"frostbit" poems
Strings, strings, wrapping around porcelain skin,
For why does the bruises not show?
With a waist, hip, and two legs that are so thin,
For why does the skin always glow?
Hair that never sheds, nor grows, nor messes,
For why does the girl not wash it?
With a merry face that still never truly expresses,
For why does the face not show even a slight fit?
Stoic, conjoined, the feet never stomping,
For why does the limbs never feel frostbit?
Perhaps it is a lie that the being is a girl,
As it is only with strings that she can ever twirl.
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 6:43 AM UTC
I gazed into his eyes like beads of sweat
Blacker than the empty spacious depths
Around the little bridge-like tiny speck,
An ember on His hearth
We only think is worth
Its broken wharfs.
He said to me: "Son, don't fear empty bluffs.
They may be steep but they're not steep enough."
And judging by the ace tucked in his cuff,
I knew he would be true
And his tale would be true too
About the wharfs.
"Throughout the many vicious centuries
The motor of it always seems to freeze
Until the kindled flame does hit the breeze
And thaws its frostbit joints
And burns the hand that points
Out from the wharf."
He cleared his throat and then he said aloud:
"Is piety reaped from fertile ground?
Or by the planter's hand is it endowed?
The answer lies in strife
So mount the throne of life
Far from the wharf."
Aug 15, 2017
Aug 15, 2017 at 5:09 PM UTC
Your light is beautiful,
and mine is glum.
In your eyes, I find
sensations my estranged blood
has never felt—
to touch, to love…
a soul unselfishly,
for no other reason than to love.
I want to place my frostbit hands
upon your beating chest
and ****** you away,
or might I chain your hands
and take you with me.
I could pull you into my gale,
a hostage of my lonely curiosity,
but I’m afraid—so afraid that your light
will fill the empty, gaping blackness,
and your gentle breaths
will calm my feral winds.
You alone will effortlessly transpose
the thunder of my bones,
and I will assent that only your nearness
can bring the calm to the eye of my storm.
But what follows when you
tire of breaking my weathers?
When your chains rust into reddish ash
and I can no longer keep you, my love?
I can’t imagine this place will ever be
as fair as it was with you,
and I can only foresee that
which will become of me.
For when the day does break,
and I find myself alone,
when the silence of your absent lungs
deafens my troubled mind,
my storm will surge again.
And as the black clouds surround,
I will bring my withered hands
before me and remove the foolish eyes
that once lost themselves in you.
So there are two sunken holes
inside my skull.
I will cut through my sternum
and rip my dour heart from my chest.
I will undress from my flesh
and pull the nerves you once caressed.
And my naked soul will dig a grave
and settle into the dark.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 7:11 PM UTC
The leaves fell gently, golden
on the first day
of our autumn,
while the past crackled
beneath our feet,
swept away, forgotten.
Your camera stored our moments,
caught the snowflakes,
froze us in time.
And when they were nearly frostbit,
your hands found home
entwined with mine.
But just when spring returned
my fear formed clouds
of acid rain -
I only knew how
much I'd lost when
silence fell again.
Clear as the summer sky,
I knew that we would
have to part,
so I pressed your final flower
into the notebook
of my heart.
-
The forest clearing
of our autumn
holds nothing at all
but a whispered wish
in golden winds
as the leaves gently fall.
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 10:02 AM UTC
just a little bit o' asbestos
unwrapped from 'round the pipes,
yellow-green arsenic soap
in the bucket to make me clean
to eat... sump'n to munch on
like crunchy lead paint chips
and oh, how i love the smell o'
greasy diesel dip -
it reminds me of my last birthday
when we ate my smoggy cake
the kerosene ran dry that day
and smoked us to the street
our tummy aches that time forsake
'cause doctors cost real money.
but, hey, no choice in winter
- Obamacare or heat -
couldn't type his site with frostbit nubs,
no matter what the hype.
life ain't free,
so as fer me, i doctor fer myself
hell, in 50 years i've seen nothin' yet
some bourbon wouldn't fix.
but never in this tidy place we come to call our poverty
has ever lived the lovely stench
of crisp, green, perfect money.
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 10:30 AM UTC
If cowboy hats had ear muffs,
maybe they would talk more,
though they would hear less.,
caution tossed to the winds howling.
Not for them
the hairy skins of animals
on their bare hair, too much
respect for their sojourners.
Wooly caps are for sailors,
The ones with cutesy ears
hanging down to the shoulders,
popularized by geeks,
adopted by stylish teenage girls,
well, they would rather be frostbit.
Cowboys,
the silent type,
but never quiet, their thoughts are
their stories, eyewitness accounts,
never told under oath, of the truth
about life and death, in the
Great West.
