"forceps" poems
I like slandering your makeshift forceps.
I hammer you down with watery *** and then spill
the remainder on the couch. Yarg! A diamond’s
worth at least a small intestine, and you
are worth whatever’s left over after night
has upended itself, poured sideways out of its
shellacked crawlspace, and turned the basement sour.
There are remnants of you in the park,
some red stain by the baseball field where,
if you’ll remember, you watched little leaguers
build teamwork, and faint splotches on tree bark
from your lactations which, if you’ll remember, happened
every morning. I whisper your godforsaken name
and am slapped in the head. The children cry
when I smile. I cry when the children smile. Good
heavens. I forbid you from not entering my corridor,
even as I set up a barricade. I like my water scalding,
my passion chilled, and I like you in easy-to-
swallow doses. I like you in my eggs.
Ditto the faucet, keyboard, the occasional lily,
but do not mess with my pearls. I mumble of apodictic
meadows while I sleep. What can I say?
I do not mumble of unclogging your bathtub,
which has a certain foul repute, and has grown
heavy and ugly with your hair, which is everywhere,
just as you are everywhere, and wherever, and so
********* hidden it’s not funny anymore, we stopped
looking some millennia ago, after scouring the drainpipes,
kicking down your doors, dissecting your mattress,
speculating about your burial site, etcetera, and even so
we have not been really looking all this time, have we,
just blaring your name through the speakers,
putting wrong numbers on our calling cards, leaving
uncooked meat out on the back porch as if you were
a raccoon, oh, or a lion, which you are not, or not
quite, though, as the books say, you have honey
in your stomach, and if you could but be
ripped open we would taste and see.
May 25, 2010
May 25, 2010 at 8:21 PM UTC
Let me to the Incarnate Mother must
The Eldest of Sudden Truth understand
One Day, which shaky Candles will delust
The Object's Manner of a Blackened Hand
I deliver Forceps to which Heart grows
What Heart's own Attrition dares to admit
The Mum of Three Promised Knights beknows
The Receipt of such Devotion permits
Verily, Age is a Factorless Sum,
Easily enclayed by a Donkey's Foot
And when the Festival lays down its Lump
It locked the Door to keep the Sorrowful.
Now, Elder-Mum, try to lift your Wise Head
This Extended Son, wishes your Love be fed.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 5:37 AM UTC
As if he had been poured
in tar, he lies
on a pillow of turf
and seems to weep
the black river of himself.
The grain of his wrists
is like bog oak,
the ball of his heel
like a basalt egg.
His instep has shrunk
cold as a swan’s foot
or a wet swamp root.
His hips are the ridge
and purse of a mussel,
his spine an eel arrested
under a glisten of mud.
The head lifts,
the chin is a visor
raised above the vent
of his slashed throat
that has tanned and toughened.
The cured wound
opens inwards to a dark
elderberry place.
Who will say ‘corpse’
to his vivid cast?
Who will say ‘body’
to his opaque repose?
And his rusted hair,
a mat unlikely
as a foetus’s.
I first saw his twisted face
in a photograph,
a head and shoulder
out of the peat,
bruised like a forceps baby,
but now he lies
perfected in my memory,
down to the red horn
of his nails,
hung in the scales
with beauty and atrocity:
with the Dying Gaul
too strictly compassed
on his shield,
with the actual weight
of each hooded victim,
slashed and dumped.
3.5k
Of immaterial vision birthed in mind.
Of spirit annihilating the selves,
of calling it plan. The one-
a semblance scattered on deck space
refracts on reflections of the reactions of tokens
of the carnivalesque,
of the hunger artists,
of phenomenon-
which may or may not exist depending on reflective surface of the true self,
of the motion of tides,
mocks motion in body,
of obsession.
The tonality of the "be" and the "is" and the "will be" is deafened by the "I am,"
by the Ohm.
Of shuddering and implanting embraces,
of blessing on every ember of cleanliness that is true self,
of the oneself that exists above selective memory,
not draft of time arrow but the material existence of dream,
not disembodied but embodied.
Of breeding,
of circumstance and forking fourth dimension prison terms,
of crowd control,
of she wolves and their feral children,
of forceps interpolating material reality of conception,
of Dreamtime,
of pain,
of pleasure,
where they are relations-
of skin perversely hanging, dually,
gratifying and sullying-
Fraying beautiful disasters that react to invisible ripples
I, the oneself, implore you to awaken in your utility and then outside of it.
Take those boot straps and bend the bars of confinement with them.
