"edgeless" poems
Staring corpselike at the ceiling,
See his harsh, unrazored features,
Ghastly brown against the pillow,
And his throat--so strangely bandaged!
Lack of work and lack of victuals,
A debauch of smuggled whisky,
And his children in the workhouse
Made the world so black a riddle
That he plunged for a solution;
And, although his knife was edgeless,
He was sinking fast towards one,
When they came, and found, and saved him.
Stupid now with shame and sorrow,
In the night I hear him sobbing.
But sometimes he talks a little.
He has told me all his troubles.
In his broad face, tanned and bloodless,
White and wild his eyeballs glisten;
And his smile, occult and tragic,
Yet so slavish, makes you shudder!
4.3k
Nothing is simple now… and nothing ever was.
But i recall the majesty of my naivete’
and linger in the triumphant fog of my illusions
as a young man of almost a Minute.
Be that, as it may.
i am not among the Mockingjays
nor the calendars of arbitrary
Days.
I am the eclipse of insincere Living.
i blot out the None.
with blueberries from an indigo
Genesis: i stain my sky with every unbelievable Promise -
my Calculus can muster. My Love in tow.
I gather at the edgeless mist
of my Identity and etch the core
of my consecrated cacophonies
into the bones of dead whales like Scrimshaw
for deep kids.
And that's It.
Dec 18, 2018
Dec 18, 2018 at 2:21 AM UTC
Edgeless days are the hardest
to let pass you by
as you stare at all the pretty things
Just out of sight.
There sits, heavy in atmosphere,
On these days of no ends,
A timelessness
in the most tragic way.
All your toiling
begins to feel useless,
and errors make a mess of this.
Your anger - Instantly boiling
Futile barking.
Damning non-existent gods,,
And then a mocking laughing-
Since you are alone.
Because, of course,
You are alone,
Chained to the room
They're paying you to
|
When the crushing
Endlessness to your day
Could be so easily been remedied
with conversation or, some play
And now those gods
are laughing.
And you wish to be alone
From yourself.
Oct 16, 2011
Oct 16, 2011 at 7:57 PM UTC
I don’t want a sunbeam
give that to Jesus.
Don’t bother me with purity,
don’t let me make shadows
out of you.
I don’t want a butterfly
batting along on the wind.
The wind of my word,
on the gale of my opinion.
I don’t want a pearl,
something that needs to be made.
Made from gritty sand, held close,
and pressurised round and edgeless.
I don’t want a rose
called what I want it to be,
cut where I want it to be,
on my lapel, for when it makes me look best.
I don’t want conversations like schizophrenia.
If you want me to be able to explain you in four lines,
I don’t want you.
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 6:23 PM UTC
Our world was cemented fresh linoleum tile
you always bent down to reach my voice,
I was so sweet, I feel so vile.
You tell her she reminds you of daisies and August sunshine
I smell out the ***** of cinnamon, I am canine.
Thought you were all mine.
I know she's breathless
as you shake the bed,
dancing dyad, snowed with asbestos.
And I could be edgeless
sand myself down just for you.
Polish every crevice,
I am a god in a teenage body
I could be edgeless
like a marble cast of paresis
settled upon your pew.
May 9, 2021
May 9, 2021 at 2:31 AM UTC
Your legs are an uprooted tree, longing for the taste of soil.
The water won’t flow in an ocean filled with stars, the spaces between them
dark like ink on paper, lines drawn through a multitude of times,
too many words occupying the same space so that nothing exists
but a verbose blackness. *Your hands are wisps of smoke,
edgeless clouds that coil around me and dampen my bare skin.*
The current is cut by the planets, interrupted by the nebulae,
pushed by the galaxies and surrounded on all sides, at some point,
by land: the ambit of the observable universe.
Your body
sinks;
the universe ripples
and falls,
forming around you;
the heart in your chest
gently pushes,
gently pulls,
shifting the planets and stars
that envelop you.
Your toes burrow into the sand,
your arms creep through the skies,
and all at once I see that
everything is beautiful.
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 12:16 AM UTC
The guy just kept swinging his lunchbox
and it kept hitting Shakira
in the stomach.
I had to say something.
So I did, I told him to watch where he swung
that ******* cooler.
And his boys got into it.
And they wanted to fight to.
And we were near the beach.
And the clouds were edgeless.
And the sun was pastel.
And I just wanted to **** all of them.
Shakira held me back.
My girl held me back.
And then I felt something sinking
cold, deep down in me.
I sat on the beach
and almost cried;
depression hit like peppermints.
And I'd never felt so afraid in my life.
