Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Madisen Kuhn Jun 2013
i wish we could go to a park at night
and sit back to back
on a blanket beneath the trees
and talk until the stars tell us to go home
because when i look at you straight on
my knees grow weak and my voice shakes
and maybe i'm not exactly sure what to say
when i'm distracted by
all the what ifs in your eyes
and maybe my mind dizzies with thought
like the possibility that i could be
a high tidal wave
that washes away the foundations
of a barely built sandcastle
and maybe i just wish i could tell you
everything on my mind at 2am
and maybe i'm just really hoping
you feel the same way
Onoma Feb 2017
Pi~lated by Pontius to an undisclosed location--
we traded presence, as the fruits of labor.
Half-eaten...the ratty dark-lets of our pits--
eyed forms of survival.
You the better for, I the better for...with our
overgrown estates of separation--(spare us the
indignity)...never!
We were made for this, weren't we?
Who got in front of a beam of light first--you or I...
seems like something I would have done--nonetheless,
therefrom the race.
More naked than two millennia of winter...whoa,
aye--glory baby, glory!
Eye contacting eyes...in and out, out and in, sheets
bathed in volumes of water.
We tried to ****** one another in a fit of passion...
so what.
A passion that swore responsibility for whatever it
may, or may not do...so what.
I was the burning mascot of your dormitory for
three and a half years, illegally--sharing a single bed,
cultivating my poetry.
You Adam-ed me...I Eve-ed you--we watched the apple
go red, we both bit--chewing it to the core, mouth to mouth.
As our jaws tired, we noticed the poppies everywhere...
the poppies are everywhere, we cried!
Black, covetous mass, black--sleep bedding sleep, closing
skies--opening grounds.
The poppies are everywhere--we began to horde grace,
deadpan our burial grounds in plain view, something
went amiss.
We played with frames, instead of obliterating the de-vice...
for faces lost in time, adoration.
Where's the reserve to suffer this rich knowledge--everywhere
is your womb, all-seeing and blind!
The poppies are everywhere...I pose upon the ground--
offer tragic gestures, feel me!
No, it all must be exhausted--human genius must be bested,
made the fool--it must be so.
Air after air of convincibility booted--left, right and center stage.
Clay in cold light, natural of its own...that's what we should want
for one another, shouldn't it...how?
We wanting more, as someone we may never know--let alone
one another.
Take that light, and work it to forgiveness, that is possible I
believe...the poppies wink.
Funny thing though...one of the two shall work far less for that
forgiveness, nearly not at all--******* inequity!
No...the schema's perfect--karma's debt, as served, perfect.
Stay in that truth, but the Truth is too big...the poppies are everywhere.
My head wraps around it like a whirling dervish--though no planet
dizzies...this is no matter of intellect but Heart.
The butterfly that's pinned--becomes the pinhead...spare me!
If I am she, and she is me...as one and all, who spares who--from
what and why...the poppies pock affirmatively.
*First of a series of poems, as in that vein, under this title.
Kerri Jun 2016
Her lips.
A poet's *******.
I crave them
In the most
Euphoric way.
I tremble from
The pink electricity
That passes
Between
Them and my own.
A high that dizzies
My head follows,
As I crash into
Her tongue.
An art so addictive
That I must immediately
Write it down.
Romance fills my pen
As the ink remembers
Every stain
That her lips
Left on mine.
I don't do *******, nor have I ever, but I can imagine the intense cravings and high it brings as I imagine her lips.
From the depression of the distances with respect to the horizontal and the planes that separated them from the surface, below the references that came against, single sediment had been destined towards the high eminence, before the fossal of megatons of aldehyde below the bilges of the final base, where the seventh rings of the goat ibex were perforated, all in the antipode of the Constellation of Capricornus; where the goats were enraptured in the binary of Wonthelimar, behind the floods of absorption that took the Diadocos far from where they should never have left, in order to extrasolar wishes and never to come. From the node of the supreme and poked aldehyde of the horn of Amalthea, with the bizarre analogy of Zeus and Wonthelimar, both mammals with milk from goat's udders, one from goat from Mount Ida and the other from Aldaine in the Alps, with milk from ibex and In the face of Amalthea that appeared in the fossal, all the Seleucid generals had already vanished, starting from the Viper Typhon, who in the retracting sub-mythology of Capricornus was transmigrated to Wonthelimar, swollen with the aldehyde transmuted into this alcohol and into the udder milk of the Ibix that He lactored, while they were all carried away as in the chambers of Auschwitz, in distant lanterns and lamps of the Calypso that he dismissed them, leaving them with the escorts of the ibex or goatfish in laudable stratagems, which vanished them away from their desires from a new polis or Nostos Patrída, sprinkling them with goatskin and flourishing essences of the kashmar of Zeus' nurse; Amaltheum or Amalthea.

