"formalin" poems
A heart that’s filled up like being buried alive |
“Occupational hazards” that slowly poison you |
Bruises getting sourer than
an astronaut’s vertigo |
Bruises are left to be unhealed |
Sorry, Doctor! Your medicine isn’t working
Looking so sipped off and drained
Devoid of any humanity’s stain
Thinking of drowning down
the system that’s already dead and down |
We haven’t heard from them longtime and again |
But please let me take a more cautious,
loyal approach to you all over again |
A slow poisoning of carbide, formalin
to finally having pure, clean cyanidical mayhem… |
No vertigos and no more spinning please |
No vertigos and no more spinning please |
No vertigos and no more spinning please |
Peace with myself at last |
Peace with myself at last |
This is my final epitaph | my choking heartache |
No vertigos and no more spinning please |
No vertigos and no more spinning please |
No vertigos and no more surprises please |
But still what a wonderful feelings I had I remember now |
Such a wonderful heavenly bliss it was |
No vertigos and no more spinning please | (let me steer up to eternal bliss) |
No vertigos and no more spinning please | (let me steer up to eternal bliss) |
No vertigos and no more spinning please | (let me steer up to eternal bliss) |
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 2:41 PM UTC
The eyes should be plucked from their orbits
Submerged in formalin
Stored in a museum for all to gaze upon and know
My love is pure-tried by fire-
The fingers cut off at the second knuckle
The skin and meat picked from them leave
Pale Pale Pale white bone beneath
...Untouched by any other man
Scrape Scrape says the knife carving
Runes and poetry into the finger bones
So that all may know
My love was pure-tried by fire
The ****** knife danced
As in the sleep visions I cried out silently
Gray and muted were the eyes and
The voice was...lost from those lips
I remove the death mask to lick the cold lips of her corpse
Purple Petals that wither in the winter air
The warm cloud of my breath
Filling her nostrils
God breathing breath into Adam's first-rib
A lock of hair I disrupt
Falling from the high place
In Hurried Lust
I wonder at the stopped machinery that lies beneath
Do I dare slip the scalpel once more from its placement
And bring it to bare at the left breast?
It is the doing of another-I am no longer here
Searching for what is lost in the garden of her entrails
Wilting Bloom
I search the throat with my fingers
Reconstructing the final moments
Once more I run my fingers against thread
Delicatley I have sewn closed the gaping slash wound
To the throat warm spray a muted gurgle
Air slipping from the vocal chords disjointed dirge she sings to me
Forgetting quickly my stone ears deaf to such frivolities as mercy
The knife found it's own way through the breastbone
She and I are ancient beings
Our bodies sarcophagus for the true form
Released at last First Breath
Picking pieces of it from my teeth
Nail marks line my fore arms
Wounds tasting of the final throes
For she in peace dances at the feet of Him
Her wings cover her eyes
Her wings cover her feet
Holy seraphim returing crest raised high
Among the host
The great cycle completed
Tried by fire she is found whole once again
And I await with joy
The eternal punishment
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 6:39 PM UTC
You've once recounted in memory
with that young boy vigor
of a hobby collection of that sort.
I find it fascinating how you could
maintain our feigned interest in naivety.
You kept us so long in silence.
You've kept all these things in
jars and cabinets packed in
tight spaces.
And as little and as inconsequential
that butterfly memory that you kept
in a bright jar up in your attic;
let that ripple strengthen into a wave
but i will never be what you willed
and kept for so long. A butterfly
clipped and dipped in formalin
for your tiny framed collection,
that pride-start, if you even had one.
-19FEB15
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 1:56 AM UTC
My eyes couldn't adjust to the light
Only the green glow of formalin
Breathing in the fumes
Until my lungs are black
The sketches of your anatomy
Bent so strange by the candel-light
A pin *****
Could let the spirits inside me
Open me
I am empty
Fill me with your dust
Wind me up
To be your toy soldier
Taking bullets for you
Taking a knife to belly
You laugh as I rust
*"Jacob, I never asked you to love me, I never asked you to care. I told you I would hurt you
Use you
Sell you
Compel you
******* for the taste
******* for the race
I wanted your legs
Wrapping white legs
The branch of trees
On which a bird will land and a song
I have aleady forgotten*
Jan 24, 2012
Jan 24, 2012 at 3:09 AM UTC
crush my heart
here, take this rock
smash it quick
this love *****
can't be strong enough
can't be tough
hammer down a wooden stake
end this immortality
i have a knife
come, stab my chest
rip it open
bone, skin, flesh
give me a shot of foul formalin
or a couple of doses
of some lethal toxin
please
do anything
to end this suffering
i must be numb
even just dumb
remove her trails
from this dying heart
under my bed
there is a gun
i will have to ask you
to pull the trigger
aim it steady
i am ready
end this life...
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 5:47 PM UTC
He was busy debauching
when his world
was plunged into pestilence
and his frenzy froze
and he bobbed about
for months on end
like a stiff black corpse
in a tank of formalin.
Then they put him out to thaw
for a short while
and he emerged flailing
from deathlike slumber,
one limb at a time,
quite like a zombie
howling for revenge.
So they dunked him again
and then again
and gagged him
and silenced him
with multiple masks
that masked his own
carefully cultivated mask.
And so now his visage
has mutated.
he scowls, where once
he smiled.
when he speaks,
no voice comes out
except muffled laments
for friends and lovers
uprooted and thrown
into blazing bonfires
without so much
as a waved goodbye.
But his eyes
O my god , his eyes!
How they speak
a new lingo
quite seemingly strange!
is that a glare
or is that a glimmer?
is that anger
or, as i suspect,
a glint of hope?
Jun 1, 2021
Jun 1, 2021 at 8:18 PM UTC