So, no ***** for them
lest they not hear the
noisy silences, cries of the frigid
Great West.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 11:29 AM UTC
my brother is the safe environment I’ve created for the history of my lord. political awareness, I mean, I mean, is a darkness. my eyeglasses tell me you’ve been to see a train station. do animals wait? several impatient years later, two blindfolded mouth-breathers walk cheek to cheek in an Ohio fog that combs forward worms the length of a screen name on craigslist. I am nearly pronouncing krokodil until my tongue disappears so I can pronounce it correctly for my mother’s not frostbit ear. as for the two, they are mistaken by the disembodied poetics of local policing as the trophy nose of an odd-for-these-parts moose. any re-enactment is my father the victim of a spirited birth.
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 11:20 PM UTC
Destroy me
You phantom of a frostbit branch
The window thin as ice but
Thick enough to shut you out, I'd say
To throw a cold shoulder
But you hold the thermostat in your palm
To bade our blades much colder
It falls so softly, induces
Coughing, ravaged throats
Coated in mucus and eucalyptus
And dry as toast
Your accumulation stings.
Builds around my every-thing
Traps me, while you sag on limbs
Sapping at the sight of heat, you
Squelch beneath studded rubber
Soles, and unsuspecting stockings
We react to you in opposites
Sway a daydream tropical
In stiff and childish ways of yours, you drop your toys
Ground to numbing dust
So it falls among the rest of us just waiting
For your twin's return
It's not your choice, to have remains
That soak the grains of greater plains
That lavish in the wreck of your rule.
But to keep the warmth, from coming on
Long after silver bells are gone
Are cold and jealous actions of a fool.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 10:52 PM UTC
I read some poems badly and in bad light, here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QR3w2eHYE5Q
from 12.9.13
messianic allure
my brother is the safe environment I’ve created for the history of my lord. political awareness, I mean, I mean, is a darkness. my eyeglasses tell me you’ve been to see a train station. do animals wait? several impatient years later, two blindfolded mouth-breathers walk cheek to cheek in an Ohio fog that combs forward worms the length of a screen name on craigslist. I am nearly pronouncing krokodil until my tongue disappears so I can pronounce it correctly for my mother’s not frostbit ear. as for the two, they are mistaken by the disembodied poetics of local policing as the trophy nose of an odd-for-these-parts moose. any re-enactment is my father the victim of a spirited birth.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 4:10 PM UTC
The chilling snow storm winds howl,
a cry heard around the town.
The neighborhood dogs run afoul,
not even the frostbit air can hold them down.
The streets are deserted, desolate,
street light flicker on and off.
We try to make the best of it,
a storm which we've all had enough of.
The floor creaks,
beneath my feet,
as I make my way into the den.
The walls creak,
and sound weak,
just like everything built by men.
I pick up my book,
"The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn",
the perfect read,
for when snowed in.
The time on the clock ticks,
and ticks,
and ticks,
and even clicks.
Time wasting away,
on a snowy winter day.
The cabin I'm in,
is full of sin,
lust, ******
and even some mahogany.
I live in a house of hate,
a cesspool of lies.
All of which,
I will not deny.
And I will admit,
I really do miss,
your beautiful smile,
oh, it drove me wild.
But I failed you,
and you have the right to leave.
Chew me up and spit me out,
like your average piece of ****
So I will sit here,
in this raging winter storm,
and feed the fire more,
feed the fire more.
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 9:20 PM UTC
Cold and uncaring world outside of your skin
Frozen humanity, frigid stares, empty minds
Frostbit by the snow of this dying society
She runs, trips, leaps in desperate search for warmth
Before she succumbs to their tempting icy gaze
Sliding by each false reality, skating by vagrant dreamers
who have lost all hope of reprieve
Where is her salvation, her sun
The arms to wrap her in fire
In an instant she is melted by his feverish kiss
Passion ignites in her heart, he sets her soul ablaze
Lingering finger tips glide over her pale white skin
Soft, sensual, the steam rises from every part of her body
She basks in the glow of his heart, the sound of his voice
The smell of his skin, the gentleness of his embrace.
Flames burn in her eyes only for him
Uncontrollable, instant masterpiece of us
Layers of daydreams, inspiration floods her mind
Union of two opposite elements that create this new and unique unit
The beauty seen through his eyes, translates to the words
that leave her lips.
Together they are more vibrant than a burning star
Hand in hand in a reality all their own
Blind to the outside common world
Deaf to the sounds of ignorance
Transforming experience to art and words to images of rapture.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 9:59 AM UTC
This wind keeps snapping at our feet
through shoes unravelling.
