"flay" poems
Narcissist I
Money questions hidden in cultures
Instead of debates, we have the vultures
They will overspend whatever their budget
Destroy years hard work, their odour pungent
Often called users, epiphytes of highest order
Those that cannot earn sufficient to quarter
Or manage their own, so they use others
Spending, unfettered, is their druthers
Cannot accept responsibility for damage
Continue to feast on their host, they ravage
Hollowing out from inside, funds they suction
Weakening the structure for eventual destruction
And weakened, debates then start about savings
Too late, funds gone, too late for the cravings
Absent conversation, leaves a bad situation
Long ago, train of debate left the station
What we have now is death and decay
All caused by silence, as the vultures flay
It will not be long until they seek a new host
Just when their former home needs them most
So leave they will, to claw the next poor victim
Removing their talons of love and devotion
Moving on, leaving behind just carcasses
Warm used bodies, mark of a narcissist
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 4:04 PM UTC
A simple excuse is what most need and they think
that justice is a synonym for revenge. They claim
that all they do is natural and not an act of distress.
So how can i quite this part of me that at any tipping
point someone will linch and act uncontrollably
achieving only to hurt those he or she loves.
I fear that most can not bear to lose any more and they
would give into a comfort zone, into zestless and
voiceless acts only leading to their ruin.
The world is a harsh place and there are those who
would see others suffer for their own gain, even
flay those who would try to help them.
Difficult to be stronger than our excuses but what is
worse from losing ourselves.
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 5:45 PM UTC
Oh yeah, the other day I went
to that 5-star hotel
and got a breakfast by
Bobby Flay.
Never heard of him, but the food was
pretty good.
Afterwards I went to the gym and lifted some
100lb weights.
Oh and yesterday I got a
100% on my quantum physics test.
All in all, my week was
NO BIG DEAL.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 4:42 PM UTC
in the icy swirl
of deep-inhale
I reach down inside
to darkest
heated flesh-fabric
removing the clothing
of my soul,
feeling the layers
slowly undone
the flay
of my own fleece
the peeling
of my own pelt
penetrating
through tissue,
a journey to the
deep heart of me,
cut in one clean move
and yet, like a miracle
there is
no pain
just magnet-connect
beyond the cusp
of words
that curl from our
tongues
rising up in
latticed affirmations
a cleansing in frost
a constant, aquamarine renewal
and there is no past
no future
just this prism
of crystal liquid jewels
flowing in
gentle,
cellular music
straight into the strands
of our veins
and I miss you
like you have gone
on the long winter hunt
my longing splayed out
like an animal skin on
four poles
its tendons stretched
beyond measure
yet holding fast
with a roof over my head,
I acknowledge
my restlessness
I am my own
hunter-forager,
both searching and found,
gathering up bits
of velocity
stroking the ribbons
of passion
stoking the fires of my
heart and hearth
protecting what is us
like a lioness
for we are overflowing
with both strength
and tenderness
our own bones
ingredients of the wild soup
of our feral union
of our constant rebirth
our very dna
weaving itself
like heartstrings
in the rush
of
time
Dec 9, 2017
Dec 9, 2017 at 6:35 PM UTC
Do you remember when I laid in bed with you and cried
because telling you about me hurt to do?
But I wanted to tell you - because you deserved to know, because maybe I thought you would share yourself too, because maybe I thought packing you into my old wounds
would finally heal them right.
And all that truth made me shake and the dark bedroom made me wild-eyed but
your heart beating through my palm pushed me forward a step,
a step of a step, and pretty soon I was falling for you.
And I remember when you stood over me, revealing your truth about me.
And all that truth made me cry and the morning light hurt my eyes
and you split my ribs and my lungs poured out at my knees
which were bruising from begging.
But I couldn’t find you in your darkened eyes or your bellowing voice
as it gutted me and braided my veins in a knot…
Some things I try to forget.
I dream of you and I imagine your face, your touch, the way you walk and
hold my hand and we smile and you laugh and
I have you.
But sometimes the black comes down from the nightsky
and seeps into my sleep
to darken your eyes and harden your grasp,
just like that you flay me open to spill my tears and
I’m losing you.
When I wake you are there, reaching toward me in the dark.
The bruises on my knees will fade.