Chisel and sculpt light into a fabrication of quantum of action.
Celebrate the ordinary and expose it.
Of stargazed caustics,
of the early universe.
I stand awake as not the expression of design
and no longer connected to Earth by my roots
but awake inside cocoon,
entrapped behind slits,
of alien cage otherness.
The Akh beseeches ownership of the Ba
I want play dice with god and end in draw.
I am Sekhmet-Wadjet who dwells in the west of heaven,
I am Sahyt among the souls of Of.
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 1:29 AM UTC
I sat on the dentist’s chair
With an aching tooth, feeling hell
The dentist seemed quite pleased
As he opened my mouth and surveyed
‘There are holes to be filled
And the plaque to be removed
It needs a few sittings
At the end, you’ll have a set of fine teeth’!
His gentle assurance was so comforting
And I thought my jaws no more have to suffer
The pangs and torments of an aching tooth!
He then, in a narrow syringe
Injected something into my gum
I knew a numbness creeping in
Until at last I felt a hard rock within
Now, like an expert work man
He began his rigorous craft
Loud machines began to boom
The chair got flattened
From 'verticality'
I got changed into 'horizontality'
And the overhead apparatus came down
Like an eagle swooping down on its prey.
With blaring lights blinding my vision,
I lay torpid as if my body was strapped
The doctor took out his steel and hammer
And started tapping and chipping
Drilling and boring
Though numb, I could still feel the pull and tug
The crooked forceps and pliers
Made all the nerves in my head irk
My mouth was filled with saliva
And I felt a sprout of blood inside
He stuffed some gauze and resumed his work
I wanted to yell, ask him to stop
But being gagged, I couldn’t utter a word
My pupils dilated
My lips quivered
My tongue got parched
I gasped for breath
With a mix of cement and sand (?)
He began filling and plastering
Scrubbing and polishing
Helplessly lying on the dentist’s chair,
I wondered
What whips and stings one has to endure
To end the pain and give the teeth a shine!
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 7:53 AM UTC
I am panic
Frenzied particles
Moving and shaping
Everything I seem to be
Inside of a
Concrete cage of consciousness
Inside of a
Dazzling dot and dye marked
Enigmatic epidermis
Here I am
I am ice cold
Frost bitten to the core
A bullet train made of sleet
Running on cyanotic cylinders
And the gritty grating salt
Beneath your cold, wet shoes
All at once
I dissolve and destroy myself
Yet I just keep
Coming back
Here I am
I am as satisfying as
The long winded palindrome
On the tip of your tongue
The redundant rhyme
You chanted as children
And the hymn you harmonized
With haunted heathens
Here I am
I am the all encompassing embrace
Of all that you are
****** up futile flaws and
Autonomous awe inspiring anomalies
I will hold it all together
In the way no other has
My seams of love
Stitched and sewn
With intentions as pure as gold
And nothing else
Nothing more
Here I am
I am the writhing writer
Frantically feverish with
Fingernails like forceps
I pry these words from
My brain like a
Sickening surgical procedure
On a ***** disheveled mattress
As if they were
Ingenuities oozing with infection
Here I am
I am the ritual rebirth
Wrongfully righteous reincarnation
I tip and turn like the tides
Lurching at the shore
Time and time again
In an endless cycle I am
Looking for
Nautical nirvana
Here I am
I am the exceptional exchange
Of a daunting and diligent dialect
Only few can understand
And to those fluent
In my twisted and tiring tongue
I say
Here I am
Jan 3, 2018
Jan 3, 2018 at 11:03 AM UTC
And it comes with some pain the the bullies from our childhood were a result of social Darwinism,
at least in the sense of the state, where capitalism reigns and the most ruthless and powerful win all the freedom.
Us cowards were too scared of violence to do anything about it. The teachers barred us from bullying, and with emotion they punished bullies, when they could be caught. Punish the bullies so they will develop the slavish obedience not to harm their peers, so in the future they will merely quietly compete up the ladder and sigh at the impossibility of their ladder extending past their bully bosses. If you want to have real freedom and fortune in this life, I hope you never stopped being a bullying child. I, like most children, bought the obedience and swallowed it like morning pills. In rows I sat, I pledged to red white and blue, and while the bullies slapped our heads, we kept our retaliation to unified grumbling, yet in a school there is no strength in numbers, besides the strength of harmonizing our slavish sighs. It’s just like at work under our bully bosses. The strength of the individual is denied in a school, so we can work like a cog, working hard at our shape to fit best into the machine.
