"hazmat" poems
If you weren't dark skin you'd blush,
You and your pleasantly "spring" demeanor,
blooming smiles in secret inside your hazmat suit,
from any type of feelings,
you are already infected,
-- and contagious,
yet refuse to admit the goosebumps
on your neck,
without the fortunate luxury of showing your emotion
society has deemed you timeless,
an eloquent flagrant aroma,
the definition of fine wine with a zest -- a spiciness of an impatient "summer",
you are warm,
and the stem of your smiles comes with thorns of poison,
weapons of mass destruction,
so you're cloaked,
tucked away from societal norms,
and expectations -- who are we to judge,
you are correct,
your skin,
is the right tone,
to
grab the attention for all the unwelcome,
literal and figuratively baring a cluster of
ideas,
wants,
desires -- requested by only the elite,
pasteurized and preserved until then.
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 7:56 PM UTC
If it weren't for the consistent badgering of radical america your roots your nourishment would enrich the very soil our ancestors turned,
but pests and pesticides alike have yet
to be relinquished,
"autumn" has consumed us as smiles fall-- the hazmat suits leave us bare to the weathered reality,
except you,
umbrellas and storm sheltered words nurture loved ones -- you are worth the wait,
with conflict resolve you take off your helmet and gear we are not prepared for such violence -- shielded eyes from falsified truths you bloom and blush,
you are beautiful,
a perfect storm your wrath the 5th element -- uncontrollable you are free as "winter" resides on your shoulder,
she is awakened and unapologetic,
a God among us,
frightfully we are safe we have waited for your wine to runneth and pop goes the cork,
as the war begins your throne you sit with confidence.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
Once there was an old woman
who had tremendous bad farts,
And this is where our story begins
this is where it all starts.
Her farts were just awful
they'd stink up and ****
They'd make babies cry louder
and make all the roses wilt
When she walked into town
her farts wouldn't stop
A green stink cloud would follow
wherever she'd walk
"Whats that AWFUL smell?!"
people would exclaim
Then they'd all point to the old lady
who always suffered the blame
Due to these consequences
the old lady was lonely
How much she longed for love,
and just a place that felt homely.
They say there's someone special
for each and every soul
Even for stinky old ladies
and that's why this story is told
When fate intervenes
no one can really say
Whats meant for you or me
or what makes old lady's day.
For one day old Miss Stinky
was walking through a store
She met a perfect gentleman
who held open her door
He didn't run away
like all the other people
He came up to Old Miss Stinky
and oh how she got so feeble!
He fell in love
with all of old Miss Stinky
To her **** bombs and green clouds
he said "Oh wow, That's real *****
You can never know
when your special someone comes by
For If stinky old ladies find happy endings
why shouldn't I?
Now she's not alone
just happily farting each day
They had a huge hazmat-mask wedding
and he swept happy old Miss Stinky away
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 9:34 AM UTC
My friend and I talk about it
Neighborhood got decimated this year
One after another the corners of community are gone
We touch the elder memories
as one might touch a head in blessing
as loved ones pass
We linger longest over John
Found dead after ten hot days
by other-worldly hazmat crew
flanked by cruisers
with their special, yellow truck
and zipper bags
...found 'im
glasses folded neatly on the night stand
in his jammies
all tucked into bed
No one thought it strange
that strange young guy would die
already decomposing in his head
Lost
among his personal effects
his fleet of rusting cars
and half-assed projects
Deck tacked to garage
his herds of “pets”
Easy to pretend he wasn't really there
between jail stints or some imagined threat or theft
of crap
haunted by the shadows of his persecutors
caught in motion lights
and cameras' blinding evidence of
jungle-jumble and malfunctioning alarms
going off in the wind
Everyone's out to get his stuff
We could dismiss him--
mostly
sorta
...except for times
he mowed his grass at night
or hand-built “the lunatic tower”
just for mom
from scavenged scraps and
hammered hours
power-sawed
through the housing codes
and horror
of the neighbors...
