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angel Feb 2019
I lay down
your creamy expanse
unto the marble surface,
as if milk made love with
the stars in the galaxies.

I write you out
as pleasant simmer
of pulverized charcoal
and bloated glycerine.

I splatter and spread
fine dusts of Carica
in temperate motion
to touch the sleek edges
of the vanilla branches
on your person.

I hold and dip
my feathery digit
amongst rose water
to grasp the flowers
that frames your face,
like light morganites
that hail from the west.

I cast you off
as the blue sea engulfs
the life from the waters
where life swims with
stable beginnings
and whirlwinds of stories.

I finish you
by letting molten pearls
lither your dark onyx orbs,
surrounded by your lakes of gelatinous almond,
like shooting comets
finding rest on land,
as lightning's faint and close
but never quite touch.

I made you
with intrinsic detail and rawness
to give you the life
that you may never have.
may these words show its own form of art.

090219; 07:29 --- revison due to incompleteness from original file
Poetic T Aug 2014
The ground was turned
We sewed the field
Toiled though,
Night
&
Day
We sewed the harvest of WAR,
Seedlings of Death
Bullets were littered to flower
Different calibres
Bearing the fruits,
Those picked ripe on the branch
Magazines
Armour piercing
Tracers,
Explosive,
Rounds, best not to drop.
C4 planted watered
with
Nitro-glycerine,
Like a ripe melon it grows
Till it is plucked form the stem,
A war head hangs heavy
lest it falls,
Wiping out the harvest & more,
Planting the seed of destruction
Is a hazardous Job,
One wrong step
And a spoiled mine
Can take off,
Toes,
Legs,
Insides,
Spill out in to the field of WAR
Feeding those objects
That would spill more blood
Once harvested,
This field full of the seedlings of **WAR.
Westley Barnes Mar 2012
The mirror always laughs first
Spilling light onto imperfections
Alienated from the image in the dream.
A silent curse,
The accusation must remain to this world unrevoked.
Instead pretence must tissue tear stains,
To sundry up a surface glycerine.

Social man has broken all ties with nature’s earth,
He created machines capable of producing images
So he needn’t deny it.
Social Woman was always more comfortable inside
She expressed no claim of love for the landscape
Found no comfort amongst the soil
No romance laying in the dirt.

But yes, the mirror attacks.
The symptom is always one of weakness,
Of the self not having the power to leave itself alone.
The body distorts the mind at first,
Paving the way gradually for more active decline.
We hold it to ourselves to feel worth, or lack thereof.
You can’t sing the tune effectively, without first trying to think like you’re someone else.
Someone that same mirror fails to recognise.

Keep ahead of the crowd so you’re not held back
Expectations will ruin you more than your fears.
Talent is to others that which they lack
Mystery and purpose are all the mind reveres.
joanna dibble Mar 2012
immortal bonsai infused with glycerine on banker's desk.
Allainst Oct 2013
One.
His mouth was open far too much. and his eyebrows bugged me a lot, but he let me pluck them sometimes. his mouth was the first mouth I've kissed. I'll never forget how happy I was when I knew I had him. "swimming at the pool" when all we would do was stay in the showers and make out. everything was new and exciting, but I ruined it and I never thought I could cry as much as I did that night in my bathroom. we still talk but we're different now and the only thing we have in common is glycerine by bush. but we were so young and so in love.

Two.
he was the one my mom hated. he wore stupid necklaces and was from a broken family. but he had big eyes and black hair and made me feel like I was the best thing in the world. he was also the first one who cheated on me and let me know exactly how it felt to be betrayed. I won't ever forget that feeling.

Three.
he was younger then me and I knew better but there was something in his cocky confidence that drew me in. I took his virginity and then fell for him, but he had other girls and no time for me so it fell apart.

Four.
my first college boyfriend. I don't feel like I ever truly loved him but it was convenient. He had shaggy hair and cool friends and would take care of me when I got to drunk. But he was also the first and only boy who physically hurt me. I lost every ******* feeling I thought I had that night.