The Iberian rings from the medrones in advance reached the two final ring nodes, here Wonthelimar intimidated them with an accurate adjacent bleat of the kashmar that rubbed their back, before the newest and last lux of Amalthea that vanished into herbaceous fruits that always He carried the barefoot medron with him, to start with the antlers dumbbells and re-transport them defeated to the species of snake that frightened the pastoral god Pan who shepherded, and then he submerged in the water after becoming Capricornus Ibex Fish. Being aware of this and of those who refused to continue listening, Ibics rings were unleashed until the seventh medron, feeding back with Wonthelimar who ad libitum created Venus in triads of Zeus. Wonthelimar and Amalthea were remote in the eighth and ninth medron of the antlers, they appropriated to each the portion of the Parasha or Parashot of the Torah, and of the thirteenth Shemot so that their dualities and fumes from the unbreathable fossa would remain under the possessed surface of the pendular property balance and positive-negative gender correspondence. Right here Amalthea transmuted her mercy to save the world with her lactation of syrup and honey that was not in short supply, and that was extrapolated into a future abundance of food and nectar, making up for crusts that were uneven in average terms. From this bezel, both beings of the goat genome contributed to the pole of goodness for each one at the end of the benevolent cuirassiers of prospering, and not from the opposite that would lead them, even though they were dissimilar causes, towards a retrograde event that was not a consequence of the becoming of the plagues, and of the malignancy that does not flourish with the Shemot of the Parasha, to agree and lavish themselves on blessed virtues or deliberate wicked ones.

The meaning of a relative synchronic and factotum coexisting does not redeem the disintegration of an existential relativism in Skalá, the Hexagonal Primogeniture from one of its angular visions, metaphysically transfers from its temporary contingencies after its arrival on Patmos, while the temporary Seleucid temporality vanishes, It was affirmed from a contradiction since its truth was distended in the arena of Skalá not implying being welcomed, rather it was victimized by the absurd political dimorphism in a meta spiritual state, abdicating its dispersed retrospective, and now contemplating a compromise of the Hellenic genre, to gradually rebuke the virtues of their banners, twice as good for the purpose of reinforcing the will to accede, and not perish in the attempt to lead Alexander the Great. The criticism of founding the memories are of a revived past where it was not, marking the anthropological fact and false truth judgment, in meaning and contradiction in the polarity of both axiomatic genres, but that is saved when quantifying in who has to defend himself, if seeks to abrogate itself, in the entity that is characterized by induction and attraction of egonies and not of exo-egonies, thus describing it in the theme of "Do not support egos that recriminate other characters of frustration and empowerment of a Vernarthian logic split into Vern-narth. Vern has etymology of Bern or Bern olive tree of Gethsemane and narth of the ordinal scale that speculates its nickname in millions of northern sections of its origin, which subsumes the truth and the criterion of apocalyptic parapsychology, re-life of quantum historicity of the metaphysical and sub-block. -Mythological of Vernarth in his identical.