...Such a special spectacle...
******* crazy-- John!
He was enough for one day at a time
like when
he flung that threatening bolder
on bilco doors
for percussive effect
"Get off my fuckin' property!”
(not using his “inside voice")
“Next time, that'll be your head!!
He announces his intent
to not get mad, behave himself
to call the cops on me instead
Fake-dialing
While his mother screams in dread
“John is off his meds!”
My phone is set to speed dial
911
____
“How did we miss this?
How did we not miss him those quiet days?”
How we miss him now
How quiet
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 4:18 PM UTC
there is cholera in the time of love.
quarantined feelings
making sure this fever
will not spike to five hundred
sixty-one.
there is cholera in the time of love.
gas masks of affection
hazmat suits of admiration
latex gloves of love.
is it the cholera infecting
the love or the
love infecting the
cholera?
May 9, 2010
May 9, 2010 at 10:25 PM UTC
Alone in spinning hyperspace
Nauseating corner
Men in yellow Hazmat suits
Not a trick or tare to warn her
Spinning up in semi speed
Down through the darkened air
Sick scarlet style leather gloves
Eyes rolling past her hair
Kind words through the ear
Crushing her last soft sense
Siren's song and burnt tongue tea
Hands shaking in suspense
Still alone, the world had stopped
They carried on fast in this demise
For they knew that
Pay checks come, what a surprise
Her with no tears, but dusty eyes
A streamline made for extra time
She watched it slow in semi speed
As love was blood that had been mine
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 7:37 PM UTC
At goodwill Buy the Pound
every day is black friday
Hundreds of soccer moms line up their
white sneakers on a black and yellow caution tape line
zombie over it streching for yu-gi-oh cards
wait for hazmat suits to wheel out eight bins full of trash gone treasure.
When the bins are locked in place the hazmat suits go back to pack another load
The air horn sounds.
You do not want to be anywhere near that caution tape line when this happens.
At goodwill buy the pound
If you're not part of the fight,
you're part of the floor.
They need to find their
puzzle peices lost in cat liter
Johnny really needs
every single nerf dart
DID YOU TAKE A NERF DART?!
WE TALKED ABOUT THIS JO-ANN
THOSE WERE FOR JOHNNY.
Johnnys grandma is not the only elder throwing elbows
varacose veins are curb stomping dads hauling consoles to make a quick buck
Skinny College aged video game collectors swim through the mom-pocalypse
raid the stashes for disguarded NES cartridges
Jo-ann grabs a twinky boy by the black graphic hoodie.
Tosses him back into the horde
lunges for a barbie doll hidden under some wires.
This is not a place for nice children.
If you aren't willing to push around some nanas
you will leave covered in nike prints.
This place turns people.
Ever look at someones mom and think
She looks like she's always wearing a mask.
She is!
Buy the pound is her natural habitat.
One grandma keeps so many cats, her living room is a Petrie dish
I think she just wants to be in charge of a small third world countrey.
Granny needs to go rally up the soccer moms at buy the pound.
To lead those cats into a mother thirfting revolution
These woman leave feeling like they saved their family a fortune
Dumpster diving for sport.
Every tossed or trampled stranger
One flip flop closer to
feeding their children
clawing through poverty
When that airhorn sounds again.
They scurry back to their carts.
Tell their children
"Make sure nobody steals this"
as they line back up in haste.
Touch their all white nikes to the caution tape line.
Hold their family close like brass knuckles.
when that airhorn sounds.
It's time to fight.