Five.
Tall and gangly. You called me cute names like creature and babelet and shrimpling. I feel like I miss those pet names more than anything else. I never fought with anyone the way I fought with you. Passion was definitely not lacking in our relationship. But you were mean just like the rest and destroyed my trust in you over and over again with your 'oh we're just friends' answer. when we both know it was more than that. now you're dating one of those just friends and have recently proven to me how awful you are, you can't be faithful to anyone. though I do miss the cuddle sessions. you were great at cuddling.

Six.
it was a ****** up situation from the start. but man I was ******* crazy about you. i lost myself trying to make you happy and as it turns out it wasn't worth it, it never is. you cheated on me with her and with that I lost all of my confidence and happiness for a few months. it's starting to get better but my mind wanders and comes back to you sometimes. I thought you were the nicest one, that we were on the same page, but we weren't. you lied just like the rest of them and then told me I didn't deserve it, which made it worse. *******, I hope you and her's house burns down. Because you guys moved in together right around the time that we were supposed to. I've never felt so insignificant as the day I found that out.

There will be more, I know this. It is because I love falling in love. But it's the times in between that matter the most. To "find yourself" or embarrass yourself or sleep for days on end because you have no reason to wake up and face another ******* day. I may be cynical now but at least I'm learning.
They all lie and I'm no better at it than they are.
The thin, clear layer that forms on rendered fat is glycerine.
You can mix it with nitric acid to make nitroglycerine.
Mix that with an alkali nitrate and something like sawdust or paper mush and -Boom!-

Dynamite.

I learn things when I listen.
Render the fat by boiling it in water and skimming of the stuff that floats to the top.
VioletNova Feb 2013
The signal fire is
coming home.
Desperately clinging to smoke
from the shores gun,
we came from
heart in wire.


Two souls at a negotiating table,
one wounded,
the other taking them in.
Eyes-One String,
a pregnant belly full of
words. Your reclining head,
covered in violets.
Maybe its better,
if you don't say
this isn't everything you are.

The empty bar is quiet in New York..
20 secs till the last call as I run
to the next page, in the next chapter.
Fraile hands hold voices in quakes and
strange music. This room, a shade of wine,
suspended names in vocal chords.
Glasses filled all afternoon, now sip
as I draw the curtain.



comfortable silence blooms alongside a paved road,
somewhere only we know...
in stones it is scattered, spilled against
stolen skin, tattered never torn.
A skeleton key, the master of morse code.
Tattooed against my neck.
sweat.blood.tears
holding tight scars
beneath the surface.


intertwined fingertips pulsate
against the rim of paper,
like the marching bands of manhattan.
distance has torn this earth once,
vindication. Drive, Darling, Drive.
setting the fire, to the third bar.
lifting the sheets that cradle your ****** hands
an emergency room filled with nurses
the crossfire, in my bones, bleeding that
dark roman wine across tables of
a teenage dream.

A heroine saved a life, A hero is absolute.
searching for warmth beneath your pen, your scalpel.
found there is your lifeline, dense breath and trembling.
Stay, you found me.
Knitting away at your skin,
brushing against violet bruises,
imprints of days gone by.
A tower, someone like you, a soldier in silence.
memories reflected in abandoned tattooed houses.
curved around palms, grasping the last bit of
crimson tide.

The reason why: lights burn to crack the shutters
in an attempt to fix you, candles and fireflies
inside these lines, just say yes as the city winds
back down into the wild, and we into the fire.

bricks against our backs,
the electric feel of home, at your side now,
an outline of womb fired venom
fallen empires consuming
day old hate.
every drop of words, swallowed.
vicious stains left by hands, yours.

we go tonight,
this
poison and wine.
A wooden chair
held last night,
friday,
after the fall.
Like glycerine
dripping into rain
fast cars
As I continue to sew all of what your wrist let fly
away in this moment.
Georgia, Texas Rain.
Brush it off.
There are better days, ahead.
The remnants of life are on the blade.
For god sake, dear.
Nicole Oct 2016
Had you known how I lived,
Would you then understand the meaning
of true despair;

Undressed,
Unkept,
Unloved,
Deprived.

A quick fix, probably.
Roses should have little meaning for you.

Beautiful, even if it is only for a time.
Show affection to it by passing it around
Bought by one lover and given to the next.

