and stubborn will,
until she became
these dust-engulfed plains with
a daughter and granddaughter
archeological in their efforts
to chase down the remains
of a girl still breathing in
those eyes from time to time.
Every other ten-millionth blink of
the eye rides the silhouette of a post-infant girl
on the high tides of her quick visit,
looking in horror
as the nation of her life's nightmares,
heartaches, broken promises, romances,
spiritual breakthroughs, life-changing seconds
drowns with morbid unity en cien fuegos,
desperately attempting to assemble
the remnants of her psyche
past her cognitive bloodclots
with the awareness of one
who speaks no languages.
Gone is the moment
she first learned
to feed her several children
before the slip of sunset.
One of seven pillars remain intact,
the others long dismantled of their
stick and straw infrastructures.
One pillar remained,
housed her own colony
for nine months,
and now both descendants
travel the mind of their
greatest influence
with perplexed dedication,
caustic humor the decoy
for swarms of exhaustion
and asphyxiation
from the truthful atmosphere,
reveling in the seconds
of humanity lurking
in an abandoned etymology.
Jun 29, 2010
Jun 29, 2010 at 11:19 AM UTC
don't understand me. this is not for you. It's for you.
my Gemini shin splints are pirates. hopeless Romans, romantically dismantling
the things you Undo. the things you You.
I Doctor in your Seuss canal.
with a frontal lobe, more Job
than a postage stamp -
in this Day and Age.
It's grey and rage -
with the tooth torn
out !
Out
through the probable snout
of the next mummified god-king
of our interlocking rot...
our chamber pots
spotting the oft begot good
of our evil
Mummenschanz
we are crepes' rue; yet we roulette best
in Typhoons
from murk
placid.
with 2.8 kids
and damp
matches.
we are
struck in a gale
of flaccid
dumb as a Belle of the Ball
that Squares
a Rube
with an Ism.... from Ix.
sometimes.
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 8:38 PM UTC
I do not know your name—
only your silhouette
etched in the echo of things I was not given.
Your absence was my alphabet.
I spelled every woman with your ghost.
They loved me.
But I loved you through them.
Your hands behind their voices.
Your eyes haunting their praise.
They were flesh, and I was kneeling.
I made gods of strangers.
I made homes of hunger.
Mother—not mother.
Lover—not lover.
I could not hold the difference.
They all became symbols
and I became a shrinekeeper,
tending lies with tenderness.
Forgive me,
those I touched but never saw.
I was trying to reach through you
and forgot you were not them.
And they were not you.
None of you asked for this altar.
I am dismantling the myth.
I am returning the light.
Jun 18, 2025
Jun 18, 2025 at 4:28 AM UTC
I became Holmes, past knowing true:
In every sense, I'd seek for you.
Now, taking the cobbles consciously,
Sick, mad, of the essence of this construct,
Dismantling the ancien régime to see
That I am all your stains in concert -
I am made up of every last touch -
Originality's a lie, save in
The combination that you see - as such
It is unique, but I still cave in
At the dawn that nothing is my own,
And much like as if you were a coffee
I'd downed: I could not, for my life, disown
The five million senses cutting me
For the time, for every conscious cup
I'd take and take again: Why should I dull
And cut myself this way, a life made-up
Of such a tannin-full ideal?
My way as a writer is to fall
In love, in my eyes, in yours, in raptures,
In despair, in tough crowds, on God, to call
On my muse and survive the ruptures
Of worlds and heavens, both real and made,
And feel the rain upon my face, but Lord,
How often do I feel, and feel the raid,
Engaged by scent, blush, needle, salt, word?
All too much makes nothing, and I can't flee
To seek another cup: I must seek me.
Mar 28, 2023
Mar 28, 2023 at 12:58 PM UTC
Away, ye muses, all away!
Away with songs of finch and fay.
Away the jaundiced sight
That magnifies the firefly’s light
To bonfire bright;
That sets ablaze at once
My musing’s dimly burning lamps;
That ornaments with rhymes
The penury-stricken looks betimes;
That over-clothes the logic – lord
With fancy –swollen words.
Away, the partial love
That ‘boldens Nature to sit above
Her Maker!
This day I fasten eyelid doors,
With absence wax my ears,
With languorous peace congeal
My tongue, my touch, my tears *
That I within may pore
Upon the things behind, ahead,
In the darkness round me spread.
I lock Dame Nature out
With all her fickle rout.