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 10:49 AM UTC
Ashley,
Your blues inspire me, insipid triangles, walking cold, sweating more and wetting the bed your lips the sizes of gods that I married through hidden video cameras, I caught bias in bliss, racism in slow disasters, tornado sirens and just sirens, and justice on the horizon. My eyelids the sizes of your little ******* the party of tomorrow, the starting sounds of scarred and stripped *** sounds. Caught in a drift, my bottom lip stuffed with lift-lust and jolting up and down your porcelain rift. Messed up and round the back to the buttons, the clasp too heavy to drop your ego down, the cold too swift to catch me as I fell. The heavens too burdened to beat me with your god. I just wanted to me smacked in the face with your flaws. Hips the sizes of doorknobs, hurdles that I caught one weekend sipping slow gin with granddad and papa and Tootsie, your evils carnivorous, your mess much more than your message. Your koo-koo voodoo and big bad red frock. Tuesday's made me the man I am today. The Slayer made me the hate I stuffed into my **** jock-strap to puff out my chest and make prisms in kitten litters and furrow the night clauses to match stick the pumped-up bypass of hazmat and heroism, I was won and didn't know it, you were one and now you're all one.
She,
came to me in French class holding straws. I picked swiftly and came, all staled and stiff, lock-jaw and threesomes one moonlit night the fourth of July.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 3:09 PM UTC
I've been looking at the world from a different perspective
IG filters and Snapchat interceptions
I was off the grid, I am now in inception
Social media dance floors
no escape or exceptions
what do you stand for?
put your hands in the septic
so your arms can take all the **** that
Your legs normally dealt with
Apartment, complex complicated life consequences
Brothers life deciphered
into the trenches
Despite all of the help we lent him
Life can be a loan when you are alone
It can get expensive
Don't own a home,
but I could show you what rent is
I could show you what hustle is,
I'm that relentless
Slick mouth, silver tounge...this is manifested
Bike peddling, rebelling Ambidextrous
Quiet devilish, my medicine makes most hella lit
I speak in crooked tongues like most nuns who settle with
Being Singular minded there Vibes are so celibate
A courier in this Corredor settlement
How do I, in these times, stay not high but relevant
I'm confined in thin lines, tell them **** time,
if the sunshine, makes us dumb blind
Like retail and it's details with the big signs
See this conclusion is just a visual illusion
A cesspool in the mainstream visual pollution
This vortex is just a digital confusion
Digits to acidic, hash tags for the lab rats to abuse them
watch me slipstream into a hazmat suit and snap back to an audience all the toxics that I'm using
my minds a clock incapsulated in the bottom of a backpack but only in math class, I state facts for your amusement
How can you do this?! Who the **** are you kid?!
I'm Duke Nukem with a scorpion fist ready to hiduken!
I'm Isaac Newton with a paint brush when I do this
Painting photosynthesis with my sentences, I conclude with...
Nothing but a chronological order I cause a cascade of disorder
I'm on the edge don't **** with me and my border...can't **** with me I'm the best this visual mess is what your ordered
Apr 23, 2019
Apr 23, 2019 at 3:33 PM UTC
In the middle of folding laundry one afternoon
thinking this might not be a big deal
but then again it's not such a bad way to spend the day and
the back door opened and
my neighbor showed up in full paintball gun attire and
pointed his paintball gun at me and
yelled at me to get on the ground!
