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I met a girl once, she had french fries for hair and she was pretty legendary. I’ve been trying to explain her in words for a few days now.

But I don’t know how to write that kind of poem, that explains that it’s the smallest things about her I find the most amazing.

Like when she laughs, and her whole body becomes a wind chime, both in sound and sway

Like her walk, how it seems like her ankles are two old sagacious birds that  know some secrets about the ground that no one else does, so it seems like she’s almost flying.

How she has basquiat fingers for hips, and every time she moves it’s pure art.

How do I explain that every time she speaks, her lips become two ex-lovers that still have a thing for each other, constantly touching and stopping.

If I could, I would capture her smile in the ink of a pen. I would write sonnets and ballads about the arch in her back. I would write nursery rhymes about each line in her palm, let me read your future. Are you kissing me in it?

I guess sometimes words fail even the best of poets.

Sometimes,dreams don’t do reality justice.

For those that will never hear the wind chimes in her laugh, that will never see the feathers on her ankles.

The best I can say is that she’s pretty legendary.

When the sun starts snoozing its alarm too often, when autumn leaves are corpses under white caskets and the memories of her are nothing but distant car horns. I’d always remember french fries.
Sleuthed Nov 2012
soft soliloquies cannot touch me
for the mountain tops have blurred in the stratosphere
and still deny their shadows from the fog
and sink like marionette martyrs to the ocean floor
and sway refused forfeit flags painted as seaweed

--

stiff joints acost
and above, an albatross!
roams discreetly through the sky
yet all hell's dead
wretched through molten lead
succumb to false alibi
(and fate's caress never questions why)

--

your
bamboo words
and
tourniquet hands

bear loss of convicted man.

and
piano strings
like
forgotten things

have cost all the contraband.

--

--oh, but sweetly they had fallen
the petals which forgot the sun
and faces the moon while acrobats
form the constellations of the sky

and so— so weakly it had passed us by
but yet had still seen the sails of clouds
adream of every lost sunken shroud
ever shining by.

--

defeat me, hang
a noose from every ceiling
--and maybe i'll change my mind
or faint like festered wounds
trailing down the hallways
--and maybe i'll forget the way
you made me see it
clearer than mirror rooms
and moulded like day
(your lungs full of clay)

breathe me out or
sheathe it in
complete me, hang
an emptied world from every airway
to rust all the ventilations
to flood all the irrigations
and condense into the black hole
you left behind.

--

words called windows walk on sunday lanes
toward sideways tree roots with hallow'd veins
and iced over stairways that have no name

or excretories called inventories that fell on dead ends
or ghouls that catapult just to make amends
then rise from idle tidal waves with the bends

perhaps even holes called souls can confine
and mists like cysts fail to intertwine
and fall away as heaven feigns to maligne.

—and oh, how sullen scenes do compromise
the way our flesh restlessly burns and fies.
anastasiad Dec 2016
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Rachael Aug 2013
Life penetrates us
From our first breath

Life has taken something over
From us all
And we don't ever
Have an option

Feelings

The emotions that
We all experience

Someone. Anyone.
define it

We lose control
The moment we come alive

Hunger pangs kick in,
As well as the thirst, for love
Love from our parents
And our families
Friends.

Out first cry for warmth, for food and air,
As we desperately cling onto something, or someone

As newborns
We have no choice
But to feel something

We cannot force it
The devoid of emotions
Numbness of feelings
It is beyond us

It nurtures us
Into adults with yet
An even greater burning passion
To feel

This essential misery-fies us
An evil good necessity

But why
Can't we embrace it?
Adrienne Sep 2020
What if I never see you again
What if it was all a lie
What if I could have done something different
What if it doesn’t get easier
What if I wasn’t important to you.
What if no one touches my heart again.
What if I am alone
What if you forget about me
What if I never know love again.
Tim Jan 2021
Wasted and wounded, I still adhere to wishing to be some new state
This country made his compatriots buried in the mud
This county slived hopeless ones until they broke into crumbles
This street has no vision,
It’s useless to bond each shambles together, rife with unrecognizable blood stains and toils
No one can creep into the dragon’s nest and see the deflective meanings on his unsharpened teeth anymore
I’ll die here against my will, and I’ll stock myself in a pine box
And collectors gonna collect me someday, so I’m not here to judge

Everyting’s primal, all the pride’s esteemed
My gun sleeps like a hunter’s, my pleasure gets lost
My deeds are tangled, time lays in a deathbed
My loved ones are ghosts, slaying themselves and wearing skins
I’m an antique sculpture that stands still in an antique pose
I got punched by so many weathers that keep changing still
Amongst so many individuals that think they have a style of their own, I made my stand
I’m broke down like a fortune globe but yet not broke in pieces
And collectors gonna collect me someday, I know I’m not ready

