"extractions" poems
The following statements of truth were brought to you
Not through, but circumnavigating fated parameters
Of insane, yet normative, largely uninformative
Mechanisms that formally give birth to ********
And instead, strategically splicing said bounds with
Ideal variables derived from the courageously quixotic,
Unrobotic, and outraged agents of, and for, capital Real:
The train of corporate reasoning derails so fast
To follow is to snap the head backward,
Far past angles within measures of pleasurable fit
And open gates to deluging tangled circular
Failures of logic that trick and co-opt the proletariat.
We are Present-Ambassadors with broken flux-capacitors
Demonstrating a consistent tendency toward error
In efforts to obtain diplomatic access to a future where
The same reemerging deficits do not manifest unfixed.
One of said deficits may include all positive freedoms.
For the record, it shall be noted that civil society
Currently arrives implicitly to find it compliantly fine
To promote systems of labor designed to illicit behaviors
That will eventually undermine the actors of exhaustive work
And make benefactors of those complicit in crime.
As case studies of this paradoxical paradigm, we observe
Nations signing trade agreements aligned with
Selling more of the goods whose extractions have
Cataclysmic exactions upon locals contracted not to resist.
Those who take issue with this are directed to appellate institutions.
The projected scarcity of over-consumed poisons causes fear
Which leads to faster hoarding and more ex(t/p)ensive death.
Thus, most human behaviors presently inflate pricing, popularity,
And rapidity associated with committing system-wide suicide.
As shackle-some power consolidation bends toward a transnational peak
I hereby slide-tackle these forwarded trends, seeking goals of the rational.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 4:16 PM UTC
Under the flowering moon
Your naked body lies
Bound to the lunars tendrils
Tethering to your skins ambiance
Fingeringly scalinging the motions of your body
Following your soulful extractions
Silver lights incarnate driven passion
O' woman, woman of the moon
Of the night, of darkness
Dance with me
Dance the dance of love,
Of the heart, of passion,
Of Desires stowed deep within the mind
Beneath the woven fabric of a feral night
Entwined within the stitches silver aura
These stars our only witness
As the darkness spreads it's clinching grasp
Plunging our passions into carnal chaos
Watching the heavy rise and fall of your chest
The echoes of your hearts breath in my mind
The chemical passion of our physical bodies
Consumes the desires of our flesh
Shadows contouring to the night
The sweet nectar of your lips
An everlasting enticement to mine
Darkly decadent sensations pressing on
Only as creatures within can conjure
Elegantly crafting and artistically formulated
These darkest nights memoirs
Sated with our own designs
Unrelenting and intoxicating
Addicting and compounding
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 3:20 PM UTC
tired autonomies, days keep on flailin', seizin'; darlin', I'd
be bolder if only I'd tried. makin' plans to abandon 'em,
the dark reach and tenements of those towers of regret for
all of my inactivity or self-targeted hostility, and those dreams
meant everything to me until awakening into morning hours
or afternoon, more likely, with the dull grip of uncertainty
shudderin' all the windowpanes back and forth lightly, oh
so **** delicately, and I think about you as soon as I've
drawn up ambition to make any kind of move, the pieces of
the vast puzzle I've called your mind for the better part of
the calendar dates I've drawn up into fifteen gauge shells of
the ghosts of my past, those that follow my footprints in evenings,
the pools of aluminium meltings and lemon extractions
to constrict the summer hours, convictions that bleach out
all other chances of hope.
so relinquish your grip on my red and unfolding heart I've
been beating the syllables of your name with, and abusing
the page width of headspace, serving only to alienate the
froth on the shoreline of daring chances: I'd have given
my all at the sight of romance, but I sit here with no
glimpse of intention from you; the crestfalls I subject myself
to, not for the sake of lack of want, but full lack of what
I'd do if I called and asked where you wanted to go at
three a.m. or five p.m., or any other canonical time of
the day; I'd spend any of 'em with you, and I'd
ask, but I'm somewhat sure you're not that into whatever I
could mean, or whatever my words do seem to transcribe themselves
upon contact with your mind, so keep on existing and I
will do the same.