Everything seemed a strange self-annulment from a clear and understandable limit, but Wonthelimar rose to the surface of the Állos kósmos, finding himself in atmospheres of truth and reality of a Cantabile, who decided about the horse Kanti coming with him towing him from the Erebo de Chauvet Bilocated. As a musical and festive ending, he received them on the upper plate of the happened gestures, where a cabaletta rendered parts of a Cantabrian aria, in sulfurous and remorseful cavatina married with the cross emotions of a finale who sponsored expressions and festive Templar tales, with the descendants of Zeus or minor children, or grandchildren after this had to give him milk and honey but with báchkoi. Among the couplets that received him, some came about the smoke of terror that was confused with the dustbin of a Cavallo or horse acclaimed Kanti, with gasping bustling from a cardex, containing all the repertoires of a cantabile if this scene were to be repeated in The same epic allusion, and in random consequences, that go after a cavalcade that is not abstracted in real characters, but more in conformity with the well-deserved place of epic imaginative beings or in the operatic psychotropic of a duet, which would go flagellating in individuality and in each which is not content from another section of the Cantabrian.

The Universality of emotion and feeling is a tragic Parodo emulating voices of all those who sing from a cantabile galloping in their voices to the beat of the heart in some, and at the same time chanting stanzas and antistrophe in reverse epic and tragic lines, for the purposes of the coliseum that diametrically obstructs the Hellenic choir, which is attached to the intervention of the Hexagonal Primogeniture that was already beginning to rise in height, and in the prayers of Saint John, the Apostle and Prochorus from the captaincy and the ode that would begin to stanza, from the west to this and the antistrophe would follow with Vernarth, Wonthelimar and Alexander the Great from east to west. Ad libitum of their enjoyments, they were eating Greek snacks or Katogorias on the way in bases of Almonds, cinnamon, olive oil, sugar, and sweet wine that they carried on their backs in Rhytas shaped like the horns of Zeus and the Ibix of Wonthelimar, which the same Procorus carried on his golden back. The meaning is affirmed as a meaningless infringement of laws of temporality, and truthfulness at the expense of short evidence, and of facts that vanish in the light haze of causalism and not of effectism, when the adjective or noun is made of a strong verb in the Metabasis and in the imprecations that Vernarth gave.

Vernarth's metabasis: “the verse and the adjective will be subsidized by the noun in the construction of Állos Kosmo Megarón, from where mathematics will immaterially explain sap suckers under the noun in liquid milk of the color white and of the high nutritional value in female lactated, and of mammals to feed their goats or ibex. The soul of this prerogative implies that the verb will be to promote species rather than a nutritious milky elixir for Zeus, and the candor of his **** will tend to the bipedal or quadruped subject self-procreating from a Milky Specie. (Milky species).  Being ****** into milk by self-procreating snitches. Vernarth says (give me some milk, and I will be the son of Zeus, perhaps as a means in everything and not a whole of which I never thought...!)

Amalthea in rituals and relics from prospects of demigods was purposely cordoning them off in Mycenaean deities, from a contemporary Westerner comforting them near a hippocampus; with signs of ibex Capricornus, rapt at the nymph that spoke from Mount Ida in Crete and that she made congruent with the constellation of Capricornus, more precisely in the Cornucopia making this heraldry of Wonthelimar with Fortune, Abundance, Occasion, Liberality, Prudence and Joy. In a woman sitting on a throne, a young nymph with a flower crown, a naked woman with one foot on a wheel and the other unstable, a woman with sunken eyes and an aquiline nose dressed in white, two faces from the past and future, a woman happy with the exuberance of the Cornucopia with children and a palm leaf. Being the abundance that in serial Amalthea bordered all the ladies in different esoteric and Mycenaean prosperity, constantly shining with radiations on the present in the Unicorn Ibix, which Zeus left after breaking its antlers, unleashing kindness and plethora in fruit buds, and vegetables that were appropriated in the Fortune of Wonthelimar reissuing what in their domains they can do, and now in Patmos with its Cornupia being transferred from that liquefied shaft honey and milk cultivated with attributes of herbs contributing to the leisure, peace, and relaxation of the cosmic world that ascended in Wonthelimar as Ibix in advance of Capricornus, from where the Auriga always broke into his expeditions with a trajectory towards the eighth cemetery of Messolonghi, where he brought it from the Capella Star for the femurs of the Diplodocuses who seconded Drestnia to watch over the hydraulic pits of the Koumeterium from Messolonghi, before traveling to Tangier.