i smiled and
put down my child's underwear and
grabbed his Buzz Lightyear sound and
light activated laser gun that he had recently gotten for Christmas and
aimed it at him and
yelled NO! You get on the ground and
then 40 men rushed into my house and
at least 10 of them had rifles and
i was thrown down on the floor,
wood floor,
right cheek made direct impact and
**** that hurt and
i heard a shout of a voice ordering the 10 men with the 10 rifles pointed at my head
not to shoot and
that the shoot to **** order was off,
that it was a toy plastic gun,
he repeated,
it was a plastic children's toy and
in one fell swoop of motion my right shoulder was taken out of its socket and
**** that hurt and
twisted around behind my back in order to handcuff that hand to my other hand and
stand me up and
walk me out as I watched dozens and
dozens of what i could only presume to be storm troopers from the Star Wars movies wearing white protective gear covering their shoes bodies and
faces entirely
spilling into my house with the great invasion of an ant colony and
several groupings of men in black pants and
black shirts with white letters on the back spelling out different acronyms such as S. W. A.T., and
K.B.I, KDH&E;
The storm troopers were actually Bio HAZ MAT men
testing to see if the air quality in the house was higher than their acceptable limits of
risk of having a chemical explosion occur
while in the house on that afternoon of January
when officers of the Sheriff’s Office Special Operations Group
executed a search warrant at my house on Main St.in my small town in Kansas and
made entry at the location and
took me into custody while
Certified **** Lab Techs from the Sheriff’s Office
collected 2 Mountain Dew bottles and
some rubber tubing and
rendered the items safe and
Agents of HazMat Inc. were contacted and
responded to collect the hazardous materials for disposal
I sat in the back seat of the cop car and
thought this might be a big deal
this could be a bad way to spend the day
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 2:42 AM UTC
i hand you your things and flee the driveway,
wind up at the site of a gas leak
firetrucks and pylons and
hazmat suits and me in
my ’85 corolla
declaring
myself
king
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 3:51 PM UTC
Stranger things have happened
The splitting of an atom led to all the Eves and Adams
We just keep climbing up this ladder
What happens when we reach the top of it
Does it matter?
Still, stranger things have happened
I hung myself with string theory gripped in madness
And visited the vast void dripped in blackness
Crippled past tense reminds us of what was
And how inevitable it is that everything gets crushed and
Deboned with time
My skeleton remains hesitant at 11:59
Still even stranger things have happened
I woke up as a lab rat with a hazmat and a gasmask
Phantom of the operating theater with the seats packed
Breathing in sterile air trying to feel the breeze
Strap my self into a gurney
To perform out of body surgery
I said I'd never turn the other cheek but
Stranger things have happened
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 5:08 PM UTC
startling images of earthquake destruction
mangled bodies strewn hitherto
charred flesh of orphaned infants
lie motionless on the partially uplifted
hospital/ monastery floor
trying to lift and remove rubble
in a desperate attempt to locate
the sobbing baby
which I can hear, but not see –
34 train cars piled
twisted metal sitting
in an oil and chemical spill
hazmat teams stare blankly
at the massive carnage
overwhelmed by the mayhem
and poisoned by their presence
within hours the first responders
have passed,
the last moments..
chocking and gurgling on their own blood
creeping up from internal damage –
wide-eyed militants stand armed
at the entrances to FEMA camps
angrily shouting and pushing American citizens
into places of detainment
while laughing about failed democracy –
night after night
I wake from terrible dreams….
Mt. Hood major eruption
ending Portland
and impacting the Columbia,
Juan De Fucca slippage
Oregon and Washington coastline in shambles
thousands dead and bodies lost,
rogue asteroid smashing headlong
into the Atlantic seaboard
leaving near ½ of our 308 million
washed away
like the Atlanteans
or the Egyptian Kings of old,
sweat coated sheets have become the norm….
nightly visitations of misshapen faces
poking and prodding,
looking at the Cascades
as harbingers of radioactive derbies
and witnessing the physical decline
of its natural inhabitants,
the ever propagandized
deadly threat of extremists
bent on killing innocents,
my tired eyes only wish for peace –
It is not kosher to refer
to oneself as a prophet or
seer or the future,
but those of you who choose
to blindly accept that everything remains
the same
will only be remembered
through songs and tales
yet unwritten –
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 12:17 PM UTC
Hey watch this,Babe i got this
backflip it and stick it
like a ninja i'm acrobatic
you want it back but babe you just cant have it
i rock around your feelings wreaking havoc
roll around in the poison looks your'e shootin me
but it don't burn cause i'm dressed in hazmat
You got that?
Babe i got this.