On the beach, all those people laughing
and their fat ******* kids running into the surf,
I just wanted to **** myself right there,
I was so afraid and scared.
I'd never been scared.
Or afraid.
I'd gotten my nose broken
my jaw bruised a few times,
and I knew to put vaseline on
cuts over the eye,
but I was scared
and I can't explain the kind of fear
that's made me weak.
I've gotten into fights since then,
but I feel fear growing
everytime.
My fingers go crazy with twitching
and after it's over,
the ball gets bigger inside of me.
Jan 18, 2012
Jan 18, 2012 at 10:05 PM UTC
Late August 8 o’clock is barefoot, and sunburned in the places that are always sunburned. Worn skin and deck slats hold onto leftover noon. Beneath, swirls the near unknown. Blue-black and edgeless, it’s awake but calmer as the day savors a slow-motion finish. Out of respect for the sunset, those at rudder or wheel embrace a lakewide no wake zone. Our blooms of whistle and sigh fill the dusk hour.
Someone somewhere is lighting a fire. It can be felt in the shoulder blades, when breathing slows. A ripe sense of abundance carries in the peach pink light—a promise that the season won’t fade, that deck children never age, and their waters never freeze. The birch chorus agrees, and this false truth soothes tired limbs that know better, but choose to accept the judgement of the night arriving. Because tender are the day’s dying breaths, and a special care is taken here for every move.
Peeling away layers, hair stands high on the skin with the pines on the hillsides. Bundle your things under the bench, or the winds may take them. There is a silence here with something to say. Toes hug wood’s edge and the muckgrasses nod in tune to a song that is there but not wholly heard. It’s important to watch first; it’s important that you try once again to read the neon pattern in the waves. A familiar laugh through cabin window will interrupt this.
The ladder is better for the evening swim. Submergence is best performed slowly then all at once, with careful attention paid to the detoured bloodflow of sunburned skin. Reflections of the promise unravel as they scatter into sky. Dip your darkness into the horizon and feel the day’s heat collapse inward, easing the blushes of your superficial pain. Let the other foot leave the trust of algaed metal, as the body’s pieces spread suspended. A group of fiery orbs blink aloft in an endless cold.
Our stars are connected only by stories, and here—where the sky is reflected in water—the hair on your hillsides can nod along to the half-heard tune of eternity. This is the end of the dock.
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 2:46 PM UTC
I am Jesus, I am Nazareth, the holy book, scripture and ghost. I am a game of shadows, a king revoked of his throne, thrown penniless into the night. Beautiful, reckless and elegant I give no creedeance to those who declare wrong from right. I thrive in the center casting spells and insinuating foresight from my projected eloquence and esoteric insight. A compelling work of wisdom and sorcery, curdling your blood's common thread, a strand of DNA shared with all living and dead. A spooky terror of uncontrived epiphany, a silver lined pocket of edgeless mystery. Give in now and emancipate yourself from your subconscious's antiquated history.
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 5:48 PM UTC
i am edgeless
round and free to twirl
baby spring when it freezes in the heart of winter
a speck of dust abandoned by its mother
i have taken every kind of beating there is
been broken to the core beyond measure
promised nothing but eternal darkness and endless void
but i face it all gladly
biting lip and wielding ancient courage
honoring a pinky promise written in fire
whispered in stone
i will crawl on broken knees,
tear apart failing flesh
until my dying breath
until the end of time
for my children
for their unwritten potential
see i,
always wanted to be a spaceship
ever since i was child
see one day,
they will truly find their way
one day,
riding fire and wings of enlightened love
they will leave their humble beginnings behind
and if i'm lucky,
return with tales of countless wonders
wonders they have seen on my distant siblings
wonders that will light up their souls
go now my children,
i release you from your darkness.
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 1:18 PM UTC
i dreamt of holding your hand, i dreamt of hating you; i am hansel & gretel sharing halves of a sexless edgeless soft young body together sitting in your home and waiting with folded hands patiently, quietly, to be devoured. look i am telling you — it's fine. sink in your teeth, i like the feel of them. today in the trees i saw mary magdalene's shawl-framed face written in shadows between the branches, today i saw the ***** of babylon's hands at my window and i wept. today you kissed my barren chest with the mouth of judas, today i am nobody's child. tomorrow i am yours.
i dreamt i poured you wine from my mouth, i made you bread from my flesh. all i ever did was miss you even when you were right here. you cradled my hand like a mother and later the bones of my fingers like a lover; the walls were stainless peach and the sun was setting and filtered through the window the light from behind made your hair glow, your face was so dark i couldn't find the colour in your eyes. i cried now for what you made me feel until you kissed me quiet, your breath so warm and my voice lost within it, lost like a sailor all at sea, and i felt so safe with you then even knowing how this story ended — you drew away and in my mouth from yours had slipped charon's obol, slipped all down my throat with no resistance. through the suffocation i laughed a little and through the laughter i said to you "yes, that's right," only glad that you had remembered.
look i am telling you — i died perfectly happy because i had not died at all. i watched you from the eyes of the wood-pigeons at your window and i know you burned my body and i know you swallowed the ashes and still! still then all you ever did was miss me, even when i was right there, right inside of you. silly boy.
i dreamt of hating you and by the end i only loved you again.