The entire herd went back to an ancient promontory that was halfway up the mound towards the black styes or abscesses, in the central intuition of the fossa that began to dissipate towards their backs. Amalthea extends into the Állos Kósmos, which came in zoomorphic receptacles collecting the announced blood of the animals that flowed in black planks from the vortex of the fossal, towards the liminal or transitory sleeper of the fossal that oozed acetosities of the Aldehyde to be transmigrated after the bilocation of the Chauvet cavern. All wore willow halos on the crowns or diadems of their caps, including the proliferation of phantasmagoric Allies that went in rows from 780 to 680 BC. C., with fortunes of the Cornucopia that arched in magical arches due to the dissociative changes of the universe, as well as the circumstantial creed of some omnipotence that will cause emotional transgenerational transgression, in the rain vessels that they made fall from the Ombrio de Zeus, in a daily latticework closing the spaces, and only leaving for some intruders and onlookers to see his flashing Astrepé. Right here the diádoc fossal vanished, when it rose above the horizontal that poured into the Chronic Vernagrams of parapsychological personalities of ingenuity classicism and in Astro-concomitance, which would rethink everything that is past and future from a Vernagram, which is more than a compression of a mere future of the quantum spaces and the sacred medrones of the Ibixes with their direct relationship with Capricornus. Diverse capital moments were treasured in the breeze of the Vas Auric that was traced from the opposing moraine that fell in lapse-time, through the labyrinth in storms and thunderings that became planetary with the Lynothorax cuirass that Alexander the Great accommodated in the festoon border of his Aspis Koilé, kicking copiously as a sign of shaking the head of the gods who deceived him to be alive, and who was now reborn in the faith of Saint John the Apostle, favorite of the Mashiach and where he will have to wipe his face with the shroud of Veronica Before entering the Állos Kósmos Megaron that everyone built, in favor of a Panagia or Temple, unlocking the majolica that seeped out from the rest of the transmigration, and his own in the configuration of a corpse with a tricolor gesture.

The presumptive eradicated the side of the forearm rots that was being restored in Wonthelimar's laps, which helped him get up and catch his breath while the Katogorias snack filled his mouth with nectar and almonds with Macedonian Psiloi combat tactics with serum and flames of Alcohol dripped from her nostrils and sinuses in the sweet wine, which in pompous dilemma defied the judges of her life in the choir of the Bilocated Epidary Theater on Patmos, and in the ***** dry Kashmar of the orchard with the pale faces of the grotesque, that rested in the memory or Mnmosyne and in the fauna of the Thracian and Thessalian helmets.

Alexander the Great says: “here I agonized and now in the fresh waters of the springs of the Lerna, I will also marry the glorious mystay and bákchoi, in the memories of Vernarth seeing him besieged by Achaemenides in the stooped position of Dario III, to come purifying and sustaining of my limbs, learning to walk and speak in Neolithic techniques, which extruded me from the Lerna by barriers of the moon that shone from the bronze of my Leonatus helmet. Thus I could see that Vernarth, fought alone against thousands throwing fire through his mouth and his eyes, separating the waters of the Falangists, who plowed like ships deforesting the Persians, and leaving them in their mud, imposing glorious Hypaspists who unbolted from their back some arrows with heads of snakes and Hydras.

