"duct" poems
Crack in the ceiling
Expensive repair.
Crack in the glass
Duct tape
Crack of a switch
Stripe the *****
Crack of a gun
Someone's done
Crack the vein
Relieve pain
Crack of lightning
Frightening
Crack the whip
Obey
Crack my skull
My mind mulls
Crack the mirror
Old wives’ tales dither
Crack the door
It's her …
Crack of her ***
Beautiful tail
Ends this tight little piece
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 3:34 AM UTC
You ask me
If I've considered suicide
Like I'm actually going to answer
Honestly
I mean,
What would I say?
Yeah that's all I think about
Please,
Put me on piles of medicine
So I can be crazy
As well as sad
But let me tell you
I most definitely
Have considered it
I've got the perfect tree picked out
It's got the perfect branch
For hanging yourself
There's a rope already attached
Or if you prefer,
It's easy to climb
You could always just jump
These are two options
But wait,
I've got more
There's a lake out back
It smells bad
But you could definitely still drown
Or better still,
There's a great knife in the kitchen
Really thin blade
But it's super sharp
For minimum pain
And maximum blood
Yet still,
There's more
I've got duct tape in the basement
You could make yourself suffocate
Of course,
You could use your pillow for that
There are the long ways
You could starve yourself
Sleep deprivation
Dehydration
Etcetera
So Mr.
"Psychological Doctor,"
I don't know...
Would you say I've thought about suicide?
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 9:01 PM UTC
1. De-Colonize This Space
Drum circle protests genderplop demands
Indigenous discount store camouflage
We demand persistent stereotypes
Solidarity initiative project
Take back the people’s cultural statues
Ethnographic curatorial practices
Red spray paint fire imperialism
Repatriate the Iphone Starbuck’s cups
And don’t forget the “Hey! Hey! ** **
Because we’re, like, artists and stuff, you know?
2. De-Colonize This Space Too
Guns and cholesterol made America great
Fat white boys in discount store camouflage
Duct-tape the Bible and the border wall
We won our freedom with our Kalashnikovs
Fake news back-stabber not a war hero
SecondAmendmentSecondAmendment
Lock her up get ‘em outta here yuge deal
You RINO losers can grab my MAGA
You snowflakes are sissies, you millennials too
But ouch! my heel spurs hurt, oh boo-hoo-hoo!
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 3:02 PM UTC
A ***** duct tape silences my mouth
People say blood is thicker than water
Yet your thunderous voice screams at me
Does daddy cherish his daughter?
So why can’t your eyes open and see
You’ve become a Mein Kampf tyrant?
You want my obedience and silence!
A ***** duct tape silences my mouth
As it leaves a residue of disgust
Must this be our memory?
Though silent my heart feels unjust-
Must you **** all my energy;
Leave me to feel lost and astray
As mental state starts to decay
A ***** duct tape silences my mouth
Will your anger subside and be quiet?
Fear suffocates vulnerable heart;
Wrathful words ready for a riot;
Confidence crushed as it’s torn apart.
Verbal abuse moves like a torrent flood,
Affecting those who share the same blood!
(c) 2018 Joanne Chang
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 9:35 AM UTC
Katarungan nasa'n? Inapakan, dinuraan
Ng mga taong niluklok para paglingkuran
'Tong bayan nating lubog, at dugoan
Magkano? Sanlibong baryang dinumihan
Libong buhay ang tinapos, musmos, at mga naghihikahos
Mga nanay na nawalan ng anak, mga batang di pa tapos
Droga? Talaga ba? Ang sabi mo ay kayang-kaya?
Tatay Digs, pano na? Bat biglang 'di pala kaya?
Sanlibong tanong sa bawat buhay na binawi
Diyos-diyosang maitim ang budhi
Bata, matanda, babae, estudyante
Nanlaban daw, kaya niyaring nakatali
Bayan kong minamahal, dito na lamang ba?