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 5:29 PM UTC
You are like a shadow;
One that’s passed away.
One that is long gone;
A creature of the grave.
You are like a ghost;
Belonging to another dimension;
But owning half of me;
Distracting my entirety.
You are like a spirit;
You caught my mind, my heart, my soul;
You transfixed me that day;
You snatched my love that night.
You are like a witch;
A playful, evil sorcerer;
A stubborn enchanter;
A lovely beast.
You are like the moon;
The love of the universe;
The one you once wanted to have;
The wine of your own being.
You are like the night sky;
I cannot see where you sleep;
Nor touch your edgeless bed;
Nor feel your heartbeat.
You are like the sun;
Once winter comes you’ll die;
Shining with blood and heat;
Dying of your own flesh.
You are like the breeze;
And breezes end too fast;
Stirring me up tensely;
Ending all abruptly.
You are a confusion;
I do not know what held you back.
Still I cannot see today,
though I feel you are here.
You are a depression;
Even today, that I think of you;
And the melancholy Russia;
I can see no-one else but you.
You are a chain;
A lock that holds me still;
A forgotten crush;
A tremor that brings tears.
You are a doubt;
An unfinished love story.
I wish I could write about you;
But all that existed shan’t be true.
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 4:26 AM UTC
enticed by the tongues of other lovers
i have wondered under the cover
of wildernesses and near misses
come close but never been romanced like this
had my heart held but compared to this all that was a just a tryst
deeper than eternity and farther than your edges
your desire, your fire, your water, are edgeless
rip me away in the undertow
let me forget that if i swim at the perfect angle i can escape,
set me so much on fire that my entire desire is to drown,
set me so much on fire that the only way for me to survive is for me to be new, being renewed, and thrive,
set me so much on fire that i am
hungry
thirst
to burn
to drown
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 8:20 PM UTC
in other news
go snack on this, you
edgeless pulp of adjectives
sweet turbid human brine
decrepit balances
and out-of-boredom lying:
we'll grant you not
even the hint of
any valid right
to make
a love
go easy on you
(as desired)
by design.
Dec 8, 2018
Dec 8, 2018 at 7:15 PM UTC
And we're off ...
the week has started ...
is it every day we're reminded
how fucken dense this man is?
how utterly, immeasurably ignorant
is this solid mass of orange nothingness
that's tinged with the green of envy,
the dark bile of bigotry,
& the ever present yellow
of moral cowardice,
shaded with coal black
labyrinthian hollows & dense thickets
of double-speak & blatant
lies.
Oh this man!
This pitiful caricature of every
far-too-rich fat cat you laffed at
in the Sunday comix,
all over-fed yet never satisfied,
trophy wife upon his velvet arm,
shy & lonely son left to play with imaginary
friends in a gilded palace of pillowed luxury
& golden gushing faucets of milk & honey
& all those fancy trinkets that declare to
himself each day,
... "Oh how I've made it!"
This bottomless well,
this mind of vacancies &
negative sub-atoms,
pure void of edgeless darkness
infinite & oh so very still,
this encyclopedia of the vacuum,
this mole of the intellect,
this dustbin of the present,
overflowing with inane
tit-bits of elemental
irrelevance,
this!
& the horror is of course
that 60 odd million Americans
gave this jestered fool
the reins of power
in the most powerful
& consequential
nation on this
fragile & hurting
one & only
planet earth.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 12:19 PM UTC
I, before your hands found me, would fly
Past murky, flaxen winds and uncloaked, brittle trees
While ticking, tocking years marched by.
How could the earth behind the bleeding sun so simply sigh
At prideless princes, careless bees and frightened, frigid fleas?
I learned before that I, without your hands, should always fly.
Speak and thread the eye of quickly and softly luring lies.
Until I play in clouds of light, gently, sweetly, please
Forestall those ticking years that slip so easily by.
Wearily I pull worn reins, thinned and tattered, below the tie
Then pray for whispered secrets and rolling, trusting, fearless seas.
I wait, but still without your hands, I learn that I may fly.