Vernarth watched as everyone climbed the Profitis Ilias mound, two hundred and sixty-nine meters above sea level, where the monastery of San Juan is located; here he was suspended in his solitude after everything that happened at the end of the moat that definitely I would return without the Diádocos, with a hint and its functionalities. From here Helios became genealogical, who snatched him from the kingdom of dead flowers, which were to be assumed from the Olympian where he will join him to the essential of Aïdoneus; immaterializing in the darkness of dizzies and the flowers that died in the genealogy of a new species. The scenic swept its cognitive and ferns with more than three hundred frank species that frowned like the enemy of an evil friend, with seedlings that expectorated from the resonance of the bushes that invited to thrive in the salty ripples that made a dreamer fall asleep on top of the kerchiefs or brambles that memorialized Gethsemane, burning his face and hands with psalms, telling him about his Baba. For when it is a luminary by night and by day, they will compare it with the white grayish drupes and mops, like those of the Bern orchard of Olives, in aqueous and resinous colloidal, which was crowned in harmony and syntropia in Vernarth activating intellectual conscious plantations, which will restructure its balance of ultra Hoplite, in metabolism of the Lentiscus flowers, with great brotherhood in the Olives that each time exercised the gift of bending their oleaginous self-species, towards planes of the Cornicabra olives, with large branches and high tree altitude that fruit within of the Cornucopia that he now carried on his back, supported by an oiko spin, juxtaposed with the fibula on the right shoulder of his lymphoma, which with large branches and high tree altitude fruit within the Cornucopia that he now carried on his back, supported by an oiko line juxtaposed with the fibula on the right shoulder of his lymphoma, and with polyphenols in scale geothermal energy that still leveled the Ponto Sea towards the tectonic plate to give it the flavor that was owed from remote prehistoric times.

Patmos was aborted from an immanent consent and new force of the impending enemy in Pythagorean perorations and an offending thought. From this prerogative is born the generalized punishment of sub-mythological ethics in favor of legacies of allusions to reorder or defragment the enslaving and demolished bio culture, which would begin from the establishment of the Vas Auric found in Limassol, which took possession from Rhodes with clean scenes from Tsambika monastery. The epic ran like icy cold down the shoulders of all those who sweated for the generation of cops, and in domestic evasions in superior lordships to Hades or Wonthelimar itself, both sons of flocks and goats that nourished them by providing them with a mountain perspective, as a magnetic pole towards gothic energy that ruled more in the Magnetic North Pole, and the geographic oversize that reviled latitudes in riches that would dismiss Borker and Zefian, as masters distributors of the ethics of the Áullos Kósmos of Patmos, redeploying thousands of dead from pre-Hellenic times, so that they recirculate through the roots of the Kashmar, re-sulfurizing cinnabar saps as the germ of the subterranean Acheron, which consecrates the living and the dead in the eternity of the infinite Duoverse Universe. The order will lie in semi-shadows that even in the dark provide the pleasant warmth of camphor, with advanced Horcondising formulas, which will appeal to hungry souls by suppressing gifted energies, and by inseminating them with ovules without originally conceived organisms.