Gales are hungry.
Night's abandoned,
streets have emptied.
Still, we own them--just keep talking.
Winter's wailing.
**** the old days.
Clutching coats closed,
tread nostalgia
past these sidewalk intersections.
Claimed by rambling conversations,
often
we're only
rehashing
our worst mistakes
and
shivering
our way be-
-neath stoplights
lit by good memories.
I've got this notion tonight
that we'll find our way
back
into the warmth found behind
our locked front doorways.
Ways we've found to always hide
our faces from the cold outside
have been running dry all night.
So drink down the cold street light
and we'll make a blur of those green-white street signs.
This cold's still clawing at your face
through scarf unraveling.
Chapped lips smiling.
Nights like this have
kept on piling.
Winter owns us. Just keep walking.
Winter's crying,
**** the old days!"
Frostbit footsteps
slip nostalgia
past these frowning checkpoint questions.
Retouch same old observations.
Sometimes
we're only
retracing
the same missteps
but
frigid
friends like us
are melting
into old habits
I've got this notion tonight
that we'll take this route
for
one more familiar cold flight
from here to daybreak.
Say, "let fly those bomb bay doors!"
We've bombed these frozen streets before,
and I've got a couple more
so keep moving 'til we find our front doors.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 11:45 PM UTC
I have my heart open like a winter morning, like his birthday gift
wrapped in brown paper bags
clutching at the shreds
as if loving me more will make me less sad. It has not:
see, my bones shatter like icicles,
I am weak. His affection melts like snowflakes on my tongue.
I want to taste him until the flesh pares
and someone can finally take me to the hospital where we kissed
have a glance of what’s intact,
better, what isn’t.
It has been December every day since I last visited you, Doc
but you have good eyes – can watch hell freeze in
my chest. The calendar says July, but my body doesn’t believe it
possessed from memories of a woman
retching in this very room here, behind a screen
you saw my boyfriend naked and behind your back I kissed him.
He will not say that sorrow is eating my heart out,
nor have my veins been cut by scissors –
that does not mean that he is not thinking it. See me cold and blue.
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 2:16 AM UTC
I hope the snow never stops again!
I hope the Winter sinks under our skins!
I hope our four feet freeze
to the cold concrete
while our ghosts both escape in our breath!
If the thaw never comes to our aid
I'll be fine in these tracks that we've made.
I'll be okay right here
with a frostbit sneer
painted large on my **** stupid face!
You've got the brains...
But not the time...
I had the dreams...
But you knew I'm not too bright.
You'd rather leave than throw me a bone.
I'd rather live out my days in the cold
than beg you for one
while you don't have fun
and resent me for you growing old.
I'd rather freeze than thaw with a lie!
You'll be gone with the peak daytime high.
You're the smart one with big Springtime plans.
And I'm holding the bag with chapped hands...
Feb 2, 2024
Feb 2, 2024 at 1:05 AM UTC
I know what it’s like to be invincible
walking through the streets of London
wind biting at my face and
cold cutting to the bone
I fear nothing
the night cannot get me
the criminals cannot get me
the gods cannot
god cannot
no government
nor act of fate either
I fear nothing
but then I wander back home
frostbit and travel-weary
thawing my whole being as I rush inside
and as I melt
so does my ambition
and I remember who I really am and
sigh
Nov 21, 2010
Nov 21, 2010 at 10:38 AM UTC
Of all the weary restless listeners
She stood out the most
Her eyes alight with blaze of thought
Her body sunk from forgotten sleep
She stood to say - I'm alright
I wouldn't argue with her
I've had my share of sleeplessness
The kind when you're alone
My eyes were black and bagged
And often I fell to twilight
Not yet sleep; not quite aware
She awoke me from my state
The world a bright and brilliant thing
The inn in which we stayed was kind
But offered us no respite
Comfort tames not the fervored mind
She knew as well as I
We sat and spoke
Across the room
No use for words or hands
A wonderful woman she truly was
A strong and weathered one
Her cheeks told me of winds they'd fought
Her nose of frostbit summers
She smiled at me
We had surely found each other
I had left in search of something
Never figuring the objects name
Upturned rocks and drunken talks
No rewards were received
By midnights edge I had always left
Aloft
To chase my goals
My maddening maddened goals
Today I had found the moment
That was worthy of my death
She stared at me
I stared at her
Ember caught in twirling wind amid a forest made from bone
I stood
She strode
We met
Hands clasped
I died that day and so did she
From he and I to we
I'd panned creeks, duh sites, fought bears of men
But collapsed in bed
At a simple inn
Is where's my treasure lies
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 2:58 AM UTC
SORCERER 3
We’ll break our seal and thus unpen
Two breeds of vision we may show:
SORCERER 1
The first of these, and you might know
Your fate, engraven by your star-
Which fortune gods permit or bar.
SORCERER 2
But why disturb your dreamy sleeps
To know your death-date daily creeps?
SORCERER 3
It finds us all, and- though you hate it-
Since what must be, shall be, await it.
SORCERER 1
The second brand of prophecy
Is not what will, but what may be.
SORCERER 2
Yet what might not? Our lord can see
These “what-if” figments well as we:
Might not strange soldiers from the waves
Rise forth to claim our sires for slaves,
As, for their footstool, bows our liege,
Exempt from their street-sweeping siege?
SORCERER 3
And yet, might not our lord disband
Such aliens, overcreep our land,
And rig mean regions to his suit,
The mumbling Mayas render mute,
The frostbit northern climes to claim,
And sway the fitful gods to frame
His portrait in a constellation?
What fate might not recast his nation?
Oct 28, 2016
Oct 28, 2016 at 3:55 PM UTC
I'm going out into the woods
For a couple weeks, for a couple nights
Out into the cold, out into the snow
I'll be out in the woods
Freezing, shivering and feeling frostbit
I'll be out in the woods, only warmth
Coming from a old jacket and you
You will be on my mind while out in the woods
While you are sipping wine and under the blankets
I'll be going out into the woods
Forever? No! Only a few nights
Soon it'll be over, soon I'll be coming home,
I'll be out of the woods
And back into your arms where I belong
After
Going out into the woods
Jan 11, 2022
Jan 11, 2022 at 2:02 PM UTC
the clouds looked like waves,
we lay, accumulated underneath them,
like lost souls, scattered like dust,
like wingless leaves, like our drifting fingers,
tracing stars, writing our names into them.
it wasn’t raining, but it festered on the brink of,
like a lover holding back, like an abuser, keeping his fist clenched shut,
like us, trying not to roll over the other,
trying not to steal each other's innocence.
maybe we just wanted to be corrupt,
maybe we taught sin with these lips we held agape,
trembling over fragile words, trembling over hollow bones,
like these knobby knees, dancing over damp earth,
dancing under a bleeding moon, and these arms we called our feathers,
unfolded into frostbit air, but stitched around mountains of spine.
we’ve forgotten what it means to fall,
because we just creep now, afraid to find the edge,
afraid our bodies will dissolve into the soil,
we once before tried to bury ourselves in,
the clouds swayed, forming around each other to fit,
gripping one another, like our own hands did.
we smiled, bodies sinking into embers.
I prayed we’d find the waves and get lost in them,
you said we already were.
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 9:57 PM UTC
Starts in drafts
And wraps
Around you
Biting your skin in late afternoon
Kissed by the cold
Cool
Cold
Shivering
Frostbit
Dead
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 8:04 PM UTC
I get this feelin' that I'm losing it
I'm out of my head, can't you see, can't ya see me?
My bloods turned to wine, and I taste just fine
I'm climbing what's left just to see what in this world I need
Snow capped hills and mountain sides
Frostbit and lips bit
My blood taste just fine, aged perfectly red wine
A top of the world, a quest, a conquest
Treasured and traded
Learning to take it
Climbed all this way to find
I was wrong the entire time, but I swear I tried
I'm just so out of my head
Threw a prayer way up high and swing to miss it
I'm not quite sure what his answer will be
Climbed so **** high, just to find, what I need
It's at the bottom of my eyes
You'll be at the summit
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 9:51 PM UTC
Frostbit fingertips caress the razor's edge,
Cold ideals implanting themselves inside my head,
Inadvertent gestures given effortlessly by my limbs,
Complacency of warmth never sets in.
This is an endless winter,
One where the air gets thinner,
A proclamation to the clement season,
War without a rhyme or reason.
Turmoil is elemental and so simplistic a feature,
Though personal and integral,
I cannot bear to brace this creature.
It's becoming deeper; this feeling urges my cliffs steeper.
Stepping closer to see the fall,
Negligence consumes my all,
Have I let go of What I am?
I stand here with unclenched hands,
Retreating into my own,
Enduring this all alone.
I scream to remember passion,
Unheard emotions in breathtaking fashion,
Frostbit fingertips caress the razor's edge,
Cold ideals implanting themselves inside my head,
We are all the same; unique and indifferent,
Living as if this cryptic fever is isolated, but it isn't.
Have i let go of what I am?
I stand here with unclenched hands,
Retreating into my own,
Enduring this all alone.
Have I let go of what I am?
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 10:19 AM UTC