Naka duct tape ang mukha ni inang hustisya
May dyaryo, at may nakapaskil na larawang
'WALANG HUSTISYA, WAG TULARAN'
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 8:20 AM UTC
*i'm not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!*i'm not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!'m not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!*i'm not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!*i'm not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!'m not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!'m not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!*i'm not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!'m not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!&#£
if you prefer political
sensitivity and a blanket
and a ***** and a nanny);
unlike germ- -any (+)-
where they love to **** on each
other in the shadow
of the crucifix procreating for films,
while in england they're
into children;
owning a use of a word,
venerating its usage:
where's the Schengen vocabulary?
i want to be there -
free flow of words like spotting
a kestrel in my garden one time,
while the traffic shovels hours
into comparison with sea waves
and a traffic-jam becomes a static tsunami
for the eyes.
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 11:17 AM UTC
I set my cruise on the highway and
am passed by a red AMC Eagle.
This red rusty AMC Eagle has a
wind shied covered in frost because,
I'm guessing, the defrost motor burned
up in a bakelite mushroom cloud from the
dashboard.
It is held together with duct tape
and grit. The pilot sits behind his cardboard
console ludicrously warm in winter parka,
scarf,
hat
and gloves.
I pass him waving dressed
in my tshirt and shorts.
Driving in my new, awesomely
economical car.
Four dashboard vents dump lava warm air
to keep me pleasingly toasty.
The pilot will never understand that I wave
not at his expense, but in envy. The billboard
on my right says it all,
If I have to explain you wouldn't understand.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 3:54 PM UTC
In west Virginia, they do things different
they don't want to advance too soon
if you don't believe me let me take you
to a west Virginia emergency room
deer hair sutures for stitching you up
then a duct tape bandage on your wound
redneck responses by physicians
doc needs a break to spit in the spittoon
this one is in critical condition
this poor feller has run out of luck
doctor redneck turns to mention
"go get my gun out of my truck"
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 9:00 AM UTC
Recall this ****
forced to bleed
strapped down by duct tape
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 6:43 PM UTC
you wedge your pointer finger between your canines-
in an attempt to appear sublime- or nervous- or seductive
either way it doesn't succeed.
your tooth, teeth
speck of blood, bleed
emerging as you pierce your calloused
yellow patch of skin
(layers & layers of the girls you've touched before)
but you crave one more-
for in every sleepless night
there's a quote to be fill- a new slit to drill-
you're a man.
i can sense it-
throbbing and shaking beneath your olive exterior
how you long to drag
your now bloodied, prior prettied
finger up an off white thigh-
to disregard the things obliged-
to forge the paradigm
from faulty tools,
splintered and battered in a worn down knapsack
duct taped to a hunching back,
you're a man.
thoughts of droning monotone
quiet your hungry bones
(i can hear them)
rattling as you ****
your head and lift that heavy glance up to me.
i can see you,
flopping and thrusting and sweating, which
after years of curiosity has handed me
nothing,
but sweaty sheets and burning ***
i lay beneath you, silent
i'm a woman.
avert your eyes ( i am tempted to plead)
from the onset of premature varicose veins
(i am pale, glasslike, arched & stained)
allow me to suffocate the already immune-
girls born into the world with big black brandings
stamped onto their lightly acne ridden foreheads.
(SMALL, MEDIUM, LARGE)
trim your ribs, shave off the cellulite-
turning a blind eye to accessible insight..
a salad for lunch, make it dinner too.
finger down your throat, orange acid hurling,
stick like dancers twirling,
they bring tears to your eyes,
if only {you} possessed the grace-
but there are pounds to erase.
i'm a woman.
thirteen years of advertisements stapled to your eyes
standing barefoot in a bath tub with chunks of blood
running down shaking legs
kicking off a now crimson pair of old underwear-
stuck & tangled on trembling feet
[ silence your voice and push up your *******
til they're touching your neck.
get a nose job
get a blow job
you're a woman ]
May 10, 2012
May 10, 2012 at 10:50 AM UTC
Disaster Preparedness Checklist
Double-A batteries, a map out of town
A tank full of gas, a mind full of plans
A flashlight, toilet paper, a radio
A can opener and cans to go, go, go
Leather gloves and duct tape, whistles
Waterproof matches, and match-proof water
Blankies and ponchos and a change of clothes
A medical kit and a pocket knife
But
No one ever lists a box of cigars,
And a Wodehouse for reading by lamplight
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 4:22 PM UTC
I am the most put-together walking disaster that you will ever meet.