[or, anyway, at least I'll try]
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 5:27 AM UTC
your tunic pupils
extractions from the sky
encircle all that which lays in your deepest masculine eyelashes
Im enthralled with your profile
meager looks of
hearts dispelled
onto something greater than life in its most simplest form
you represent everything natural
extracted from the very womb of earth
I am lost in my own thoughts
of my responsibilites
as a woman of culture and as an artist
will I forgive myself
for touching your wounds
maybe not
your judgment passes me
as a frail child looks upon his guardian
no I am not that
I cant be
yes
yes
I need these little things that make us move
with what you say
love
love
I do agree
I nod my head in acceptence
awfully
to these things I can never posess
I will speak to you in these matters harshly
you see
sometimes I come off as too intense
too ******
at times I will make you forget
that I contain any kind of beauty
I have a holocaust in my heart
somewhere in its driven corners
and a black plague forfiting casting spells
to hearts somewhere in my eyes
I have sold many goodbyes
ignored many whys
and kept many standbys
black I watched these skies
turn
red I watched these thighs
burn
and just as quickly turn
pale
with an execution that very well
lasts a year sometimes
I want to be yours
but the sun and the moon
cannot live side by side
and neither could our two seperate cores
the ****** and the sores
sleeping somewhere under the beds of these bookstores
you see
I want to be yours
but Im afraid I have been burnt single
due to my wars
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 8:08 PM UTC
These are the days where I am living on the rim of my throat.
I love to watch the sun drown the ocean
like cosmic spills from my mouth
of wild Indian oranges, It reminds me of when
I was four and I accidentally fell into the ocean
while the sun was eating it and i wish so badly to
understand the anatomy of your voice in the language
of the starry sea where the moon is swimming
because no one is watching. And I know that while
every time I undress your breath on my naked flesh
for the sake of my insanity you feign for the release
of blood like the day when that old man took me by my hand
and told me that I have an ancient cathedral carved
into my collarbones; how flattered I was, but you wished
that it came out of your veins instead of a complete stranger.
(I secretly wished the same)
I lay on the Persian rug while I devour the sun
to be enough for you because you said that you love me in colors.
You sow the pits of my womb with the force of vicious winter flowers.
My chest sinking as I rest a smile on your spine;
Extractions of wrists,
bruised plum lips,
this love is a creature divine.
I know that I am crazy and that I am susceptible to the evil eye
because every two years or so I would lose my hair brush
and the fortune teller would know why.
We became a part of the cult of cosmos,
we tore open suns and wore them behind ears like flowers.
You see I would dip my tongue in black holes to
taste the reverse of time on the lining between your legs
just to tell you what you were like before you were alive.
And I crashed into your limbs while you became my burial grounds
as you expected me to collapse like cascading stars from dead heavens.
Do you know how painful it is when you swim through my wrists?
I could look at you with dangerous eyes and still kiss your mouth pushing
rivers down your throat with my tongue and you would ask for the
Mediterranean sea.
I can still feel last afternoon on the back of my neck
the way you caught the last drop of rain and placed it
on my brow and swore with your hands like a little boy with broken
cigarettes that the more I wrote about love the more you wanted to die.
And how the sound of an opening flower is found between the winds of
an opening wound.
He stuck out his wrists and howled,
“My veins are at a boil and I do not know how to love you the way you love your words”
I could tell he was ready for battle.
You declared war on my skin,
and I surrendered.
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 11:49 PM UTC
Quasars are very bright galaxies with centers dominated by rapidly accreting black holes, existing somewhere near the beginning of time.
It’s already dead in its brilliance. Fourteen billion measurements of meaninglessness. Illusionary existence, meant to quantify the moments in which man exists.
Yet compartmentalization is a mythical concept to galactic nuclei.
Remaining outside of quantification.
Not needing its suffocating extractions.
A void predating blood.
Before the beginning of intangible concepts.
Ruling the tangible world of man.
We have perceived a place apart from the temporal.
Now all we can do is make our drinks stronger,
inhale our herb slower.
In desperate attempt to un-see the
Calligraphic scratches on parchment.
Confirming the fact that we no longer exist.
The way that we did…
Before the sad ghosts of quasars scarred our skies.
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 1:19 AM UTC
went to the dentist, faced my fears
extractions left me shedding tears
but much to even my surprise
they only flowed from my right eye
I'm wired kinda strange,
you see
I think
there's something wrong with me
some things that most don't like to feel
can really give me quite a thrill
you can punch me in the face
'til blood is all that I can taste
you can scratch me,
brand me,
bite me
*but all that **** will just excite me*
after the dentist stitched me up
and wiped blood from my cheeks
I asked her when I could return
and she told me 2 weeks
I'm terrified, but I can't wait
to me it was the perfect date
I can't explain the reason why
but that **** makes me feel alive
I'm wired kinda strange you know
those pliers had me set to blow
I bet I am the only one
who thinks that kinds **** is fun
that day my worries were erased
and I could barely feel my face
and I could swear I fell in love
or was it just the loss of blood?