Somewhere here,
In the darkness drear,
I myself with cheer
My course will steer
In the path
E’er sought by all:
Its magnet call
I hear.
Not hear, not here,
Apollo would his burning chariot steer;
Nor Diana dare to peep
Into the sacred silence deep.
Not here, not here,
Not far or near
Can mounts or rebel waves
E’er make me full of fear;
Nor evermore
Their dreadful grandeur to adore.
Not here, not here
The soft capricious wiles of flowers;
Nor swarming storm clouds’ sweeping terror,
Dishevelling the trees
And light-haired skies;
Nor doomsday’s thunderous roar,
Dismantling earth and stars-
The cosmic beauties all to mar –
Not Nature’s murderous mutiny,
Nor man’s exploding destiny
Can touch me here.
Not here, not here:
Through mind’s strong iron bars,
Not gods or goblins, men or nature,
Without my pass dare enter.
I look behind, ahead –
On naught but darkness tread.
In wrath I strike, and set the dark ablaze
With the immortal spark of thought,
By friction-process brought
Of concentration
And distraction.
The darkness burns
With a million tongues;
And now I spy
All past, all distant things, as nigh.
I smile serene
As I expose to gaze.
In wisdom’s brilliant blaze,
All charms of the Hidden Home Unseen:
The Home of Nature’s birth,
The planets’ moulding hearth,
The factory whence all forms or fairies start,
The bards, colossal minds, and hearts,
The gods and all,
And all, and all!
Away, away
With all the lightsome lays!
Oh, now will I portray
In humble way,
And try to lisp, if only in half truths,
Of wordless charms of Thee Unseen,
To whom Dame Nature owes her nature
and her sheen.
3.1k
Good morning, Starshine
You're a gift to this world
I admire your generosity for others
Sharing freely from your heart
Your character inspires me
I recognize the resolve in your values
Challenging me to grow
Your spirit calls me
I thirst to know all of your secrets
Both broken and healed
Your energy moves me
I crave your touch
Addicted to the electricity it gives
Your soul sees me
I'm intoxicated by your words
Dismantling my armor
You're a beautiful creature
I'm thankful to intersect your path
Hopeful we can walk awhile
Apr 15, 2021
Apr 15, 2021 at 11:25 PM UTC
They profit on your silence, and foster insanity
To reef your identity, and fade you to normality
Control is an abortion of instinctual fundamentality
They blind us with a bleach of hypocrisy to fade us to their normality
Gather once in number, to support the dismantling
Fate of compassionate and empathetic rationality, is threatened by a lie of social justice in pronouns and prejudice
This is an infection of our political mentality,
to allow other views to be heard only if they align within sheepish bounds of radicality
******* Ideology. What insanity
Can’t let it fester, or our dignity will be the fatality
Disgusting to muzzle those who believe differently
As long as it’s not hate, preach what you practice
Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 2:29 PM UTC
a desolate deception of hopeless self expression
a perceptive inception of artistic retention
is this a conversation?
or a list of movie quotes?
pop cultures ascension to our first world dimension
feel the tension...
feel the pulling of the mind
as we spit rhymes about hate crimes ignored for an episode of Family Guy
is this truly the vision of the revolution of rhythm
cause it seems more like derision or apathetic decision
speaking of dismantling systems when we're all caught up in them
when will we be finished?
when we get off our ***** and take molotovs to tyranny
instead of crying in beer glasses
will that amend the cracks in foundation or just be a punchline
we take breaks in the morning noon and nighttime
and we havent been fine in a long time
with cops murdering and wars being waged
we're more concerned with grocery lines and making a good wage
lets end currency cause its holding us back
and let our abilities have the first crack
spread the wealth of the knowledge of a skill or a trade
help those who are enfeebled to make a way
and do it because its the right thing to do
not because you want a soul indebted to you
property is robbery its as simple as that
so raise your black flag and lets take freedom back
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 5:28 PM UTC
There's but one indulgence
One delicacy.
That will ease my hunger
Please my appetite.
It is a sweetness
No baker can provide.
A delicious treat
A most Savory delight.
The aroma visits me daily
Dismantling all self control.
I can taste it by thought
But that won't soothe my soul.
These cravings are possessing me
My mind and body can't rest.
In order to cease my desire
I must Feast upon your flesh.
© Tina Thompson
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 2:13 AM UTC
Looking back
years later,
I probably should never
have been on that flight.
Here’s the reasons why……
Shortly after takeoff,
and three cocktails later,
I spied a gremlin hanging out
on Engine Two.