I have not to call someone that I think I scarsely know
“That’s not the real news” would be said,                                 “These not the real words”
Plenty things wouldn’t be dawned on if they’re not forgotten
Swear to god I’d know they’re true but they were stigmatized by the realities and brokenness
I’d know it’s fine to get involved in something I feel that I don’t know
Now the best I can is the worst they can’t, the tapsters got stiffed, too many thing’s wrong
And the first break of day turned to be the last spark of ray, I can’t even tell myself that the day’s done
******* collectors gonna collect me someday
I’m pretty sure

The sheriff eats his last supper, he’s going downsouth
He missed his target for 28 times, 24 times he lost attention
Neighbour mumbles :”frankly dear, I don’t care”, now I think he’s freed of wrong tries and right mistakes
Now he thinks he tries his last wrong chance to leave his girl hung on a crucifix, he knows she won’t die
Some details changed about the things fellow citizens talk about, they miss the closures for the each drag-to-death breath, they miss the infinity
They miss the times they would never know they’ll go astray
I’m blinded and I’m bored, far away from the grave-of-soul shores
Collectors gonna collect me someday, and I don’t give a ****

Fies, lo and beholds, invitations to a brought-down loneliness by a downtown girl
Fies, honking mouths and screaming seats
These streets got a lotta work to do with late-night loudmouths
They tuckle and thumb the gaps on the after-rain grounds under the scrapped magazine papers
Over the jacuzzi of draining blackness, under the trees, under the vast, they seek pubs and jobs
As a fact of no matter, I don’t sleep better compared to two days ago
My bed’s not cold yet, blackmen still arresting the quiet ones of bad-aftermathed jigglers at the blue ridge
Oh, baby, somebody’s gonna collect me someday
I don’t care
I

Tu me dois ta photographie

À la condition que je

Serai bien sage - et tu t'y fies !


Apprends, ma chère, que je veux

Être, en échange de ce don

Précieux, un libertin que


L'on pardonne après sa fredaine

Dernière en faveur d'un second

Crime et peut-être d'un troisième.


Celle image que tu me dois

Et que je ne mérite pas,

Moyennant ta condition


Je l'aurais quand même tu me

La refuserais, puisque je

L'ai là dans mon cœur, nom de Dieu !


II


Là ! je l'ai, ta photographie

Quand t'étais cette galopine,

Avec, jà, tes yeux de défi,


Tes petits yeux en trous de vrille,

Avec alors de fiers tétins

Promus en fiers seins aujourd'hui.


Sous la longue robe si bien

Qu'on portait vers soixante-seize

Et sous la traîne et tout son train,


On devine bien ton manège

D'abord jà, cuisse alors mignonne,

Ce jourd'huy belle et toujours fraîche ;


Hanches ardentes et luronnes,

Croupe et bas ventre jamais las,

À présent le puissant appât,


Les appas, mûrs mais durs qu'appètent

Ma fressure quand tu es là

Et quand tu n'es pas là, ma tête !


III


Et puisque ta photographie

M'est émouvante et suggestive

À ce point et qu'en outre vit


Près de moi, jours et nuits, lascif

Et toujours prêt, ton corps en chair

Et en os et en muscles vifs


Et ton âme amusante, ô chère

Méchante, je ne serai « sage »

Plus du tout et zut aux bergères


Autres que toi que je vais sac-

Cager de si belle manière ;

- Il importe que tu le saches -


Que j'en mourrai, de ce plus fier

Que de toute gloire qu'on prise

Et plus heureux que le bonheur !


Et pour la tombe où mes gens gisent,

Toute belle ainsi que la vie,

Mets, dans son cadre de peluche,


Sur mon cœur, ta photographie.
Yo yosef shall prevail, my lyrics even froze up hell,
Listen to the real, third eyes i frail,
Only to the knowledge,
I keeps it real,
Soulful samples, you can feel,
I make magic ****,
Like Copperfield, take shots at me, only to reflect off of me,
These haters,
At best demoniators, im the numerator, cash capers,
Make girls catch the vapors,
Its like the temptations,
Nineteen sixty four, my girl its my world,
Let the ball of confusion swirl,
Off my finger tips, see how many can hit with the hallow tips,
Catchin' a death grip from the words, off my lip,
Ya know i keeps a fat spliff, like Eazy, to Bone thugs and harmony,
Say yall harmonizin',
But just fantazin, let my vocals to the anayzlin, suckas aint wise and,
Kin to Solomon,
Many wives lived many lives, through ****** ******* and fies,
As time flys, and the many pies,
That baked in rhe oven, tryna up my grubbin', minus the lovin,
Listen well, the stories never fail,
Yo yosef will always prevail,