The bully notices the competition early on and acts hard, swift, and originally. For this is how wars are won. But us slaves have our way of converting the bully, we have numbers on our side, yet little strength. Out of weakness we tell the bully that they are an ill shaped cog, and they will never be able to help the machine if they keep their powerful aggression. Conversion to slaves may occur, or a half convert is created who is too deluded with their new illness, so they can do little physical harm to anyone anymore.
And all without a drop of blood. We go to work secretly competing with each other, in order to buy the system’s validity at the end of the week. And we rip each other‘s teeth out in our dreams
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 11:39 PM UTC
Our choice of poison is devotion,
too much: inebriated.
too little: insufficient.
Our choice of diction, susceptible,
an anomaly: dissected in a lab table.
Poked by: forceps wielded by
gloved hands.
There is no mystery to our misery,
because the venom of our loneliness
is a composition of our aesthetics.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 10:26 PM UTC
He came, reluctantly pulled by his head
At the hands of a masked man,
Using large metal,
Salad Tong appearing forceps,
Rudely, crudely yanked from his mother’s
Cervical embrace, into the glaring,
First Light of intended living and breathing.
His head now misshapen,
(To return to normal they assured,)
His little body more blue than pink,
Umbilical cord around his neck,
Absolutely ridged, not moving,
No sound did he make,
appearing more gone than here.
My own breath did cease until to my relief,
His tiny arms and hands did give notice
Of life, followed soon after by a fitting
Shrill scream of rebuttal, a rebuke to
The light, the air, the rude process
That had brought him there.
One moment at peace, safe and warm
Within his womb of tranquility, dreaming
Whatever dreams the pure and innocent's
Do dream, then abruptly ripped from
All that peace, out into all this!
At that moment I too wanted to join in,
Echo his howl, his guttural protestation,
I too swept up by that ethereal wave of disturbance
Feeling his struggle as if he was drowning in new found air.
For me, as if at this moment of his birth,
I too was being reborn.
My knees grew weak, I was for a instant dizzy,
I struggled to regain my own lost breathing.
Restart my own heart, fight back the water in my eyes.
I let go of his mother’s hand, she with eyes closed,
As if sleeping, exhausted from too many hours of labor,
My respect and love for her and her magnificent efforts,
Expanded then to boundless.
The tender masked women in white,
They with shining, smiling eyes,
Quickly cleaned, and wiped him dry,
Swaddled him in a tiny blanket and laid him into
My unaccustomed arms, and for the very first time
In our lives, I looked upon the face of my son.
At that precise moment, some purposeful mental,
Primordial emotional switch, was indeed flipped,
And I, WE would never be the same again.
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 3:54 PM UTC
keep the window open i cant stand to smell your skin, you are shivering. youre cold
(you tell me so (you want a response (i nod,)))
(but you are still cold)
*do you have any
fantasies?*
this halting voice heaves in my stomach pressing against the walls, making
me sick, the snap of your blinking lids a pickaxe to my temple. *i think about
fire
a lot. i think about forest fires.* filling the tank in a dead town, dark night quiet town,
the gas tank overflows (your nervous eyes in your sweating sticky face {your twitching gaze stroking the lighter in the glove compartment} dry dry lips {your wet tongue only makes them dryer})
breathing in her ear you say *tie me to the stake tight tight so rope burn sears my wrist,
burn me with the dry kindling,*
condensation drips down her neck, sliding down the arm. on the sidewalk in the pit of her shadow a puddle forms, wetting the wings of the unhappy wasps, joints twisted, the gaps in the exoskeleton show something bright, something bulbous, with forceps and needles it could be reached? its delicate skin pierced, oozing thick light (*do you have any
fantasies?*)
[*so there are two of me, right,
clones, equivalent beings but
individuals. some sort of sick
government secret. human ex
periments. its not important.
i grab my clone by the neck or
it grabs me, its not important,
the dust billows when my feet
skid, im choking, vision blurr
ing, i claw at my hands, we f
all, dust bursts into the air, m
y fist makes sick thudding sou
nds when it hits, bruising my
knuckles on the structural bon
es of my face, possibly breaki
ng the more delicate ones. im
straddling my chest and im s
pitting out the teeth that i di
dnt swallow. then the clones
**** im not really sure.*]
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 11:38 PM UTC
The young woman struggled,
she pushed and bore down.
She was covered in sweat
when they first saw the crown.