From Hylates, Cyprus; Zefian came by order of Vernarth, assisted with the extension of the earthly laborers of the Attic Calendar on the twenty-first of September, from the device of Apollo at the site of Boeotia, and especially of the Boedromion. The arrows that Zefian brought had an instant Boedromion crossing the lines from spring to winter, with seven arrows that Zefian threw into the sky and never fell, but if portentously received in the virginity of animals. The flora with seven golden arrows of the Chauvet de Wonthelmar cavern, condoned the exhaustive end of the fossal where they still remained, in a gesture of tenderness and relative Mycenaean genealogy, from Crete the contravention of Apollo and Artemis towards an olive tree was approaching, originating in the Zefian's arrows, to mark the new cardinal points, begin with the first two arrows that they put on the string of the bow, each one flying north and south trajectories and the other two that were once again attacked with the east bow, to shoot the arrows of east-west with southern magnetism limits. Zefian's imagination was of proportions that were not limited without wandering from their phalanxes when they pulled the string, like joys of a ghostly existence that pushed him in each bolt, presuming that where they fell would be the beginning of the storms that would originate the Állos Kósmos Megarón, for belated courts imposed from a cosmos, which he led by insisting on his will and from a doubtful Vestal god advocating the association of the hospitable Canephores, such as Vestal Virgins of Roman bilocation, and quantum parapsychological of the feared inter-tale alive that rebels in the arrows that they had not yet fallen and did not know their whereabouts. As plates or serial hosts, they were evoked from where the origin of the Universe was broken, to open towards the organic, vigorous, and anti-burn contravened Duoverse to the divine celestial origin as a parameter of *****-ovule, rather in aeonic instances in the fireplace of Hestia, running in eternities towards vast volumes of light-years, where eternity has no measure, let alone the existence that begins and ends born from a homozygous arising without a Universe, to hatch from the branch of the Heterozygous Duoverse, bringing different unions of eternal cells by universal divine decree, and not the union of disparate cells. The science of the Mashiach came in these divine arrows that marked the points of the cardinal in the numinous and exclamatory expansions of the exiled universe of Vernarth, towards the perenniality in itself, but being heterozygous for a world that would begin to live in non-organic cells, but yes of divine composition, over saturating the limits of the origin, and destiny of syntropy of the conscious actions of the metabolism of the Alma Mater and of the great doors when losing the bodyweight of the physical-ether, but yes from the platform of the Mashiach that will take them hands without leaving them abandoned, showing them that they were no longer children born of ovule-*****, but rather in the luminous matter, envisioning expansions of prayers beyond from the universe, where it will accompany them in a multidimensional plane..., and will have no end from a human scientific conception.

Wonthelimar says: “Since the omphalos was swallowed by Cronos, Hera's elegy was unleashed, for not raising her son Zeus in free clumps of goats and Ida's honey. I in the Alps went to the herd of the Ibix like a Zeus saved from the darkness of Chauvet in the mountains of Gaul. There are chisels that cut stones in beautiful whirlwinds, but I know that a lot of cosmology would not speak of the Mediterranean Cornicabra and its olive drupe, nor less of the Cornucopia that sinks with sumptuous and ephebian flavors in the fruit, and the greenish heraldry of the binominal that is disturbed in its phalanges eating and sipping honey, in antler pots with pride of the Ida and the Vercors massif”
Wonthelimar Amaltheum, Állos Kosmos Megaron
Katherine Nov 2012
Woman
I touched your skin long ago
In a small home
you made for yourself
somewhere between
brick and gates
and a
lost
key
I felt the curve of your hips
A tight grip
A wet kiss

You were shy
Your big brown eyes gleaming
In a faint light
That peeked through your
bedroom window

This
twisted lust
it sneaks in
It dizzies the mind
unravels desire
entangles mystery
lady
my heart has never met my spine.

You are tangled in your own way now
Sedulous
Passed from sight
You met a good man
At least I've heard
And I still think of you
From time to time
Lawren Dec 2011
Green stripes against
The watered down red wine carpet
Almost like Christmas in August
Sauf the creepy fat man
Entering your house
Via the chimney.

The blue lines dictate where the letters begin,
And end.

The ticking clock reminds the brain
Of life, time passing.

Light seeps into the room from
The over illuminated hallway,
Fluorescent lights clarifying every dimple,
Freckle, pimple and scar.

The hallways silent with sleeping children
dreaming of fame, wealth and popularity.
The whirling of the AC separates the cool inside
from the sweltering heat
the setting sun left with the night.

The darkness brings no relief.

Vessels against the carpeted cement floor
resonating like a sound wave
through the whole body.
Pulsing from fingers to toes
in time with the metronome of the heart.

Each of the senses heightened
with the lack of sleep.
Joints swollen, pained from the strain of living
Life.

Every day is a new movement
In the symphony of life.
Every moment a new note is written
on another page
in the never ending book.

The soul swirling with emotion
Dizzies the eyes to reality—
Blurring, mixing

What is seen
What is imagined.

Blank stares at a blank wall
cause an eruption of creativity
Leading to hand cramps
And writing circles on the floor.

My mind, finally at peace,
At last able to leak some creativity
Onto an empty page.

Filling it with the emotion of
Black ink against a white sheet of
Lined paper.
(Her name was Geraldine Cohen.
She lived in Miami Beach.
I was 21. She was 35.
I will always love her.)*

Yellow fizzies in the lime cabana,
Bronze banana at five-fifteen,
Downing dizzies in a timely manner,
Getting foxy with you, Geraldine.
mari Feb 2022
he always calls me by my given name
whenever he finds himself back in town;
mariela on the dotted line,
mari in the moonlight.
ella if he's feeling smug,
bunny when he's looking for God.
he knows my history is shaded with blue,
marred by narrowly-won home-front wars.
everything about me reminds him
of Heaven and sweet, honeyed beaches.
sandy cheeks from moonbathing, ****,
by clyde's stagecoach motel on the coast.
barefoot and manic, he tastes like sugar
and complements the *** on my tongue.
green-eyed with envy, but he's sweet
enough to make my mind grow hazy
with the lust of a woman gone mad from her fears.
he rolls through on the tail-end of a storm
and dizzies me until the dream ends
and i find he's left me only morning dew.
he tells me i'm an angel, lazily smoking
cigarettes while he lounges, gloomy, by the pool.
sunshine bikini singing sailor songs softly,
cool in my gold hoops dancing between
his open thighs, signaling gamine doom.
he's larger than life, starry-eyed,
reading me poetry against his olive chest.
i could die here, i know this, listening
to the gentle tune of his heartbeat.
he tells me he'll love me only until tomorrow,
but i'm not so sure that's the truth.
when the playdate ends,
when the sun dies slow,
when my love goes home
i'll awaken,

but not just yet.
i could do this for forever, trailer trash love of mine
erica court May 2015
your soft voice
        trickles over me
        like rain, like alive
        life curtsied before me
                a beauty in ****
                soft dark skin
over the wires leaping--
dizzies me
        I long for you to come to me
        in heels, swift, as poppie
        petals in the wind--
you are my rain, impertinently covering me
        and I don't mind, chirp over vibrations
        whirl me in your soft voice
and it's late at night but I like it, you know
                how sweet,
                        your voice is
for Sarah that keeps bugging me to use this ugly site
Sarah Jystad Sep 2010
I see the foolishness of trying to live
In the mind-world of will.
This double vision
Dizzies me into standing
9-23-10
Ink Apr 2014
Welling up inside of me
Like the guilt from things undone
Lies the horrid emotions
We don't deal to feel
For each other

Deny, deny, deny
The word has become the playlist
Of our lives
Bobbing in our heads
Wherever we go

Keep your thoughts hidden
Like the treasure of your skin
So preciously unique
Unlike any other I've heard
Rough like the tide washing me away

My heart no longer speeds
Up at your sight
My head no longer dizzies
As you speak your careful words
I've learned to burry it all in a well

Deep, deep in a well
Somewhere in my chest,
In my thoughts
Where you can't retrieve it

Deny, deny, deny
It's been ten days since I've written.
Ten days I've been an uninspired mess.
Ten days I've had the little dizzies after standing up too quickly.
Ten days I've felt rug burn in my cheeks and cotton mouth in my eyes.
Ten days I've felt the grease ooze from my hair down my back.
Ten days I've found a home in the unswept floorboards by the door.
Ten days I've bathed in crumpled, ink infected papers.
Ten days I've drawn blood from dry lips no longer able to whistle.
Ten days I've doubted tomorrow.
Ten days I've...just...
...the hair grease part wasn't about not showering...just so we're clear...I'm clean...bye.
Julia Jan 2016
in the pink dawn of morn a flight dizzies of restraint
its shapely breast enlightened by the too slow rising sun
behind cheerful demeanor a deft, watchful eye may taint
the gossamer certainty of which the fowl had none

silenced by loss of hope, he stares pointedly from the light
but it would take only the bat of a butterflys wing
to free the sparrow of its woven cage, and let it sing
BubbleZee Jun 2015
I carry a prison in my veins that I pray would one day riot
A  fire for every experience,
And an obsession for freedom ,
That has pushed me to a nomadic point of madness
That both dazzles and dizzies me.*

-Ntokozo "Jozi" Majozi
Wandering Mind Dec 2015
Steering down the narrow white corridors
Footsteps rushing up and down the stairs
While making silent prayers
Mumbling voices and clink of metal on metal
Beeping of heart rate machine
Beating hearts of his parents with panic and agony
Then goes a prolonged beep
Knees give up
Vision dizzies
The doctor could barely breathe
Everything in a blur of slow motion
The world zones out
Air fresh and thick
With screaming sobs and tears, a lot of tears
The boy lies motionless on the bed after a week of battle against the fates
His chest doesn't rise or fall
Their darling son and brother was now lifeless
The family now carries him and the pain of loss on their fragile shoulders
While the doctor braced himself for a week of uneasy nights and twisted dreams
Pulling down on his shoulders is the weight of one more soul he couldn't save
Dave Robertson Apr 2020
This morning
bird song
like black tar ******
incapacitates

dizzies senses
slight numbed
by minor isolation

all too brief
a moment of reverie holds

before returning to
web spun garage
and forgotten loft

to make busy
Briscoe Aug 2019
On sordid airs I detect
A sizzling cigarette
That dirtily dizzies me.
The vapour shaped and misshapen
As though the pale horse of Death
Is animated again,
Forcing forth from some lung's depths.
The dizzying diseases released
Onto the city street.

Then passing a Chinese window
Cheap honeys rich in flavour
Seem woven with the air.
Wisps of some Summer, lost
Among clustered years
Covered in moss,
Dangle beneath my nose
And rising up
Almost fills what's hollowed.

But I am busy and must go
The city suffers no one for so long.
So I go on
To the city's dizzying smells,
To leave the moment's spell.

The city smells me.
The tunnels and funneling gutters
The nostrils of this grey matter
The network of working, walking
Men, women and children.
It adapts with new technologies
And the conscience of the street
As the street well knows
Controls me.
Ruby Nemo Aug 31
i will come back here for you
even if the sea disappears
i'll find you there in the dream-scape

he once said
in chair swivel dizzies
that this world was made for me
and that i wear it well

star-glittered floor
glitter-glimmers in setting cement
maintaining illusions
weighing the full commitment
current-whirling eyes
refrain. continue diffracting. sleep in soft beds. study. rescind.

you have really gone and done it, now.
is this not what you wanted?
am i not who you molded me into?
there i am, in the reflection of your bed frame.
there you are, sitting on your bed.
here we are, studying each other.
rescinding into our separate... rash follies.
our derangements match on a similar-but-different level.

cheers, together, we ruined lives
care if i take a seat?
i try so HARD to break from the HABITS THAT RUIN ME!
where do they go when i expel them?
into the air, to float up to space? do the aliens bite the insides of their cheeks, too?
or into the sea, so the critters & corals can get high, like I used to?
maybe they will crawl into the ears of my neighbors, so Tab can have "The Rug" stuck in her head all day, too.

well, well, well. here we are, in this space, together.
on the one hand, but oh... oh, on the other hand.
sign out. do me a favor, reversing your trail.
who am i to judge?
who am I to wonder.

fast asleep, you are, my love.
oh, how i wish i was sleeping next to you.
cradled in your bear's embrace.

i'll be here waiting when you fall down.
i'm watching Lost Season 3

— The End —