Mar 15, 2012
Mar 15, 2012 at 1:27 AM UTC
Love takes time
Time to tear down
The false Gods
Polluting ambitious minds
Love at first sight
A dangerous ideological pathogen
Killing the truth in patience and effort
Ignorant to fleeting feelings of vulnerability
Love is surrounded by a toxic cloud
Breeding unhappiness and failed expectations
Quarantine zone and hazmat suits
A requirement for the truth about love
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 6:46 PM UTC
Some years later, they will look back to this time and ask how we did not see it,
What we cursed, ridiculed and cut away would become our only saving grace.
The effects would manifest only as humanity started getting wearier of the destruction it had wrought on itself,
Tired of nuclear winters and oxygen-less atmospheres, water-stressed economies on the brink of downfall
And in those days, stories would come from different and remote parts of the world
Of people made of miracles, walking around in daylight, unclothed in hazmat suits and around whom the world seemed more friendly
And the scientists will run to these 'saviours', desperate for hope, desperate to save their once dominant race,
And then they would study them , hair to toe, and they would find their worst fears come to pass
Years ago, Humanity was crazed by a trend to cut away seemingly useless parts of themselves,
These 'useless' parts would now offer a new lease of life to an historically arrogant species
And they will then build shrines and temples to the Appendix,
The vestigial ***** that pulled humanity from the brink of extinction.
And the people who shunned appendectomy as a sin will reign supreme,
Rulers of a kinder world.
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 1:06 PM UTC
marked: hazardous materials.
special handling required;
contaminants. corrosives.
radiation. explosives.
pathogens. psychosis.
before even touching this
you need to know this:
it was a cure for war,
a solution to pain.
it was something that should
never be attempted again.
it was chaos, it was peace
it was the last second of time
before either of us chose to speak.
now the moment has passed, the HAZMAT crews amass
i mention casually as they put on their gloves
"is there usually so much destruction"
replied "what do you expect from love?"
Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 10:56 AM UTC
hey dad
remember when i was
only half bad
sometimes i do
but right now i can’t feel
half bad
i’m hazmat
as your suit
has had
my pursuit
of you
seem half-assed
before i press repeat
i remind myself to rewind
the mind i pay you
after i try to rinse my hand
i’m either asleep
or dreaming of dreams
but never in between
like the white light
that beams
on its way to my heart
halfway down
the ashy stream
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 2:52 AM UTC
Polluted precision
the calling card of mankind
Stained structures and hazmat huddles
Cluttered minds with no jurisdiction
Face mask population
black stained the blue
What was once considered unexcused is now exceptional
It slips by like a sickness
while we binge watch the bully called Hollywood
while we smear another signature on a rented luxury
Who can ever just be when so many things say why?
The natural ability for adaptation leaves room for neglect
shrugged shoulders and disconnection
We fight for air in this crowded garden
metal florals with the concrete cloves
smiles fall and we feel the weight of full corners
A slow ride may reassemble a notion of purpose
tree smoke with a tree top tincture
Still
the speed demon decides the generation
It's all so hilarious
it's all so serious
It's all so human
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 7:15 PM UTC
the initial purport
this literary effort delivered atchew
to reed constitutes hazmat tocks sin
within White House blew
per, viz thee president be
getting a Hollywood love story
with "Stormy Williams" despite brew
haha murmur, now dapper Don in deep doo doo
thus, this garrulous married pro LIX prone papa flew
off (like a bat out of hell)
to his Macbook Pro laptop presenting myself
implicating Trump as po' faux guise Mister McGoo
affiliated, confused, and explained
being on par with Winnie the Pooh
especially stuck right tub bear arms in grr...