Yeah, I'm torn and tattered.
And I'm falling apart at the seams
But you'll never see that part of me.
I know how to stitch and sew,
Duct tape and super glue work wonders too, you know.
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 10:32 PM UTC
There’s a pink scarf that hangs out of the
Window of your car
Creating a mystery that no one fully understands
And we all know you’re broken
You’re like that window that we pieced
Back together last year with bits of glass and cardboard and duct tape
During the winter and it was cold
But you’re not that cold
There’s a golden ring that stays off of your hand
And I pretend it doesn’t hurt that you don’t wear it
Though I don’t get why you won’t just give in to it
And I know that you’re lonely
You’re like that tree that we planted by the old folks home
Two months ago
When we just planted it away from the others to see
If trees could feel relationships or closeness
Even though people don’t seem to be able to
And you’re tired and broken and lonely
And life can be a ten foot mud hole sometimes
The kind that they use to trap animals in India
But humans aren’t animals
We understand that we are stuck and alone
There’s a part of you that’s always out of reach
Always just a little too much of a stretch
For me to try to grasp
And you’ve told me before that I should just take
The leap and try to trust
That you’ll be there when I fall
But you owe me nothing because remember
We’re not together
Every time I see you drive by
I remember that the pink scarf belongs to
That someone else
And that ring won’t be worn
Because you belong
To that someone else
And I just wish that you’d let me meet that someone else
So I could know why her, not me
And I know I’m not the one to judge you
Or try to change things
You blame me for what happened, don’t you
I know
I understand that because I blame myself too
But I know there’s got to be a part of you that still wonders
Sometimes about what would have happened
If you’d just kept the ring
And kept the ******* scarf out of the picture
It’s like I’m trying to put a puzzle together
But half of the pieces are missing
Well, I guess they never showed up
In the first place
And I’ve tried to decide
What she must have that I don’t
But I can’t put a face to anything
And the name doesn’t ring a bell
Because you’ve never told me her name
And I’m tired of irony
And I’m starting to wonder
Why you won’t answer your phone
And why you won’t give me a call
Or why you ignore me when I see you
Or why you can’t seem to get over it
Did you know that the wind blew the cardboard
Right off of the window that night
And the lonely tree was pulled out this week
And I’m staring at nothing and beginning to wonder
If maybe you really are that cold
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 5:03 PM UTC
The sign sun stains in the duct taped window advertising gainful employment in a part time pay by the hour washer deryer upstairs hair stylist crumbling 1960s salon.
Chipped white washed paint draws in the custom customers offering permanates in every style and yesterday's hair of tomorrow "put it on today don't worry about it till tomorrow! The doors open to a bell and hairspray smell, something that might catch fire in a spark or cancer the lungs.
The smock and name tag carry home the hairspray scent and ghost in store radio fades the ears from sleep. The bed reminds you of the pay check though so you push it all aside.
Help wanted wanted help to get out of the make me want to die lifestyle
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 8:25 PM UTC
You ask me how I can love you
You who is broken, and limping, and lame
I stop you before the tear can fall
Taking them from your eyes
And crying them out my own
I tell you the truth of absolute love
I tell you I wear no blinders
I see you as you are
I see your imperfections but we are all flawed
Those minute cracks in your soul
Trickle out pain in swirling hues of tender that highlight your heart
A heart you profess is black and stone
But it beats strong within my chest
Where I will nuture it and feed it with my own
I see all the nicks and bruises and breaks
They are not reasons to walk away
They are the very thing that makes you worthy
Your damage healed in stregnth
You are not broken
You are beautiful in all things
A tender heart that bleeds for others
That hates you for not being better...for me
Don't you know? Can't you see?