Every time I looked,
smallish with green skin and red lips,
it smiled with an impish grin,
then went about its business
dismantling the cowling.
It seemed like
I was the only one who noticed
the little creature.
Other people were looking out
of the same side of the plane and
nobody was saying or doing anything.
Had they slipped me something?
Was the gin spiked?
Was I hallucinating?
Was God sending me a message?
Needless to say
we landed safely in Bogota
a few hours later.
It was a beautiful vacation!
But on my return flight,
things turned sour.
I was busted
for possession of narcotics,
spent six years in
a Colombian prison,
it wasn’t Heaven.
Like I said,
I probably should have never been on that plane.
Now looking back years later,
I think the gremlin was trying to warn me,
I wished I had taken heed,
given up the thought
of trafficking.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 1:02 PM UTC
Mutilated chains of flowers
delineate where schoolboys cowered;
sixteen brick houses on St. James Street
reduced to red dust under homeless feet;
photographers pause, catching their breath,
spellbound by the neutrality of death;
clearing haze where the white chapel stood
reveals ever-dismantling wood;
the market's one register on a charred-black stand,
nearby derges lilt from a funeral band:
*...oh and as, and as
they're lain in silk and white ashes...
the town broken apart, flattened...
...in marble graves and mahogany
under skeletal laurel branches...
...on down to sleep, to sleep...
...we may walk with weathered ease...
...oh we may consider, may remember,
a granted time, an affirming love...*
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 1:40 PM UTC
surrounding us: a billion stars
in a time when a trip to mars is like walking around the block
and captain kirk and mister spock are arguing
about the prime directive.
we’re beaming to a planet’s surface. now listen:
i know about inverse tachyon beams
i know about coded klingon screams
i know about going to warp factor eight
i know about redshirts' survival rate.
(no. chance.)
i’m beaming down with the main crew
to the surface of minerva II
we've got a malfunctioning interstellar transceiver which is distressing-- dysgraphing? dismantling…
…i don't know.
scotty said it was defective.
so we’re on this planet,
standing on one side of a thick forest packed with monster janeks,
starfleet says we need to fix this thing yesterday, and we’re in a panic—
and **** it, mccoy is a doctor, not a lumberjack,
and kirk says we should just burn through the middle with phasers,
and spock says we must preserve respect for all life forms no matter the situation.
now please remember kirk’s the captain.
that means he runs this show
but kirk always listens to spock,
so
we spend two days walking through the forest.
surrounding us: a billion trees
in a place where a strange disease is rare as feathers in a flock
and captain kirk and mister spock are arguing
about the prime directive.
halfway through this dark-lit trip
things go wrong (obviously)
and an alien with shellac for skin captures the captain.
said alien grabs a vine, ascends into the canopy of the trees,
and for one glorious moment
i believe kirk’s the dead guy in this episode, not me!
but spock, in his calm and logical vulcan voice,
orders us to exercise any necessary force to recover the captain.
translation: **** EVERYTHING. JUST GET KIRK BACK.
we reach the janek village.
being a good redshirt, i rush in, phaser blasting, ready to complete the heroic rescue of our captain—
and get killed instantly.
as i was dying, i heard the sound of thousands of janeks dying beside me
saw spock help kirk off the ground
and the last words I heard were theirs:
“captain, are you in need of immediate medical attention?”
“nah, spock, i’m fine—”
“mr. scott. the captain is hurt. beam us aboard immediately.”
one’s arm over the other’s shoulders,
they vanished.
surrounding them: a billion stars
in a time when a trip to mars is like walking around the block
and captain kirk and mister spock are arguing
about the prime directive—
but the prime directive
was never the real objective.
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
I wanna go Sundance on the moon,
Gather my thoughts and appreciate the value
Of being lucky to have a second chance
On a world where death occurs on every dance.