Without much left within me but a withered, ragged cry
I’ll offer up the edgeless, vast and countless shuffling sea.
We’ll watch and share those ticking years that go so quickly by.
The smell of autumn rainfall, filled with dew and golden skies,
We lay beneath and count the scars the swindling jet planes leave.
Unlocked and healed, without your hands, I know that I can fly,
But pray that ticking, tocking years go slowly, slowly by.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 11:59 AM UTC
Molt
Did your wings get heavy with the rain?
Did you toss the morning dew back to the air?
When did it start to burn?
Though the morning sunrise curled your hair,
The silence of two thousand sunsets left you
Sheared
Shivering
Until you couldn’t stand to hug yourself anymore.
Your rags are little more than a veil,
Yet they chewed through the fiber of your skin
Biting
Binding
Until you became inseparable.
At some point you have to realize what’s going on.
Is it slow? Do you even have time to look down and stop yourse—
Calm down
and breathe.
Feel the future pelt your neck.
Feel the present fill your lungs.
Feel the past ride up your throat.
Take one last step into the edgeless expanse.
And fly.
Even though you can’t feel it.
Listen.
Listen to your wings quiver in the storm.
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 4:18 PM UTC
As I stand in this magical moment
Listening to the echos
of the early winter wind
And of the waves crashing
by the coast
I rest my thought
beneath the southern cross
If only Helios could stay above the horizon
and feast among the clouds
Won't you let me devour
this serenity so unfamiliar
But his chariot never stops
nor waits for a lowly commoner
So the war had once again begun
with lifeless warriors and edgeless swords
To conquer the land of dust
and empty treasures
May 4, 2018
May 4, 2018 at 2:03 PM UTC
Beginning the movement, catches my eye amidst dead leaves in perplexing folly yet imagined many times before; in between reality and fantastical imagery conjured from a contemplative journey. Awake!
Riding beside the troupe blowing and skimming with a twirl of gaiety and precision, colorful pinwheels taunting beneath a synchronized sequence bequeathed with unknown passage and certain conclusion.
The wind becomes a partner that carries them like a beige velvet flying carpet, dancing to a silent orchestra intention; meandering to a landing pattern meant to rejuvenate yet another design.
They have no destination which is odd. Somehow they are both aware of the vaporous soup filled with magnificent color and lines and nary a thought about where to go; it musn’t be plied for satisfaction.
The mirth of it all! Acting as if there was control over their trip and showing off in a bodacious manner, the pile snaked and flicked its lightening colored tongue along the gray bespeckled pavement. Reciprocation came while the observant outfitted a seat on a similar trolly, arriving by the far sea of imagination.
We are twisted together and unfurled in a maniacal gavotte of sensuous interpretation, transporting us along a path of wafting field grass and bubble-wrapped white pillows of cloud; static except edgeless.
How can this be? We believed we set on foot for arrival only to chuckle later that we have never manifested an anchor of adhesion; understanding that we are perpetual and stirred with a never-ending abundance of transcendence.
Not farther away, not closer to anticipation. Centered in a profusion of ideas and symbiotic embrace; we are wrapped in cavernous layers of gradient billowing fabric that becomes what we see behind our closed eyes. It is never the same…
Once considered turbulence we now know is a replete carriage of weightless feathering, delivering dreams with unexpected alacrity and reassurance.
Now that theatrical scene before me has relevance and authenticity unto itself and my own participation. My attention has been captured and granted free access whenever desired.
Dec 30, 2017
Dec 30, 2017 at 4:26 PM UTC
Silence;
Turning to dust in the gentle breeze.
Anger subsides
And the turquoise sea drags us down.
Through our ethereal existence,
We listen.
Through our heart’s mind,
We feel.
All we hear is the wind,
And all we feel...
All we feel is our silent suffocation.
Jan 1, 2021
Jan 1, 2021 at 7:37 PM UTC
When I'm sad it rains,
its been raining a lot lately.
And just like that sentence I've been skirting around the edges trying to avoid direct contact with anything.
I feel like I am edgeless and not in a 'you are limitless' kind of way.
More like I have no idea who I am anymore and it scares the hell out of me!
I don't feel sad in the same way I used to when I could attach a tag to each emotion and say I know you.
I feel shattered and used like every bone in my body has come from a charity shop and I'm trying to figure out how everything works and what pieces are missing from the box.
I am drowning in my own rain and every breath I try to take to remind myself you have to survive,
fills my lungs a little more until I have to scream **** you!
Bring it on,
because I refuse to die in this weather, just like the past I cannot change it but my coat has a hood and like everything,
rain is never permanent.
May 22, 2021
May 22, 2021 at 2:15 PM UTC