Pre-ignite the pyrex, my flows tighter than latex,
Say yall aint feelin' this so next,
Off the hit list, try to throw in ya diss, and I'll just take a ****,
Off the Hennessy i kissed, dismissed, the critics,
Spittin' gimmicks and mimics,
Dont even add up,
As i lay low in the cut, all my real brothers know what's up,
Its all love, caught the flash from up above,
Yo it be god's son, racking in the doves,
Clear the tears off they eyes, now Prince gave me the wise,
Now im the master, making slaves what a disaster,
To the record companies, tryna **** me after,
I turn into Iceberg, **** throwing up the bird, and what ya heard,
My soul blacker than a terd,
And slicks gettin' serves,
Fools shootin' but aint gotta lotta nervs,
I must be absurd, cuz i take blunts stash with mad herbs,
Blue lily power my devour, rhymes off the top every hour,
Dont need a rehearsal, **** going commercial, make my own expos,
Shut down the doors,
Im ******* like Rae and Ghost mixtape surfacin' the shore,
Continue gettin' mail, make ya melons swell, time movin' like a snail,
My styles never stale,
I told y'all well, listen Yosef shall prevail,




Music ya can ride by, dont let them haters slide by,
I give em, something shocking,
Electrify,
Decalcify ya soul, im old school like rock and roll,
Gangsta of Love, Chuck Berry Stroll, front page articles,
Im in ya face so,
They hand me, two out of five mics, **** em i know i blessed it right,
They put me in the top last, blast
That's okay, we still millionaires,
Without the flash,
I put em cask, from the words ya won't heal no time fast,
As i take another **** Buddha, with my hand on my girls ******,
Who the sharpshooter,
Without the practice, my lyrics soak up ya soul like a cactus,
Who could out mack this,
Yo when my bullet splits, it no shell, i wont fail,
Yo big Yosef shall prevail
Et maintenant, aux Fesses !

Je veux que tu confesses,

Muse, ces miens trésors

Pour quels - et tu t'y fies -

Je donnerais cent vies

Et, riche, tous mes ors

Avec un tas d'encors.


Mais avant la cantate

Que mes âme et prostate

Et mon sang en arrêt

Vont dire à la louange

De son cher Cul que l'ange,

O déchu ! saluerait,

Puis il l'adorerait,


Posons de lentes lèvres

Sur les délices mièvres

Du dessous des genoux,

Souple papier de Chine,

Fins tendons, ligne fine

Des veines sans nul pouls

Sensible, il est si doux !


Et maintenant, aux Fesses !

Déesses de déesses,

Chair de chair, beau de beau.

Seul beau qui nous pénètre

Avec les seins, peut-être.

D'émoi toujours nouveau,

Pulpe dive, alme peau !


Elles sont presques ovales,

Presque rondes. Opales,

Ambres, roses (très peu)

S'y fondent, s'y confondent

En blanc mat que répondent

Les noirs, roses par jeu,

De la raie au milieu.


Déesses de déesses !

Du repos en liesses,

De la calme gaîté,

De malines fossettes

Ainsi que des risettes,

Quelque perversité

Dans que de majesté... !


Et quand l'heure est sonnée

D'unir ma destinée

A Son Destin fêté,

Je puis aller sans crainte

Et bien tenter l'étreinte

Devers l'autre côté :

Leur concours m'est prêté.


Je me dresse et je presse

Et l'une et l'autre fesse

Dans mes heureuses mains.

Toute leur ardeur donne,

Leur vigueur est la bonne

Pour aider aux hymens

Des soirs aux lendemains...


Ce sont les reins ensuite,

Amples, nerveux qu'invite

L'amour aux seuls élans

Qu'il faille dans ce monde,

C'est le dos gras et monde,

Satin tiède, éclairs blancs.

Ondulements troublants.


Et c'est enfin la nuque

Qu'il faudrait être eunuque

Pour n'avoir de frissons,

La nuque damnatrice,

Folle dominatrice

Aux frisons polissons

Que nous reconnaissons.


Ô nuque proxénète,

Vaguement déshonnête

Et chaste vaguement,

Frisons, joli symbole

Des voiles de l'Idole

De ce temple charmant,

Frisons chers doublement !

— The End —