Let it wilt,
Let the bright petals fade to grey,
To brown,
To black.

Feel the once soft texture against your fingertips
Turn brittle and delicate.
So brittle, it can barely hold itself together.

Affection for a time
For it held little significance,
Merely a tool for the wrong kind of love.

A rose longs to be preserved.
To have its beauty kept
While it is at its most radiant form,

In between pages of classic literature or poetry,
Or cold glasses made of glycerine.
Adore it in the long time, not just for a while.

I speak of roses
As though they were human.
I speak for I am shattered.
inspired by gluck.
love your flowers, love your women.
The psychedelic tricks in the
colours
that she picks and what
she wears,
I swear are
diamond rainbows
in her hair.

And glycerine gives
quite a sheen,
my fingers slip across her skin.
I
can never pin her down to plant a
kiss upon her shiny lips,
gloss drops and drips from fingertips and
the psychedelic
strips the night away.
nat Jan 2019
feel it heavy as it presses down on my heart
and handcuffs me to the bed
my brain is filled with glycerine and
old cooking oil
my brain is fried.
thoughts of addiction riddle me in my sleep
i don't feel safe in my own body
trapped here, i live by a clock
i go by what time i need to eat
eat, ****, sleep
eat, ****, sleep
eat, ****, sleep, cry
the city of lost gold
some settler found it
iron in a bouquet

suffrage wants no magnification

did we separate them long enough

lust and la la la love

they make an iffy couple

let alone combo

nitro

glycerine

cheap

risk

   and pink cement


babe dont mean anything
different
               to me

here i am with envy
     I'm cheap cigars
youreover there
sta sta staring again
at me- throwing questions
            with grins

no i dont want a negation

british accents or something

                weak

i just want to talk
and keep our services out of the back
youre just my customer now
in this 5
            Man
                Town
I want nothing more than to take

     both of the kids and leave
wordvango Dec 2014
of the Americans
Five foot four and petite
Lynn was imported nitro glycerine.
She twanged, and with her kind they made me
uncomfortable, as they spoke words I did not know and giggled.
I tried to teach her western things, or Did I want to learn
Eastern ways. Never the one to digress, in the middle of getting to know her,
she said," pom rak kun"
I thought about that
more than a minute and returned,
"chan poot tai mai bpen"
my love.
Eat some hate and ***** out love,
Sleep like sickening droopy doomed roads,
Feel and gorge and shout out hope,
Wash and clean and brush your soul.

Thick like fat and soft as sponge,
Take that browser up your tongues,
Search for form and facts and flicks,
Eat some time and ***** out things.

Innately curved and clasped under locks,
Presently situating obtuse points,
Silver smokes and a street light farce,
Shivering veins snort doses of curse.

Light more light, and lots of light,
Thin loose layers of lost parodies,
A burden is a blessing, with youthful laughs,
With fat and glycerine things get stabbed.

Eat some love, ***** out fat!
Extremely difficult with physical discomfort

Strenuous discomfort aligned with the collapsing hopes as I no longer dream,

Mental sulphuric acid burning every stride in this life of late, Soaking my calloused feet,

Heavily burdensome anxiety detours fainted paths, lungs deteriorating because I can no longer breathe,

Venomous visions blinding my sight with horrors, this perpetuates the mind of the unseen,

Pleading for Soulful appraisal, I find my value for a run down life devalued by the queen,

The torturous Agony beams upon my plight with fright as I lose sight, my eyes covered in shameful gasoline,

The desire within this fire until I'm retired, the scheming reaper revealed her trap door in the smoke screen,

Falling around circular, emotions broken down to cellular, broken spirit down to molecular, regret in every hit within this scene,

The pit filled with rotten distaste and remorseful discard, I'm drowning in others blood frozen in glycerine,

She's always winning which explained all her grinning, the beginning ended with my kenneling, I am just another sardine,