Rabbit's House, now he doth stew
nsync, nonetheless this path a logical
rhyme stir on the straight and true
composeing grist sill for ye to view
now, nar hating, hit ting
private links provide attention turned toward
two thousand twenty presidential election campaign
no Iron nee, anno putter opportunity,
how he diplomatically strived, and nearly scored
to boast asthma, overt braggart, stalwart
asper ideal consistency of cement poured
affiliation, aggregation, and attestation moored
prevails ma (Jack booted - magical) lord
rolling back to Timbuktu progressive liberal
Democratic initiatives star Apprentice
sans ("NO LIES") being linkedin, he almost ignored
with voluble chattering class hud hoard
hobnobbing (with the likes of Missus Muir's ghost,
who resort to Matthew Scott's turf brand),
reconstituted, recycled, and repurposed, gourd
nonetheless Trumping protocol necessitates me bing bored
predictable feigned "FAKE" non accord.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 10:31 PM UTC
Make me *** and I'll come for you, until they pull me down and make me cough out loud. I'm a street named Chance and I'm awful loud, I read right to left. I hear colors not sounds. I'm a maniac, maniac, for Empire Carpet. I've been hospitalized for being honest, and condescended to for living life on the edge, with a knife in my bed, a pillow under my head. Where I've pollinated my sheets with the easements of sleep, and circumvented my best friends just to shake up the news. I've been used, I've been lied to, I've been amused, I've survived abuse, I've been bruised, I've leaned toward the obtuse, I've leant forward for truth, and I've written down my upsides and foretold my mishaps, I'm a backwards commando for import and export of hazmat, and especially bath mats, CB2 or IKEA, Bed, Bath, and Beyond, or just farther beyond. I remain calm, while the adverbs stack in my palms, it's the trick of word pimping to work verbs into adjectives, articles attached to their nouns, an ellipsis or eroteme, a period or comma. I said I am ******* so now won't you come. I've evolved what I've said into parts of a song. So push back on me and I'll push back in you, I'll take your words and re-dedicate them into consonants and vowels. Hang up your heraldry, and never put down your *** Keep your habits to bedrooms, and your words to never forget.
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 12:01 AM UTC
Am I awake?
This simulation feels so real
My every waking moment
Masks and hazmat suits fuel my fear
This ******* nightmare
Somebody get me out of here
I don't know what I'm saying
I just don't ******* sleep
They wait for me inside my dreams
Another **** stain
On some brand new sheets
Now In a few days
I'll be back on the street
Old holes holes in my socks
The same dirt on my jeans
In the back of my head
I know I'll never really leave
Wake me up again
Slice my skin
Take my blood
Push my medicine
Jul 3, 2020
Jul 3, 2020 at 3:17 AM UTC
The Party’s Over
First Ray of Sunlight bangs on the front door,
mop and bucket, green disinfectant, God knows
she’s seen much worse. Start with Giuliani
broom his shriveled heart, pour bleach in the dank dark
corners of his soul, load Newt onto a cart but
come back for Christie, got to watch the back.
Spray all the baseboards, maybe tent and bomb,
bag up all the empties, filthy bottles of ignorance,
butts of hate floating in the dregs.
Open the curtains, let in the light, watch them scuttle
for the drain, don a hazmat suit and head upstairs
“The Donald” lolls in bed tangled up in stinking
sheets of free media coverage, bedding soiled with a bladder
full of lies and self-regard.
The rest of us will slink out the back, Lord knows
we enjoyed the bread and circus, we love a good carnival
geek when he bites the heads off chickens.
Sunlight is the best disinfectant but this
may require gasoline and match.
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 10:01 AM UTC
It’ll be an old fashioned Christmas,
with Santa due down the chute.
I bet he Purells his reindeer,
and Lysols his hazmat suit.
It’s an old fashioned Christmas.
We’ll all have on our masks,
and our muffled yuletide carols,
will be just like seasons past.
We’ll observe all the guidelines.
We’ll eat six feet apart.
We’ll have disinfectant under the mistletoe,
and keep safety in our hearts.
Sure, it’s an old fashioned Christmas.
One unique to the times.
The love this year might be careful,
but the feelings are genuine.
Dec 15, 2020
Dec 15, 2020 at 7:03 AM UTC