The doctor, with forceps,
Tried to coax the newborn
Into the light from the
womb dark and warm.
What came next was amazing,
a wonder to see.
The obstetrician so shocked
He nearly dropped the baby.
A cute baby boy-
There no cause for alarm-
and his miniature wings
Merely add to his charm.
This cuddly cherub
hovered feet off the ground.
The umbilical cord
All that kept him earth bound.
His wondering mother
Was clearly perplexed,
For none of her lovers
had been winged’ sexperts.
True, one was named “Angel”,
her Swedish masseuse,
but, apart from good hands,
he’d been of little use.
Perhaps that old goat
With the lengthy Greek name
Who muttered “by Zeus”
Every time that he came.
Not that it much mattered
Not here or not there
Still there’s no denying
Her boy’s got a pair.
Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 8:00 AM UTC
The young woman struggled,
she pushed and bore down.
She was covered in sweat
when they first saw the crown.
The doctor, with forceps,
Tried to coax the newborn
Into the light from the
womb dark and warm.
What came next was amazing,
a wonder to see.
The obstetrician so shocked
He nearly dropped the baby.
A cute baby boy-
There no cause for alarm-
and his miniature wings
Merely add to his charm.
This cuddly cherub
hovered feet off the ground.
The umbilical cord
All that kept him earth bound.
His wondering mother
Was clearly perplexed,
For none of her lovers
had been winged’ sexperts.
True, one was named “Angel”,
her Swedish masseuse,
but, apart from good hands,
he’d been of little use.
Perhaps that old goat
With the lengthy Greek name
Who muttered “by Zeus”
Every time that he came.
Not that it much mattered
Not here or not there
Still there’s no denying
Her boy’s got a pair.
Dec 18, 2011
Dec 18, 2011 at 7:59 PM UTC
stripped
my skin laid bare to bones
pull away the flesh from my face
and expose my broken teeth
I will drink cold water
poured from pewter
into tall glasses
hold my still beating heart
in your hands
and wring the blood from this muscle
drain away what’s left of me
collected in a kidney pan
of stainless steel
and feed me to the dogs
I will listen for the clinking sound
of your forceps falling on the floor
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 5:51 PM UTC
Advanced and Belated my Greetings fare
For the Lone Star Beauty my Summons despite
Having left my Tearful Wantings despair
Then offer it to your Happiness quite
For this Independence judged by your Name
How cool are his Forceps fused into yours,
Nipped your Smile's Edge his Quintessence became
Offered once - twice - then advance into fours
As what any Wise-Stoned Elder would Perscribe
Since Feelings sincere broke the Munchkin's Heart
To lift as the Cross your Saviour subscribe
This One Joy liberate was yours from the Start.
Blessings indeed bill this Sacrosanct Day
Then corral your Fortunes for Candle-Light's Way.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 11:07 PM UTC
Empty hearted
Nothing pulling you one way or the other
Bone clock
At town square
Where the table is talking to the chair.
"The chair speaks at 12 o'clock!" the table calls.
The wind howls through the dusty streets
And the typewriter of the the town sends what the chair speaks.
"Hey . -.-- .," the chair speaks
"Where it divides you."
"Divide and multiply."
"Don't blink, for it thinks to nullify."
Doorknob is a beating heart
Bleeding sharp objects to the floor
Screws, razors, and knives bled to the floor.
Walk one way, on carpets.
In through the back door walks another
Ethereal form,
Soft outline.
He's a calculator puking formulas
Puking squirming formulas
With only two buttons
Divide and multiply.
"Life = add, subtract, divide, and multiply."
Understanding: simplified
But Hey . -.-- . seems to nullify.
Take a chunk out
No ****** recognition
A piece of wire from the chin up through the nostril,
Oneself at the back door.
Threatening to sleep,
Twoself.
The couch sleeper
Chiefing at the end of the couch.
Threeself
Craving, longing, slinking around,
Fingers as crooked as trees and wants,
Spines for legs and spines for arms.
A cough through the walls,
Fourself
Forceps
A cough through the walls.
Dish detergent surgeon,
Pieces floating in the water.
Water, a shower surfing on a person feeble in the shallows,
The selves (listen) twitch together and, in time, strike by the hour to
Hey . -.-- .