Laboring the harrowing contempt I'm found floating alive,
I'm dreadfully intertwined between deaths fingers inside,
This Arduous life gave me Malaise without a spiritual guide,
Because I believed her lies and was by choice gifted the obscene, to live unclean.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2020
chopping two heads of garlic for:
however long that might have lasted -
each tooth cut into a fine matrix
of miniature cubes -
cut to the point where a fattiness
oozes from each garlic tooth:
sticky saliva-esque ('l) and it's not...
the kind that comes bursting
with onions spitting venom -
how bewildered to be answering
the door when a delivery man
has just dropped a package
and you've also... just been cutting
onions...
   a tear that has to transcend
both grief, happiness and pangs of
beauty -
the garlic?
     the feel of fingers after having
fingered and slobbered and
come glutton on the equivalent
of **** and a devil's dozen
of oysters -
                a recipe for pickled
cucumbers: that they were cucumbers
that would become gherkins...
yes... thinly sliced 4kg of cucumbers
to 1kg of sugar... this and that:
some curry powder...
left in 2tbsp of salt to gush with brine...
and then... the pasteurißation
process - fudge packed into jars...
the lids not fully twisted on...
some breathing room -
"baked" in an oven at 120 degrees
for less than an hour...
taken out... the lids firmly ******* on...
then the jars flipped upside down
to stand...
for safe-keeping...
to boil the impurities away...
boil giddy broth and all that scratching
youth of cucumber away
for a smoothness accustomed
to marble...
funny that... the onion - how it is
the only vegetable to have some variation
of a venom and is still
the only metaphor of a snake -
the tears i shed over these Baßil plucks...
   in english: ß is an interchange:
once a sharpened S...
i know of sharpening eSSeS...
cute acute is the final form:
           ślizg (off ślizgać: to slide -
i.e. one has the slang attache -
a bit like: having the groove)...
you can almost hear it: at the end of
each hush: it's never a hush:
it's a huś of a librarian...
        a howl of it might i add...      
- crude caron is the: not yet blunt...
meat-eater.... teeth indentations... grooves...
          shackles...
the crown: šaro-
             followed by two halves
of a crown -ść               i.e. greyness -
which is still not borrowing from
the ingenuity of the russians:
szczera (too many consonants my ***...
too many vowels you roman dogs!)
   SH-CH -
                       Š + Č = Ш + Ч = Щ
        we could have the "ingenuity" process
of this evolution of... an "apostrophe"
from the depths...
   but... catherine the great was
a german lass... and even though: Ц
sits proud and could have been...
                    it wasn't... since...

Ц ≠ CH(eap)
         or CZ(art)
           or ČaXa...
      it could have: what was it...
a mirror inquisition of mu to begin with?
give me 100 years and a book burning
and i could "correct" this burden...
so it ******* fits...
i'd even call in the mongols to implement
this change...

the germans already say: цentrum
and write zentrum - herr tseit!
                                 herr schtick-a-lot: цar...
щerość  - truthfulness...
                                         / ščerość:
two coronas halved -
or... sharpened...
                     and to think... this little adventure
has me dancing above a latin script!
and... deviating from some ur-greek...

we could do this minor change:
"pan-slavic" borrowings from
the 19the century in the balkans
under the ottomans -
           this hypered breathing tool
to extract the yet Siberia - Hades bride
a near pristine ****** -
in this cosmopolitan confused multi-
of an english...
i am here to express and drag back
into the "darkness" of the east
memento...

  that the greek had names for
some of their letters: omicron, omega,
alpha, beta, gamma...
but that the latins had:
vowel-and-consonant: syllables
instead of proper names...
delta - a sensation for a prefix letter...
and a suffix name scoop...

cut my ***** off and feed me
operatic candy...
when you open a bag of
    chimichurri chimichurri:
chim chim churri...
no... when you open a bag
of been-sprouts after
the best-before-date...
    you know the perfume if you have
ever... fermented grapes:
it's that in-between scent
of fermentation -
it's quiet off-putting...
but it's passable...
              but english is both
the currency of the present...
the language of empire
the lingua franca: although:
the crescent moon in the shackles
of the sheikhs:
who moved these youths into
europe if not the project harem...
and fatso old cat laze'ohs of
the woman's drudge:
a heaving tide of custard flesh...
boiling with lazy bop-bop of
bubbles...
                    we can discuss it in
english: never mind the natives...
we came, we saw...
some of us didn't bothered feeling
at home...
although: we once hoped to be...
never... *******... mind!

