"fumigates" poems
The clock at his desk is an altimeter
How appropriate I think
Spinning round
As the day ticks up
Like the ceiling
For all our loves
Our instincts are stronger than our hearts
Liquids trickle down
Solids soar
His throat
Up his nose
And of course he fumigates his lungs
To **** the creepy, crawly things
Time
In his mind
A straight line on a mirror
Up into his head
You
A reflection
Of the path
A sum total
Something has taken
One path
There is only
The downpour of neurotransmitters
Your face crickling and crackling
Flooding traffic jammed, honking dendrites
Wrinkling and rolling
The streets
In the fast forward century dream
They run red with electricity and burned rubber
For all our talk
Our instincts are stronger than our hearts
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
your fragrant scent
brings the fresh fumes
that intoxicate
my whole self
your love is in my blood
your love is in my bones
your love is in my vessels
your love is in the corner of my eye
and in my every corner your love
fumigates butterflies
in my gut
in my lungs
in my throat
making more room
this possessive love
this persistent love
this aerosol love
fainting
founding
fevers
flamboyantly
I
fall
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 8:56 PM UTC
Come closer dear Death.
I'm here raw,
bruise is open and lungs are sore.
eyes dilate like a bursting bomb,
as if fear itself fumigates,
combusting, flaring,
seeping inward
without vow
from fumes
to wounds.
I shall row to the ocean
of my regrets,
sulken, and grieving
of the times
wasted
into bins.
To the kisses
I ****** couldn't--
To the hugs
I've chosen not to--
May all be merry
when I'm gone.
and realize
how lone
you shouldn't
be.
Sep 21, 2017
Sep 21, 2017 at 9:55 PM UTC
The peaceful howls of night complement the dazzling starlit sky
Crackling of the burning pine fumigates the cool air
Cold bite of the rising sun, fog lifting from the trampled grass,
As color shimmers on the mirror ponds, the crickets no longer dance
Smoke at constant stream , calling now for dead shades of green
Winter hangs by the frosty hills only to vanish like its quick reveal
Wind whispers and it sways to the rhythm of trees,
sending out natural odors that please
Bugling erupts from the timber a song that is pleasant,
welcoming those that dream earth had a heaven
As the glow brings warmth brightness takes the shadows home,
Trails and paths of old come to a place where beavers roam
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 2:10 PM UTC