I wanna live a life worth meaning,
One worth gazing back and seeing
Where I can catch my breath and smile
Relax on the porch with an angle view of Eden
Expressing the mile and how it was worth while
I wanna learn & cultivate,
Curiosity of understanding
And what topics deserve dismantling
As knowing a fact or figuring out a part
As knowing the truth always has a hard start
It may be redeeming and deserves streaming
Can you handle the life and keep beaming
I wanna know whats the next stop,
What rocks to avoid and weather it carries a trap
Should I carry on walking and stop floating away
In this sophisticated maze thats delicately placed
I guess its worth being lost instead of knowing your place
Just so you can find your ways
And pick what to embrace
I wanna live by meaning,
To stop blaming and start fixing
To love other's more than my self
To inspire the heart by killing the dark part
To not be demeaning, foolish or deceiving
Rather respect and value others feelings
I wanna capture the good in all of us,
The meaning of sisters and brothers
A harmony expressed through + intentions
A sequence of peace & virtue in humanity
In order to live equally without the insanity
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 3:01 PM UTC
**** you!
I yelled to the past
how could you do this to us?
then I read your history
dismantled your genocidal machine
refocused on my breathing
scolding past
rexamining the present
recreating the past
provoking the future
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 1:15 PM UTC
my walls
crumbling down
my reservations
fading
my guards
dismantling.
I can feel
my heart
my mind
my body
my soul
opening up
for you.
I ask myself whether
this is good or bad.
I feel terrified
I am terrified
Of what I feel
For you.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 12:08 AM UTC
the social pace manic in its self-absortion, possession facing possession and what if
the world risks collapsing under the weight of its own irony:
a hedonic frame of mind so devoid of the ******* of life
the tyranny of desire is teaching **** to the naked eyes
a culture stops breathing if it can't let go of its desires to find them again
nothing to be destroyed cause everything is dismantling slowly
going right or left it's the same but not in any corner of the world
the leftovers of God, tautologies in a straightjacket,
cause one has meetings all day but no sleep all night
He/She/They colonize you with the scripture of profit
everything has its price on the expence of being enlivened
some don't have water, others too much of an illusion
some don't have peace, others have haute couture
some haven't eaten, others have molecular cuisine
some have the shelter of the sky, others listen to the echo of Big Bang
this logic of contrast is dreaming of the creativity of decay and
what if politics has become a narcosis, a drunkenness of words,
while the wisdom of trauma is hidden in billboards,
the text says Politics of Happiness or Diserotica
the depressive society fools itself with the financial ****** of disconnected bodies in search of the last noise of the day
the space of the mind broken by narrow horizons
the flesh and bone might turn into a virtual dimension
yet
the soul of the world flickers, it covers its solar plexus until we meet again as brothers and sisters of the trees
just because you feel good doesn't mean that
the world feels good too
Aug 18, 2023
Aug 18, 2023 at 4:42 AM UTC
i could taste her with my fingers
feel her sweltering tongue
like a red field burning
until our lives fell to snow
grottoes icy labyrinth
dismantling us
a bone at a time
we studied each others
shifting decrepitude
watching each other rot
naked, twisting to white ashes
like a fiction of flickering transparencies
drawn faces slope downwards
every day
a dark-eyed Halloween
and i cant hear her voice
still a giddy pig
with **** talk
floundering in the mud
laughing about death
my heart is a secret terror
my breath tangled in your words
every syllable like a pound of grain
breathing black pebbles
I'm facing destiny
a dark jazz
like all before me
and you
my beloved
until all is parched dust
with
one of us still left standing
haunted by the absence of the other
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 2:38 PM UTC
Holding the mirror as it cuts me,
young distorted beauty.
I hear the lurking as you say,
"Hello It's me your guilty friend,
I've come uninvited moving in."
Slowly eating away my body until I disengrate.
Perhaps you may think you have the superiority over me,
Dismantling me taking away my abilities.
Sadly, you do not know the perseverance and **** stubborness fighting in me.
Good bye anorexia.
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 2:30 PM UTC
Double standards,
Syntax will answer.
Trifling the line between innocence and trouble.
The consequences render my psyche to rubble,
Debris piling up,
Skin tattered and tough,
Immensely rough.
Scars leave memories of when it was all too much.
Burned by your touch,
Branded,
With slanted vengeance,
Consistency begins with us.
Ends in dust,
Dismantling trust,
Allowing the hollowed frame to whither and rust.
The cyclic meaning of meaning,
Bending rhyme to reason,
A change for all the seasons,
Now we’re meeting with forced greetings.
Definitions make new traditions,
Twisting and contorting to situation.
Adapting while reacting,
Showcasing deformed acting.
We sit in the back laughing,
Understanding the change that’s happening,
The inevitability of our apathy,
Prolonged by a resistance to sever a fading destiny.
Forever is terminology,
Syntax,
Created in reverie,
A place we can’t go back.
Standards bring order,
Where chaos is prevalent.
Double the standard,
Order is irrelevant.
Contradiction,
Insecurity flourished with tortured intention.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 1:54 PM UTC