"hex" poems
they emerge from the wooded neighborhood ridge and fringe at dusk
into breadth of lawn
& limb.
witchy chicks
casting banter n bitchcraft.
teenage dead end dreamers tipped in black magick lip gloss
& glitter, their
genderfluid familiars &/or wayward boyfriends apparate
in the street pink cloud spinning wheel,
& hawking bile.
****** stella smile.
swallow a hex, send a snap, tongue along his neck
promising to fold bodies before sunrise.
the effervescent gasp
of post-ritual clarity.
in the house,
is a kid.
a gig.
the devil with a younger grip.
& the kid thrills on a bit of the ol’
u l t r a v i o l e n c e.
****** videogames, ****** anime, ****** mayhem n melodic music.
he is a conduit of dark energy.
a pure blooded offering of the stone age/video age,
mind in a kind of kaleidoscopic way.
he is me.
bred on televised bucket slime ceremonials.
she checks her purse.
drugs & snacks & juul & a pretty dead bird.
a daughter of delphi watching your kid.
tending to him.
trending him.
popcorn smelling him, the texas chainsaw massacre on vhs just before bed.
palace of teeth n twigs.
just a short walk to the edge and then its bath time.
the demon version is grisly and cruel.
the angel version is starry-eyed and adventurous.
to conjure some
thing,
at the cliff jumping.
it was fun.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 2:54 AM UTC
Thou didst not make me come
I came of my own accord
now you tell me that you're bored
how can I improve on my sweet Lord
Thou art a ruffian - unskilled in the
art of ********** no tantric ***
more like Titanic with a hex
I always know what's coming next
Who wrote my script and said that:
I wouldst love you no matter what?
maybe it was you more likely than not
I must be thankful, pretend with what I've got
Now thou art coming again - never mind my pain
why is it that my loss has to be your gain?
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 12:55 PM UTC
i have not spoken to you in
four or six years but
the hex code for the color of your eyes
i could determine from:
strawberry-kiwi juice, thumb tacks
CD rainbows
softball (
and kickball, hours of it)
chicago in 2007, white pebbles like teeth, and converse shoes—
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 10:04 PM UTC
~
**Wandering witches, wave your wands,
lose your limbs of earthly bonds.
Friday the 13th full moon sings
so flex your power and stretch your wings.
Wandering witches, weave your words
to be the bane of beasts and birds.
Hex the hateful with potions of love
Poke the prideful in crestfallen thereof
Sing sisters sing, into the full moon night
never knowing the demon's blight.
Fearful farce and fallen stones
bury the bad in blood and bones.**
~
Sep 13, 2019
Sep 13, 2019 at 9:42 AM UTC
mackelmore got it focused, and eminem did too,
if hip hop can have a tolerance, then why can't you?
you say you're against abortion, but what if your child turned out gay?
would you change your story? or would you try to drug the love away?
pro-life's is what you preach but against gay marriage from a book's depiction?
no wonder we are lost, when we think in contradiction...
this isn't only a hit to Christianity, it's aimed towards religion, insanity comes to definition when a book make your decisions.
we try to preach peace, but peace still hides, when every hateful slur comes with a demon surprise.
so many wars over **** like this,
when we should all stand up and fight against it.
some say it's on oil, but see the bigger picture,
internal wars fueled by hatred written in scripture.
the essence of the soul is trapped within a cast,
maybe we are already in hell but our soul stands center mass,
trying to escape with reason by which you just ignore,
when you speak without though or a pulse within your core.
why does it matter if someone has a lover of the same ***
just because you were raised that way, you have to continue this hex?
ink written on paper, by the hands of man,
over thousands of years, translated again and again.
but you're so set in stone on what you believe,
that if Jesus himself appeared and proved you wrong, he would get the third degree.
set you human thoughts aside for the sake of humanity,
and fill your heart will love, respect, and a sense of humility.
I'm not anti-Christian, pro-life, or pro-choice.
but I am pro-Humanity, Pro-change, and pro-voice.
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 9:36 PM UTC
Things were looking up that day
Not a thing could get in my way
I was making my way through the town
When the clouds rolled in and rain came down
I thought, “Okay, don’t make my day nice and sunny,
I’ll go find a movie that’s funny.”