i'm here for two "letters"... well...
sounds... in the russian text...
great orthographer that i am:
the english can have their metaphysical
this certain debate that...
that uncertain debate this...
it's not like the english will ever
employ diacritical markers...
a recurrent theme: a stressor on my mind...
it will never be allowed
a pop fission - it will not claim
an epidemic status -
mind you:
the priests the psychiatrists and the
prostitutes... minor of the 3:
the four horseman... the "poet":
the poo-etcetera...
  try try, try bring fail...
"ignore, ignore": "happiness"
will find its trail...

                 but once! in a time of...
poesy and cerebral palsy!
sound: ping pongs of echoes pf
dying elephants or whales...
            the stomach of the disgruntled
indigestion that's the best assumed
presence of: sea...
            
it's become certain:
in youth to write while listening to music...
tone deaf i: too could reach
a tornado of words... that...
let's be frank: i never recite what i write...
i write best from what's
yet to be seen... i uncover what's hidden...
i don't pretend to measure sounds...
if my voice had the same sensation
to encompass blowing into a saxophone...
no... a horn...
this monotone gravity of breve -
this great aeon bespoke sloth of
an otherwise riddling tongue turned
into an ancient worming from:
from a time when man did not pass
onto his futures -
a memory of some ancient - fabled oned -
a once that turned out to be:
full of replicas! i.e. archetypical
wounds... that forever bleed...

best this written in a silence that
wakes up with an imitation wind...
two letters... russian... beside ur-greek
to me... exported to as far east
as Kamchatka.... which is practically
north of Tokyo -

it's a contested scenario... this...
Цц vs. Чч -
if it was handwritten for the envisioning
of... the:        Ш + Ц = Щ
i'm sold... aren't you sold?
  ah... envious of handwriting fluidity -
now: digit plucking - each letter a solipsistic
"counterstrike"...
     yes... looks like we have ourselves...
the... *****...
             clearly...   zee... ШИЦ!

inversion of mooment - the crows are
near tonight: they are quarreling with the gods...
or perhaps that's just the ***** foxes
teasing leather -
   that i write and there's no music
to distract me: elevate this already
impossible...

i go to sleep with alarm bells ringing...
robert duncan's realisation that he was a poet
aged 17... upon leaving high-school
i did stand before the entire cohort
of my contemporaries and recited a poem:
over which i cried two days prior...
an epileptic seizure gripped
my body from neck down...
but i did manage a recitation...
    i was supposed to become a chemist
now i'm looking for a part-time occupation
in the n.h.s. as having:
good organisational skills and...
a sense of humour...
or some BICS: for... part time gigs at
the ol' B... B... C...
i don't mind i just want something
to execute an elevated trance of
robotics to let my mind wander...
outside the confines of robo-brutus-robos:
anti-caesar: oh look! "us"!

two "inconveniences" of the 20th century
motivate me...
the despots and the shan franshishko poets...
there's that famous gozilla
of a tornado... there's that...
Bulgakov centre piece of a collection
of... best kept hush-hush among
the moth community...

   that language toys with me that
i don't want to have a competence with it
concerning that i don't have a narrrative
that i'm all tickety-fuckety
when it comes to clocks and eternal silences...
a clock on earth... vacuum...
a boiling kettle on pluto...
given only these two ***** for juggling...
it's... kinda boring... isn't it?
how is one expected to juggle
only two *****?
two oranges... better image... get go image!
i juggle time... i juggle space...
both so impossibly impersonal:
i'd loot a grave for an epitaph that
might make an irish joke down
a pub about them...

       and they kept 'em "*******" in the sports
and kept 'em prized athletes... coz cousing
'arab?
well... they knew those hebs
were expendable from the ghetto-go
prior to the gassing stipends...
it's not these whites keep:
samson strength of david-esque
ingenuity...
it's not like the hebs matter in the world
of sporting events...
gift of the gab... i guess that's what
prizes them above all else...
gifts of "superstition"...
to me? there is enough phonetic evidence
to summon me to showcase
that... the tetragrammaton is...
a spider in a web of english:
surd H(atches)...