There is no better, you are as good as it gets
It is I who is unworthy
And in all your fear of being alone, you overlook the truth of who you are
of who I am when I am with you
You see beauty in every corner of derelict
You fill my cracks with your joy
To the point where you feel you run out, not even knowing you gave it away
You see in me what I am unable to see in myself
And because it is you who sees it I believe you
I see your cracks and spackle them with love
I see the scars and am thankful you survived the journey
And tomorrow, or next week next month or next year
When you have grown strong in my love
When the time comes that you realize I am naught but pieces duct taped together
When you see the truth of what I have always known
I will still love you
When you move on to brighter days and greener pastures
I will still love you
When you see that you are worthy of more than I am able to give you
I will still love you, as I do now
For I never learned how to unlove someone
And you have always been worthy
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 2:24 AM UTC
My heart is in utter confusion
My heart bleeds
Tiny razors ***** and torment and cut me and my heart bleeds
No one understands the extent of the damage caused by such a deep betrayal of trust
No one understands the feelings of shame and blame
No one understands the pain of the memories
No one understands reliving the past in the present
Except those who have been through this hell
Broken trust is like a crystal goblet shattered by a screeching high pitched discord
It can never be fixed
My heart bleeds again
And just when I thought I'd bleed out & my soul would die
Fate opted to show me another side
Dared me to learn to trust
Tempted me with small glimmers of hope
And, again, my heart bleeds
But not in pain or disappointments
Not in self-hatred and hopelessness
This time my heart bleeds with hope.
My heart is in utter confusion.
It bleeds.
Tiny razors ***** and torment and cut me and my heart bleeds.
No one really understands the extent of the damage caused by such a deep betrayal of trust.
No one really gets why you turn into an emotional gibbering mess trying to hold your sanity together with duct tape and super glue.
No one with the exception of those who have been through it themselves.
Trust broken is like a crystal glass shattered by a screeching high pitched discord.
It can never be fixed - best to just throw it away.
My heart bleeds again.
Just as I thought I'd bleed out, my soul would die, and I would become this empty shell of functioning learned reactions with no thought or feeling, something happened.
Fate opted to show me another side.
Dared me to learn to trust, teased me with small glimmers of hope.
So my heart bleeds for what I hope is the final time.
Not in pain or disappointments, or even self-loathing and rejection of the hearts purest feelings.
No, this time my heart bleeds with longing.
This may be my saving grace.
And yet I am scared to death that this may destroy me yet.
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 10:40 AM UTC
~
*stationary now
duct tape loves
mouth and hands
inside removable interiors
heliocentric discontinuities:
the racket club
and the backstroke
the rabid club
and the hallucinogenic backchannels
swallowing too many placebos
on his balcony
facing away from the sun
blank diary entry
open on the table
'from despair to where?'
stationary in the trunk now
he says it will all
make sense soon*
~
May 26, 2023
May 26, 2023 at 7:44 PM UTC
As I have grown to understand
Most everything can be fixed with
a little duct tape and minimal effort while
S
c
a
r
s
never fade to those
scarred by time; unforgiving
are the years that forbid such
(memory lapses)
to look upon
unblemished skin and see
****** wreckage
since faded to
white ribbons like smoke
Oct 14, 2011
Oct 14, 2011 at 7:00 PM UTC
I will wrap you up
in duct tape & glass.
Cheap wood your caged throne.
Black grease paint,
a halo for the false God.
A Revolver glorifies you
but the rapier kisses your lips.
Allegiance only to dark aesthetics
tainted
torn face
worn leather.
I mount your eternal beauty
a heretics altar.
Naked before you,
I touch faith
& give you my little death.