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 10:40 AM UTC
I drew the second third line
A first fourth one is on deck
Knew I inked them finely fine
Still, I go check and recheck
Marvelously filleted corners
Cleave an unsettling sound
Put compass back on paper
Just to make sure it's round
Anxiety was bound to happen
To the fifth first line I go back
Again, I sharpen and sharpen
But I give up, made it all black
Perfection is not my liberty
But a numb skin I wish to flay
Half of my mind seeks symmetry
Yet the other half
is in
disarray
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 8:46 PM UTC
how long to live through the next thought
to have a brief encounter with time
an impossible time of intolerable anguish
where embarking upon a sentence
is a violent wrench from perceived notions
of reality, one that causes nerves
to flay upon my body with weal's of words
where vatic poetry is wrought in trembling rages
spilling, dripping upon the traumatised
parchment that is my pages
in de-congealing interrelated drops of image
that crack the pavements
in a visual vibrancy of taut creative tension
where these words keep their own company
and speak in interrogative tongues
causing a fragmentation of earthquake fissures
to radiate across my mind in a cataclysm
of universal poison that quiets and dissolves stability
and asks, no demands of me, what can you see?
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 8:05 PM UTC
**Parades of knaves,
And smitten sheep;
Came to pervade
OUR hide and seek...**
*Depraved – I caved
To strut; to seek
Tirades of graves
With CREEP antiques.
CHARADES engraved
On my physic;
Enslaved, I waved
Through gift-wrapped chic.*
**For Beneath enclaves,
She seeks the meek
whose souls – she'd flay,
To Hide-and-TWEAK.**
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 6:04 PM UTC
A makeshift camp of hardy souls,
the air is cold but we are free
and hold to our common causes.
Little is said. There's much quiet thought.
The crackling fire makes it all
real, fans our fellowship of feelings,
casting shadows of mysterious
creatures . The flames flay our faces red.
Limbs stiffen, ache, but only eyes move
for fear of breaking our charmed circle.
Minds are moving fast over unknown
futures, over people from the past.
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 1:50 PM UTC
toothless junkies
rifle through trinkets
hearts leaking tar
onto the bus’s gummed out floor
hoodied heads bow
begging for a break
or a stake in the heart
or a steak
half burnt trees flay flash by pray for one less day
dogs chase
the beat up clunker yellow
gnashing blindly
at the machinery
screaming dust
in the world’s
face
I hate Mondays
4/19/11
Apr 25, 2011
Apr 25, 2011 at 8:16 AM UTC
In an apartment on 53rd street
A fire is burning
Out of a keyhole &
Into a cigarette.
Smoke comes in walls
& is heavier than rocks
& it takes an artist
To hate oneself.
Moon-faced Serbians sipped
Drain-O from sandals
While red-lipped nomads
Gazed & sharpened their blades.
A fat lady walks in &
Before she can say
“Burger & fries”
There are spears in her ears.
The body is dragged to the
River by sheepish failures, but
The boxer knew what was afoot &
Had removed all the water from the river.
But no-one cared because a riot had
Started in the streets
“Flay the feminazis,” they chanted
“Pour molten oil on the devout,” they screamed.
& all the flat-eyed artists
& all the drag-queen mobsters
Danced around the fire like evolution
& an ape got in the middle of it.
His fingertips calloused
His elbows like spears
His eyes w/ more blood
Than white.
Richard Nixon or
A Richard Nixon costume
Entered stage right w/
Boxing gloves & cocktails.
They would throw children
Across the fire
& artists on the other side would be
Waiting w/ nets & knives.
But then tear gas came
& they cried & their
Tears were like the eyes that
Glinted at them.
Out of a keyhole &
Into a cigarette.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 2:13 AM UTC
I am back
to that blank space
to that black hole
eating me whole
like crawling flame
to my paper soul
Who is it to blame?
Still I'm running in shame
away from my shadow
of filth and rot
Even my skin
have scorned itself
but to flay my being
is not enough
Have I forgotten how to love?
And if my body is to live
but the soul is dead,
Will I ever forgive myself?
-Dying Star, Margaret Austin Go
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 5:40 PM UTC
Love, faith and forgiveness principal are in
Christian school. Torrid anger thou must flay
While it's still displaying on the eastern tray
Ere its set on the *** laude of thy sterling
Prize. The other meek cheek of thine turn--
Though tough--to him that seek thy burn.
Gladly go not one but twain miles with
Him that bid thee. Distribute cheerfully
To widows cream bread and wine; the needy
And orphans--whether you're rolling in it--
Never neglect, and make no open show
Of thy charity: its trumpet do not blow.
Make mammon thy master nay. Believe
The Bible though you cannot It fathom
Out--the Spirit thy heart will guide. Kingdom
Eternal chiefly pursue; to goodness cleave.
Both parents and priests honour, and men
In authority obey. Keep the Lord's pen.
Fast and pray, playing not to the gallery.
In heaven's safe thy treasure store, where
Robbers and rust have no access nor share.
For worldly wants, soul, never you worry--
Jehovah-Jireh above knows thy very need,
Who gives in season due to the sower seed.
Salt and light on earth be. Thy righteousness
The Pharisees' must exceed. All differences
Reconciled, lest thy balance draws offence
By heaven's audit. Loincloth of faithfulness
Wrap. At a lady be weary to leer, and thy
***** bridle. To God thy heart wholly tie.
The log in thine own eyes first remove
Afore thy brother's speck you see. Grudge
Not but ask, seek and knock. Don't judge.
Such measure from others expect to them give--
Golden rule. Strive to enter in at the narrow
Gate: the rough, rugged road to the end follow.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 7:34 AM UTC
Ethnic Raging in my face
Everywhere I care to look
Coptic Christians, brown and white
Scream intolerance, forsook.
Jew and anti Jew defile
All good laws of rationale,
In raw voraciousness of hate,
In howling shred of faith’s morale.
Blessed are the just for they
Enshrine their plaque of rich noblesque,
Blessed are the weak of will
Who deeply sip from traitor’s breast.
And blessed are the strong who hold
At bay the laws of God’s restraint,
In tandem with the rich who cower,
White, behind their armoured gate.
Ethnic raging everywhere
I watch it through the children’s eyes,
Led to purge the coloured flesh,
To flay a difference ‘till it dies.
Marshalg
Recoiling from it all.
Auckland NZ
11 October 2011
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 12:17 AM UTC
A coffin came my way,
They said, therein you lay;
I could believe them nay,
Until they said they could flay;
Wild I went,
I could not vent;
The expression remaining,
Before it started draining;
I was no longer composed,
I had to be dosed;
You were ethereal,
This had to be surreal;
No enmity could matter,
When everything had shattered;
You had been battered,
When you had me flattered;
I can not apologise,
You have been baptized;
I seek not your forgiveness,
I need not your liveness;
For you’ll always be,
Right here, in my heart;
I woke up, to find you gone,
For EVER in your zone..
I need not repent,
For I have your scent;
Your memories alive,
Shall always thrive;
You were one of a kind,
Never out of your mind;
It is not cowardice,
For it requires courage;
It shall not be despised,
For it was your suffrage..
Jan 14, 2021
Jan 14, 2021 at 12:06 PM UTC
A team of four - or more than two
Tappy children waddle by -
To see the lake - with a loon, with
Their mother - looking nigh:
Their funny games, which all they play
Throughout the night of orange suns;
Of tannéd eyes the streetlights flay
And run on home would all of them:
Then father comes and takes away
To other places in a night;
All gone the children, gone today -
Perhaps they'll come another time.
May 3, 2021
May 3, 2021 at 12:09 AM UTC
time to go flay my temple under hospital lights like a bound pig time to spread my desire wide for them to lick their lips over chronic pelvic bleeding & gory, citrus insides shove it in me baby, tell me where it hurts, tell me that im dying
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 8:48 AM UTC
One of Edna's "randyhornbag" collection of erotica.
i am a ******* *****
and that's not a metaphor
it's the total ******* truth
i'm a ********** forsooth
it's what i do for work
i'll **** or **** or ****
off any man or beast
i don't care in the least
young boys old men fat freaks
i get them all most weeks
i'll have any kind of ***
cash only and no cheques
i suppose you think it's funny
to **** fat men for money
to have countless alien *****
often stinking like old socks
shoved up my pretty *****
kept artificially juicy
to make the fools imagine
i'm oozing jissom for them
it's not the best of jobs
******* total strangers' knobs
pretending to like vile men
when if i could i'd flay them
i rarely **** for pleasure
i no longer have the measure
of love and tender feeling
of kisses phlegm congealing
my private sexlife's twisted
i love being thrashed and ******
i crave darkest degradation
masochistic ************
so if you think it's funny
******** men for money
let me be quite blunt
if you think so you're a ****
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 10:56 AM UTC
butterflied flay of cloud
Rorschach blots
cricket white on nursery blue
skilled autopsy of the summer sky
i feel like raw skin having a plaster removed
Mar 26, 2024
Mar 26, 2024 at 6:12 PM UTC
I write so my demons don't consume me
with a pen in my hand they flow through me
i turn my demons into ink so fluidly
that all they can even begin to speak is smoothly
my demons think they've got me beat
but with my text i break their teeth
disarm my demons with my metaphors
i slit their throats with my pen and they fall bleeding to the floor
flay them open with my similes
like wounds cut open to release disease
and spread their skin like butterfly wings
and with precision and delivery
pin them here for you to see
see
my demons flow through me like ink through a pen
so i pick up their cage and i confine them
put the cap back on and snap it into place
i might look calm but there are demons beneath this face
Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 2:33 PM UTC
Your rose colored glasses make everything okay
Until the shades blend
and you're seeing red again
There will always be a point
where filters deliver their ***** backwash
and you're left with the mess the elephant made
in the corner of the room
and he's rubbing your nose in it
He's rubbing your nose in it
I know I am only beer goggle beautuful
A latex layer of desensitization
to try and make our crash last longer
And you see in hues
of rising shades of deadly
Miss my blushing
so you don't realize
how uncomfortable this is making me
But you're smelling roses
Feel the thorn's *****
but miss the blood on your hands
Wonder why the roses suddenly smell so coppery
Please let us learn how to peel back the layers
Flay me like a whale
on a boat-deck-cutting-board
Pull me out of my element
and peel back my skin
while I am still begging you not to
See me for who I am
while I am at my most vulnurable
writing poetry at 2 am
when I should be sleeping
A t-shirt over a lamp shade
because I am afraid to sleep alone in the dark
The door cracked so I can hear if my father falls again
Sometimes silence scares me
Sometimes it is all I want
Right now it is so quiet
There are no filters here
Your rose colored glasses make everything okay
Everything is not okay
Flay me
See me for who I am
without any filters
Then tell me you still love me
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 5:22 AM UTC
You made a pact, on the dotted line
Used a quill to cut your flesh
As blood did seep, the quill did drink
Signed your soul away,
Years you have to keep,
3650 Days,
300 Months,
10 Years,
To the day,
I will collect my purchase
Your soul,
For the wish that squandered away
Thinking you had forever,
But days soon turned too dust,
Months slowly become years,
Your time is twenty four hours
"Tick,"
"Tock,"
"Tick,"
"Tock,"
Then I roast your soul
Flay your skin,
Eternal damnation
But those that run, think they can hide,
No spell,
Can hide the scent of the blood on parchment
The hunt begins,
Beasts of hell, hounds on a hunt,
They ran from fire, to bring you in
Essence smelt,
Thinking your safe
Your biggest mistake,
Outside the door, howls heard,
So deafening their felt within the soul
Metal shreds like paper towels
Then what wasn't seen becomes whole
Screams not heard as
Flesh shredded, life runs out
Blood soaks the floor,
As life fades,
The master strokes its pet
Feeding it your leg,
Then the hell hound grabs
Flesh,
Body,
Soul,
Takes its prize home
To that place called hell,
Your new eternal torment as it chews upon your soul..
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 11:35 AM UTC
She was the most loyal lover,
I realize it now.
She stayed the longest ever,
I feel so lucky.
She did flay away never,
I felt so proud.
But all her love was fake,
I find it so weak.
Maybe I am the reason,
I caused her unfaithfulness.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 12:48 AM UTC
In Africa the lissome eucalyptus leaves
Sharply ovoid, a washed celadon,
Turn their silvery backs, yield, bend with
The promise of on-coming rain.
You taught me this
Sign, this tree-voiced prediction, long ago, among
The tenderly sloping, densely viridian hills
And heavy, somnolent, rolling fogs of Iowa.
And so, I turn my back. I yield, oh, how I yield.
But, you didn’t foresee, didn’t know
How, much later, my heart would
Flake and flay
How great sheets of myself
Would peel, would fold
Would slough off just like
The bark, the back of those massive whitened eucalyptus trunks, you
Didn’t, couldn’t foretell how this long union
Scars, clings, sinks so deep, tattoos itself so that eucalyptus-like, despite
Repeated rain lashings, leaf bowings, droopings and sun decimated leavings
My heart, my soul sheds, molts, reforms, renews itself and just as those
Sharpened leaves arch and curve and arc and sway
So I bend, I turn, I give in, I give in
To the chafing wind, to the scouring hurt, to
The on-coming African
Rain.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 9:18 AM UTC
I want to flay my skin
Rid myself of all that is surface deep
Throw off my flesh like a coat
Feel raw pain as air hits nerve
See my endoskeleton of muscle and ligament
Heart pumping blood through artery and vein
I'd pluck it out still beating
And lay it on the butchers block
Alongside kidneys, liver, guts
An offal offering
Consume me my darling
'Til there's nothing left save bone.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC