"fli" poems
The smell of tires and overheated air hits us like confetti pieces as if we've just won the Superbowl.
This is how I choose to remember you.
This was the beginning to our "adventures", hours lost aimlessly wandering down aisles. The list mom wrote, neatly tucked away in the bottom of one of our pockets, whoever she deemed more responsible that day.
Our bellied laughs would bellow clear over the bird feeders, past the flannel lined jeans, and beyond the orange slice candies.
We taught ourselves a new language. One when spoken, always accompanied with a flimsy tongue. One when spoken to anyone but you was just babble.
In this place, we found life without a limit. One where dancing among the Harley Davison vests was acceptable. One where testing the army surplus metal helmets only seemed logical.
We found a place where you didn't have to grow up, time stopped.
For us, we found a place that created equals of us.
These memories, like words stored in dictionaries, are stored in the pages of my mind. On lonely days I visit them, flipping pages, finding your voice, your smile and your silly dance. They echo off the walls of my memories.
and when I open my mouth to echo back it sounds like this :
Fli
Flove
Flou
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 11:25 PM UTC
n u m b. . .
My
w a l l s
a l
l cage l
l a
s l l a w
solitary
obdurate C
S Y
E C
L
circadian,
inexorable. Crimson orbs see every-
thing. Flaccid thoughts lay helpless
on my bed.
The
lovely
lull
of
blinking
f fl fli flic flick flicke flicker
f l i c k e r s f o r e v e r.
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 11:02 AM UTC
flick, inhale, bubble, exhale.
clean my ******* carpet, i've let this go on long enough.
might as well clean the whole place, no one else will.
able bodied, but the joke's on them. the dirts on me, last week is in the ashtray.
flick, inhale. ******* clogged.
i got hasty again; i hate it when i do that **** go through pages in books i read like i didn't write.
******* **** i write like someone's ever going to read.
the cup's half full of a whole year of nothing. the cup's dry.
i'm dry, high and dry. and to what extent?
flick, inhale, choke.
go back in.
there's black **** all over my keyboard.
that smell is back all over me, on the ends of my jacket sleeves.
i learned in anatomy what exactly it is.
i can't help but realize that i'm a god **** specimen, taking articulate notes on intricacies i cannot even fathom about myself. i've never felt so blunderously powerful.
flick, bubble, inhale.
i touch your hips to make sure you still exist. and to what extent? every extent, every branch, swing. left or right, you're right. stung just once, not me.
i drift away like it's an allergy, like it's some type of disease.
choke.
i never did clean my sheets. not since her, but after her, i lit it up like wildfire.
i repeat history, but i keep it clean. it's no one's fault these kinds of things are inherited.
like father, like daughter.
no, you cannot expect the morphine to help, if you don't want it to help.
**** it. flick, inhale, exhale.
**** it, if no body is looking. because you can't feel it if somebody's waiting, you wait to please.
**** it, twelve steps ahead is only twelve steps farther from the very place you want to be back at.
**** it. nothing will ever stay clean in this **** house, the dirt will always come back.
the proof is in the way he walks, that he is your son.
there is nothing to do but be patient.
fli-flick, inhale,
exhale.
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 7:12 PM UTC
fli》ck》》ed to the ground
smash me down
not\be. fore\ you\ set
my skin on fire
how _ i _ burn _ for _ you
suckmein
sweet s[ed]uction
ling^er^ in your mou^^th
{your breath
my desire}
if only// i were a nasty habit
¥ou €ould. not. break.
itwouldbeenough
to stick; around
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 10:08 PM UTC
al{one}
with> my >glass >of
w{h}ine
i /fail /to /shed
the "fli""ck"er" '' ' '
of your flame
de _ spite y _ our logic
& my
shame
too. blind. to. see
@light
therewasneverany
~sense~
<to us>
not. really. ever.
&certainlynot;
#tonight
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 4:07 AM UTC