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 12:21 AM UTC
I.
Fireman, censor of literature and destroyer of knowledge, with his mighty flamethrower. He loves his work. He loves trouble and strife. He loves fascination with the people next door. Mostly, he loves his hammock. But sleep will be his final unrest.
II.
A gift for the darkness: reading from the forbidden kept hidden in the air-conditioning duct. The walls within turn on and off like Cora Pearl. His wife listens to far winds and whispers and soap-opera cries, sleep-walking, helped up and down curbs by a husband who might just as well not have been there. They walk on as an extinguished connection. In the flickering of his eyeballs, he dreams of driving recklessly to Dover Beach and drowning her.
III.
Burning bright. He is burning so brightly. In the factory of mirrors, he takes a hard look. He's a flammable book. And it's a pleasure to burn. "What are you doing?" She asks. "Putting one foot in front of another." He answers.
Aug 9, 2021
Aug 9, 2021 at 3:31 PM UTC
Oh, phalo skeptic,
part your wave for skirted ***** surfers,
tho, trout, tripe, and titmice thrill thrice..
Will duct tape save us?
Urge the Zamboni machine,
to microwave ice.
Quince down that pouting sphincter,
Oh, the tides do swell
on the morrow of passing fish.
Wheelbarrow pious.
Swift, awesome biblionauts,
Fire! Fire! Pail, Pail thy watered pitch.
Know this, every potato is somewhere vane ...
I'm busy now, rude duuude,
have you sweated a recumbent lout?
Indent chill mots,
Pete, I'm big in Europe, pal,
Have seen me dance the Macarena?
Fool, fool on that high hill,!
Take care when licking spiny urchins
Oy! I scare myself.
Jan 19, 2011
Jan 19, 2011 at 2:34 PM UTC
I have a rope downstairs
I could wring it round my neck
I have some pills by my bed
It'd be a quick and easy death
I could go and buy some duct tape
Wrap it tightly round my face
Cut off all circulation, and
Fall into death's embrace.
--
"Have you considered suicide?"
"Of course not, why would I?"
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 3:34 PM UTC
I'm just a man.
I think things can be fixed.
My first aid kit contains
Super glue and duct tape.
Any box is a tool box to me;
I'll always look for the right
***** to reattach your self-
Esteem; the right clamps to hold
Your good days together. When
You cry, I want to open you up
Gently, lay out all your parts and
Find the leaking gasket.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 3:51 AM UTC
My palms sweat when I think of writing you a poem
Writing has been the only way
I could communicate with others
you see,
when it comes to my emotions
my mouth might as well be duct-taped
and in fact the only way I can write this now
is because I can tell myself you'll never see it
I'm confused.
Circumstances half under my control
has resulted in making me
the co-creator of my own kryptonite
see, what happened was partially my fault
and I can't escape the guilt that I made trying to escape it in the first place
see sometimes trying your hardest not to lead someone on
leads them on anyway
and I don't want to do that to you
I don't want to do that to anyone
See this poem doesn't even rhyme.
Not a lot of mine do, though,
And see listening to Drake tends to make me honest
and listening to Nicki Minaj makes me brave
and the combination of that with Angel Haze
is a cocktail that might just get me drunk enough
to lay my head on your shoulder again
I think I'm falling in love with you
But you should know my personality
means that I'm doing it kicking and screaming
searching my damnedest for an escape route
because being vulnerable hurts me every time
even the ones that promised they wouldn't
and I do it to myself, but
I trust you
And honestly that scares me more than it should
I'm not afraid of ******** it up
if that were all it was you'd find me on your doorstep
with my heart in my palms and blood dripping on the concrete
but the thought of how happy you would make me
of how temporary everything is despite our best efforts
the chance that I could lose everything in a single swoop
is more terrifying than wandering alone through dark paths
more terrifying than a deep voice from the empty space beside my ear
more terrifying than a letting down my guard little by little
just to get stabbed in the back
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC