Alex Moore Nov 2015

Like a dryer is the human mind
Sopping wet and rolling around
Everything succumbs to heat
Shrinks, tears, fades

Even the sock gets lost in the dryer
And yet one remains
A half of a whole that can no longer be complete
One sock
Gone forever

Do we mourn the lost
Where is the vigil?
A sock mourned is a thought lost
An idea that can never be
Static we never feel again

Lisa Benson Jun 2013

fold the ventricle to the right
the pulmonary to the left
the wrinkled capillaries need to be ironed
pillowcases of vessels need to be thrown in the wash
take one last whiff of his scent
before he's just another sheet in the laundry
dirty laundry
clean of heartache

stupid title idk
Michael Ryan Jan 2016

Smells like clean clothes
it's always pleasant
at the laundromat
down the street from
my apartment.

The washer and dryer
are currently broken
looks like some teenager
didn't know what they were doing
as the washer is filled with water
and their clothes remain
inside dwelling to smell
of mildew.

The dryer looks like an antique
because it is the slime green of the 70's
mismatched to it's wifley counterpart
that is stainless steel sparkles
so I assume the dryers death
is not the fault of our fresh water culprit
but electrical problems brought on
from existing forever.

They broke a few months ago
and I've never gone to check
if they were brought back to life
as I've found myself
intoxicated with the laundromat.

It's the mechanical hums
an orchestra of ball barrings
with clothes tumbling
through their fabric softeners
to become fresh gentle cottons
the smell of Hugs
is the aroma of heaven.

Random.  Dreamy.  Life. Pleasant.  Appreciate the small things?
Noah K Murrish Oct 2016

Today I feel like laundry between loads,
the kind that feels all heavy, wet, and cold.
A battered, soggy pile: washed-up clothes.
If I don’t move, my soul is bound to mold.

The spin cycle is constant smack-churn-spit,
and with every rotation I distress.
So soak me up with suds and detergent,
And bleach the darkened stains inside my chest.

But I can’t stay in this damp state of mind,
so throw me in the dryer, press “repeat.”
The warm air clears my head and then I find
the sweetness that is found in dryer sheets.

For even in anxiety's extent,
the warmth of fresh, dried clothes leaves me content.

A wandering tumble-dryer
Sat by a deep lagoon
And tried to re-align him
With happenings late and soon,

New paths, new plots, new people
New chemicals in the wash,
And sitting there in God’s sweet air
The lake he looked across,

“Just as the Sun at break of day
Glad hope will soon revive,
I now embrace the life I have,
Bliss to fortunate survive.”

In this happy mood of mind
He churned his merry drum,
Clothes softly sifting down inside
Out perfect then to come.

Zak Krug Oct 2012

I am
listening to
a symphony of
coffee pots,
and cheap sex.

A red coffee cup
sits on my desk,
half full.

Where is this going?

I can be filthy.
I find it to be cheap,
a play.
Oh, sure,
use another idiotic
graphic in your
mess of a poem.

Where is this going?

blue Apr 2017

i will climb inside the drum
and i will think about you
and i'll shrink and
until the thoughts are too big for me

shades of wrong Dec 2015

He’s warm and soft and tempting.
He even smells warm.

But I don’t have time for this—there’s work to be done.
I know I should take him out, fold him up, put him away,
and shut the drawer
for good.
I know better.

But he smells—he smells so warm
and new and clean and tender and gentle.
He’s beseeching me to climb in, to allow myself to sink
into his all encompassing embrace, to ignore all reason
and carelessly float in his soft-smelling air,
feeling his comfortable warmth all around me.

I know better.
I know his routine, but still
I’m torn every time.

Every time I find my mind wandering,
foolishly entertaining the ideas he proposes.
It could be so warm and safe—that home inside the dryer.
If I’d just climb in
maybe I wouldn’t feel trapped,
longing for room to stretch and air to breathe.
Maybe the hot, sharp edges of his zippers wouldn’t burn me
this time.
Maybe I would be happy
with him in our home inside the dryer.

But each time I dance with these thoughts, the music halts abruptly—

I know better.
His soft, comforting warmth will not last.
In his darkness, he will become cold and wrinkled.

Right now he is tempting, teasing, enticing.
I know better.

A person cannot live inside a dryer.

All Rights Reserved
Meg Howell Feb 2017

Love and practicality
A ladder leading into a tumbling dryer
Dangerous and blurred

Flowers with roots to hidden caves,
Caves known as the "heart and soul",
Which we keep hidden

A tightripe balanced over the sea,
Inescapable and thrilling

Wanderer Jun 2015

Sadness clung to you like a staticky old dryer sheet

Some Person Nov 2014

I open the browser on my phone
And then I close it
For the tenth time
I have a dozen things to do
But nothing in me wants to
So I sit here, depressed,
Dry clothes wrinkling in the dryer

Phoenixstar Jun 2016

Let me taste you,
let my tongue ripen inside.
Licking your lips,
dryer that sweet wine.
Mix your taste buds with mine
your decadent flavor is fine.
Succulent as is divine,
your taste, I devour
time after time
emotions erupting
The burning passion
never subsides.

Meghan O'Neill Apr 2014

How do you think
Those mismatched socks feel
When you pull them
From the dryer.
Do they know that they will
Never see their match again
That they will always be
Half of an equation.
Do they know that
They have lost their purpose
Never to be regained.
When you pull that single sock
From the dryer
Does it understand
That it will never be complete again.
I feel
Like the mismatched socks.
But then I remember
That I am melodramatic
They are just socks
And someday
I will find my other sock
I will find you.

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