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 7:04 PM UTC
The Forceps on the Skull
The Freedom Down my Throat
The Careless Jaunty Attitude
The Dead boy long Gone
No voice, No mouth, No brain
No Opinion, No Choice, No Thought
The child coaxed in rudiments
The warm fuzz ball of puke
The play-doe reindeer bones
The bandaged up wild wet wagon movie
Throaty
Toe drum octagon
Therapy Slowly
Octopus keymaker
Uh, you don't know me
Grow old in set bone brains
Can't hold a lighter to a memory of a conversation flicker
Septum dust headbutts tattoos of a mirror
**** shiver
What's His Name?
What's His Name?
Slidin’ care home cider casket cycles home
Nun **** jar finds a hair in comb
Hold a Jug up to your speakin’ ear and drink
Run circles round the square
Run circles round the square
Why don't you just do it?
Why don't you just?
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 8:15 AM UTC
feasting is beastly
devouring the measly
souls of the weaklings
how mild and meekly
cowering, quivering
stock-still, but shivering
delivering evil at doorsteps
grabbing the forceps
take a few more steps
I'll cut you and your kids
and your wife with her fits
are you aware of
the pits of despair?
**** now you're scared
**** all your cares
'cause you're going nowhere
except back to that place
drool drips down your face
crusty blood-caked lips
you faked your trips
seen what I've seen?
please, your nightmare's my dream
nothing as it seems
sewn up the seams
blown up the reams
of **** that you wrote
and with a knife at my throat
I'll dare you one dare
just one
sit there and stare
Oct 19, 2011
Oct 19, 2011 at 3:11 PM UTC
Invisible forceps hold my eyes open,
Incongruous actions have my mind stolen,
At where beginnings end in misery,
At where "The End" is stressed bitterly.
Corrections and titles have made amends
To resounding ripples of tugs and bends
Upon the surface at where life may lie,
And carry us all beyond mind and sky...
Yet locked on the bedrock and solemn remains
Of which sins of fathers now decay,
We sit upon catapult, on trebuchet
Awaiting a life in which we sustain
Charitable notions and build the way,
For a time in which we smile in the rain.
It feels as though I'm lost in a dream
and am searching for water in steam,
Possible, improbable, awaiting the cool,
To siphon it down into a pool,
And perhaps there my flooded reflection
Will not surpass without detection,
And maybe I will gaze into myself
And realize I am here to help,
To see and touch and taste and feel,
To hear and Be, a part of what's real,
I will know the true darkness inside my eyes,
By looking beyond my own disguise.
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 4:08 AM UTC
when a pronoun retracts
and becomes compounded
e.g.: itself, himself...
it complicates matters
with a dually functioning vigor
of content expression:
which extends thanks to the
surgical assertion that the
definite aritlce (scalpel)
and indefinite article (forceps)
proceed to govern
a. retractive pronoun usage
within compounding
is reflexive (reflex bias)
and
b. pronouns given unto punctuation
markings are reflective,
the notorious "i" of
sartre's usage;
in the poor sense of the word
when expressed as mirror-image,
since sarte's linear dittoing
markings possess a narcissistic chiral
exclusion of an active ownership of will
that's simply a misuse of
denotative marking -
it would simply imply an orwellian
conception of double-think, of
"
what's
"
actually defined via
"
thinking about it when orientated by gemini
(i.e. the ditto markings
imply a repeat,
or simply - as above / follow suite.)
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC
The beast mortified inside
Breast aflame about to burn
Inside he dies
Where the black flower
Blooms into anew
He will seek respite
For past sins
Old grievances
Poured into a summer blue
His *** meaningless
Spite cracks the whip
Plurality the dinner knife
Sanitation foresaw
Without the forceps
Boarding on a foregone conclusion
The spring mattress
Made broken
No time for resale
His' cage, not a solitude
Words obtuse and unabused
Love is his knight
Shining and gleaming
Scornful without hate
Shameful but sane
His burden
The heart
Colliding with the bar
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 12:19 AM UTC
I moan as the pleasure goes through me,
He loves me, he said so.
Thirteen is so much fun, I am so in love, he is so cute
The passion of his body as he shares his love with me
in me
over me
on the smooth top of the car.
I sob pitiful tears as I hold my hair back
I try to throw up the moving in my womb
It clings to life and wont let go.
Holding on to my pelvic sides
Body shivering
Body retching
No release as it gently survives
Oh my heart is broken
The scalding hot bath numbs the isolation.
I don't see my love any more, someone else has his love
Still it wont release my womb from within
It holds on to me
clings to me
claws at me as I feel him grow.
The embarrassment of my parents
Mother cries bitterly, Father hangs his head in shame
I cannot keep this ******* child"
I will lose those alive I love
So lonely
So confused
I must give up if I want their approval
The pinch of the needle as it enters my skin,
The chair, the nurse, the forceps.
I stare up at the florescent light that beats my body
hurting me for the child within
probing me
cutting him
Through the blur , I’m sure I hear a scream
The ache as I see my baby go
No life,
Just pieces of left over life
His pain is gone he feels no more
Free
Unknown
Incinerated
Antibiotics my health slowly restores
My memory still at thirty one is torn
would my son, who never was
looks a little like my daughter who
now is holding my hand
loving
trusting
forgive me for my decision of say farewell
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 6:28 AM UTC
Philosophy. Elegance. Yet Sense un-done
That Time-by-Time those Bantered ***** retweet
Which - by Fair - smoke these Elements become
Breathe Conscience into Sage; And thus we meet
If only should your Fresh Convention wear
Prune these Forceps to your Young Tridents fixed
At least a Wee - and a Wee bit of hear
Some Owl's Downey Feathers make to your Mix
And what I offer - if Offer be Creed
My Base Mortal Template bound to Annoy
Was simply to Watch; And respond to your Need
Though my Voice un-qualify to your Ploy.
At least I Tried. Though surpass Dimension
Usurper I be; Though Honest Intention.
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 7:46 PM UTC
"Congratulations" The head nurse was an attractive lady with the rank of squadron leader, I think." You have Amoebic Dysentery, that means you can't eat and you must drink at least eight pints of chilled water every day until you are clear, when you have eaten your first meal without any problems, you can go, until then keep drinking the chilled water, and under no circumstances must you eat any food at all"
We remained in the isolation hospital for about five weeks, It was tedious in the extreme but it had to be done, After the indignity of a medical, involving a swab of cotton wool on a pair of long nosed forceps, we were both given the all clear and discharged. We were instructed to go to the transit block and wait there for further orders, we would be sent for when a flight was available to take us to rejoin the rest of the unit in Australia.
the transit block was a huge empty three storied building that had once been used as a prison camp by the Japanese. We chose a smaller room at the end of the ground floor, it was a bit more comfortable there.
We used it as a base, for exploring the camp, no one seemed to want us, and as the days passed we spent a lot of the time swimming in the pool at the Selarang barracks. which was only a couple of miles down the road.
The walking and swimming was good excersize, but we needed to keep our eyes open, there were often snakes on the road, ready to bite the unwary.
One afternoon, we were stopped by a redcap. He demanded to see our twelve fifties ( identification cards). "Where have you two been for the last three weeks." "In the transit block Sergeant." "No you haven't, I have checked it every day." Where is your gear?" "In the transit block Sergeant." "Show me." he demanded. We did. "This is not the transit block, this room is reserved for fire pickets!" We have been searching for you two for weeks." I couldn't help smiling. The sergeant was not amused! Two days later we climbed aboard a twin engined transport .
We were bound for Australia via Ceylon and a small Island somewhere in The East Timor Sea. Of course nothing could go wrong, it was just going to be a routine flight!
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 9:19 AM UTC
How can I move on when I never got to finish?
When I was pulled away from my co-dependent life source
with forceps around my neck?
Detached like stitches that weren't ready to come out
It hurt like hell.
Like hell was exactly the way Catholic school described it
Eternal flame
because time doesn't heal ****
The closure I never got like mom didn't close the door behind her
I had to get up and close it myself
except I kept falling down the stairs
I want to get up and close the door so bad, it's just that
it's scary.
I don't want it to happen again
I don't want to silently die on the bathroom floor again
I don't want to live off of my own blood again
I don't want to be so sure that I'm insane
It's uncomfortable
like bed bug infested hotel pillows
It's like I don't want to forget you
I guess that's it... I never want to forget you
God you were so good
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 2:46 PM UTC
And lovely must these Potent Shadows bloom
To whose Foreign Masklettes we must Remind
That Forceps - or whatever clasps the Gloom
'Tis better to Uplift and Throw behind
So I Noticed of Numb Silences fill,
Be Favoured versus the Pursuit of Wrath
For whose Grapes the Wrinkled Author did spill
And cause those Trenches quake on my behalf
Lessons pile Lessons more. And then by tripe
Sort from which Squares and Sly Spheres do Predict
Which Way is turned; Or Algorithms bite
Bend Points and Sinuses by Derelict.
Still those Shadows stand; As induced by so
Which of your Sexes be the first to go.
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 7:36 PM UTC