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 2:08 PM UTC
Mirror Mirror on the wall
Wake up for my sake
I've been waiting to know if i'm really any pretty after all
I've been waiting all fall to know if i really have to be this fake
Do i have to get lip injections
Just to look like Kylie
Do I have to get hair extensions
So i can look just like a Barbie
This is tiring !
Do i have to do this just to be appreciated ?
This crap is time consuming
But yet i don't have a choice , i want to fit in rather than being humiliated
It took me years to understand but i think i get it
*Pretty is .. a carrot a day or nothing a day
Being beautiful is ... getting that perfect figure by wearing a waist trainer overnight
It is being on the surgery table to make at least 20 kg vanish in a day
I can't breathe with this thing on but that doesn't matter , some squished up organs won't doing any harm right ?
i am already empty inside
i have no soul so some rib extractions won't make a difference
i have no soul because i just follow the crowd
i want the boys to notice me more
ha ha and that is definitely supposed to make my parents proud
I think i understand what being perfect and pretty is now .
No pain no gain right ?
To be loved and appreciated i must make changes , drastic changes.
for the better right ?
I must have curves but a flat tummy
I must have a thigh gap but still just enough meat so i can be "yummy" or "hot"
I must have the perfect nose and ***** but not something that is too fake
I must be smart but yet have enough time to look after myself , do my makeup to look pretty for him or look presentable enough
But no presentable isn't knee length skirts and average tops
its tight short skirts and crop tops , things that show off my body , things that show off "their woman" .
So to sum it up to be loved and appreciated , to get attention and to feel important to someone .
To be accepted i must change
I must do so much but yet at the end of the day it is the men that excited that they got "laid"
and that should make me proud , should i be happy that i at least fit in the range ?
I can forget about school and good jobs
cause all i need and want are boys and **** jobs.
All i need are my best friends , the diet pills
and all those military diet fitness drills.
cause that would make me happy , that would make me feel accepted and wanted.
So i ask again Mirror are you proud of me ?
Am i pretty now ?
Am i perfect now ?
Can I finally be loved now ?
Can i finally be "happy" now ?
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 10:12 AM UTC
Bubbles in time
not easy to see
Me thinks
the next
is HERE
alread-y
Most folks have,
now, more pc's,
than they do hands,
to tap the keys.
Old school tech!
Just touch the screen.
Finds where your going
Tracks where you have been.
Listen to hop music.
post to every blog.
sit on your couch
rot like a felled log.
Productivity will be
non-existent someday
Why, too many games and Miss Muffits,
all curds, no whey.
Milking our days
of "do something" time.
Will our grandkids pass laws
to make it a crime?
To sit and stare
at a box all day long.
To touch a small screen
even, just for a song.
Bluetooth extractions
We call them "noon-ers".
Why? We must work.
to support the boomers.
Who now fill the jails
for lies, drugs, and ***
Described now in our text books as.
The generation that
"time forgot"
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 9:45 AM UTC
death of youthful exuberance
as the last nine are pulled from their homes
torn asunder
as if they never had usefulness
or gleam –
broken and battered
abused and neglected
safety pins, paper clips
left over bristles from a
rusted street sweeper
all valid implements
tools of the trade –
traded pearly whites
for plastic composite
in a vain attempt
to smile freely
eat peacefully
live normally –
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 5:20 PM UTC
They've no heart,so they feel not.
They have sight of eyes bluring,
Their retina captures far too short images of focus.
They have hearts deeper than ocean's debth.
They are full of reasons,
so we ceaselessly ponder,
with unending muse.
We give to them our hearts in market places of multitudes of feelings,
they've no heart,thus know not feelings,
they damage and ravage our pure hearts,hearts full of love,
we give truth and feed on lies
They fall to mischieves, paying rapt attention with soft fertile heart.
To unambigous clinical non-fiction sound of voice they frown at with rocky hearts of stone.
Though they sing with melodious angelic voices they have no melody,
They are extractions of men's perfect beauty,
Beauty,beauty which they took from us,
And to such beauty we're ensnared.
From our pain they've much pleasure,
They have no heart so they feel not.
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 3:16 PM UTC