        a breath of a dying man
about to... pOUNCE!
but the jews were never cotton pickers...
they were never athletes -
if they ever built the pyramids...
i wonder...
it's not like... they... possibly...
hebrews are intellectual creatures:
they are not... about to be caricatured
with fully functioning limbs
readied for the ******* colliseum...
unless they might me...
nero's torches...
and the greek conspiracy -
after all...
           wouldn't the greeks have
conspired....
to topple rome...
in order to therefore...
retain a dominance of power:
byzantine: years after the western
"concept" crumbled?

you don't keeps jews to have
the masses entertained:
you keep the ******* to falsetto
the ******* roll-a-bit sort of gimmick...
run around... kick a coconut...
come back with a lion's golden mane...
jason and the argonauts...
casimir and the ******* cosmotaunts:

*** note on biGGer?
better: sniGGer!
i count less in niGerian -
the offensive sound - less by scent
of "things": a heb is not a jew is  yew:
from a ***...
you can't leave these tracers or:
otherwise we: shun the *****!
that's great: i too spell a sound without
a necessity to connote malice...
but of course: borrowed lithuanian
that i am: under the hellish
anglo-saxon brute manifesto...
all is glacier and glycerine and
toughening of Karen east of any
that's east... the mouthful of
the Danube...

       to "bleep" out a sound to
mishandle the necessity of meaning:
if the blacks can own a ******
why can't i... not own a ******
in his stead of... to tattoo myself
all aryan:
the jew that never made it to
the coliseum as a gladiator -
this burning ***** hair floss of
st. peter's crux...

  we are still in favour of african
mind: less productive:
readily this body made...
there's now clue as to why
a thought concerning:
Proteus - Herr Frankenstein's monster:
Einzstein: Zuerst- also a -stein / - shtein...
zweite-christus-und-stein!

it's unlike a must it's not this
competition with: social inclusive standards:
of what?
the saxon: project that -
one year excluded the irish...
other year: made great fictions
surrounding Libya...
i have before me a history:
that in part i cannot inherit...
i have these... fickle restrictions:
panderings: walking on egg-shell
moments for...

in my own wery brittle: sam's son:
didn't herr voltzwitz stress:
son of sam-
         em... -uel
                 or... -son?
                          jacob my dear fiction...
continue: bring forth
these nuanced goods...

and my two morning synchs...
a cat that wakes me come nearing 5am:
to watch him: entertain myself...
him taking a **** or a ****...
into a tight bundle of imitation
sahara...
or another... to attire her with
creases of the hand...
to pet her... so that she feels
obliged to sleep in my bed...

there i was concerning myself:
does my beard reveal the cubism
of a violin?!
i still have two russian letters on
my mind...
i'll burn them into my forehead
so that i can allow myself to sleep...
but besides?
there's this, courtous conversation
i am to be having - past participle
and future: yes... i mean no...
i will not be having this
african gladiators contra the yiddish
intellectual sludge extension:
no anglo-saxon sensibility will
save me from this: it's own...
hidden lick o' "squander"...

   pandering... for... enough ******
autonomy... to clean offices...
and find the joy of a mind's escapism...
pandering to who beside
the ******* tended to orators
and giggling politicians?

this is enough of a night's vanquish...
to have: as i have: have tamed.

p.s. there's no proof in you "not being" racist
by having ****** a black girl...
i just wonder: could it have been enough
when the trans-racial incorporation
sequence to create the copper-skin
pseudo-arabs begun...
when it was still a taboo...
   not now... i don't know vot "vey"
vont.... or'zzz dunst noot vont...
lebanon?

             i can see myself, though...
******* some copper-skin imitation
h'arab as far tainted as:
lemon-squinting: there's no sunrise:
come the blessings of beijing...
yeah... i too would like to marinade...
or at least have that prawn flesh
tenderness:
to be able to cook in enough
critic acid... without the use
of over boiling water...
it's called tenderising or:
some other magic word...

            *** notes: yes yes...
thoroughly throughout...
fishing for russian nazis...
            ah ha ha...         deaf-tone... joke.
though i like white

& the invisible type

with glycerine

— The End —