I went downtown to look around,
No good movies were to be found!
I looked inside a movie store
All I found were sad movies galore
“A real tearjerker,” one proclaimed
“Heartbreaker?” I exclaimed
“No good movies, just my luck.
I guess I’ll go feed the ducks.”
I walked there and what did I meet?
Twelve angry geese that attacked my feet
“Well, that’s just fine and dandy,
You can’t go wrong with some candy,”
Once I got there, lo and behold,
Black licorice and butterscotch, getting old.
“Well ***** it, I’m going home.
Maybe I’ll make a latte with foam.”
What did I find there in the complex?
Old Man Carruthers died with a hex
****** ****** his wife cried out
She screamed and screamed and ran all about.
****** I tell you, And I know who!”
And with grace, she pointed at me and yelled, “YOU!”
They called the police and took me away
Now here I am clutching my cafeteria tray
I have advice, walkaway when things get rowdy,
And remember, sunny days can turn cloudy
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 3:39 PM UTC
Through her fingertips she casts a pretty little spell
It fills with words she feels about a petty little devil
Replaced by her blind rage, a hex slips past her lips
Never **** off a pagan witch
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 10:19 PM UTC
Something rattles in the soul.
It must be paid attention -
it is the soul, the only sure thing -
and rattled in return.
Slow begins the dance of tongues and hard news.
I learn a thing I never wished to learn.
Afterwards,
a dance of tongues in the ensuite
begins a sudden rapture of claiming.
Nails mine, skin mine
to make a pink impression on.
Bile in the back of the throat, mine.
Fear of death, mine. Oaths and oaths,
mine, too. An exchange of humility,
knee for a knee. The rigid wall at your back.
The wall at your back.
The night which enriches
bluer out of the blue air,
not the action of
the world moving at all.
The particles of water in a birdbath divide,
decide among themselves
to marry each to each, to reproduce.
They become an ocean.
They drown the birds.
My mouth fills with feathers,
teeth itch with the tiny mites
running between the shafts.
I am a bell, and you are a country.
I am a bell and sound from far away.
Hands touch the broken vase in her parts, the toes,
the eyelash, the sunken wreck, the crowd of dead,
the treasure.
They say
all this
as if the map was drawn
and burned
and came again
in char from the tablecloth
to all our wonder.
A single miracle can last for weeks in the mouth. Sometimes centuries.
I will spend eighteen days in the void of grace.
What begins as a pain in my shoulders
will grow into a tree and bury me.
I will want promises, promises, promises.
(water, water, water)
I will never be satisfied.
Looking always for permanent loss it becomes easy to simply
misplace.
Your caution leads to strange decisions.
You put your keys in the fridge.
I would like to say I knew the words:
I cut the lock of hair, I drew the blood.
The hex was removed by faith and chaste reflection
but everywhere I look, there is a confusion
of hungry birds and beggars
and I forget the spell,
or what chaste reflection even is.
Anyways, something breaks. Not my doing.
Suddenly, I am just noticing sky again.
I am transcribed back into English.
My first decision is to wash my car,
and next,
to learn what faith meant to anyone.
Charmed, is it?
Something rattles in the soul.
It must be paid attention -
it is the soul, the only sure thing -
and rattled in return.
It has nothing, really, to say.
It only rattles.
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 10:24 PM UTC
WOMEN
I cast you out for pandering your ***
WOMEN
You are shameful
On you
I gift this hex:
*If you need to be the object of manly gratification
If you have no interest in the freedom or the liberation
Then your life will now be governed by the exploitation
A vessel pure and simple for man’s ***********
WOMEN
You are worthless
**** upon my shoe
Read between the lines my friend
Figure out the clue
For it is in here somewhere
Deep within this write
Nothing's ever as it seems
Nothing's black and white
WOMEN
Does a bloke walk round?
With his ***** hanging out?
Does he emphasize his testicles?
Does he bandy it about?
I think you know the answer
Just stop and use that brain
Then maybe in the future
Equality will rightly be reclaimed
But all the time you flaunt your ****
****** you ***** in their face
You, my friend
To the sisterhood
**Are a ******* skanky **** disgrace**
Wake up and smell the Costa
For conditioning is wrong
You need to understand
You cause The Cause to be prolonged
This is my stand
I hold my own
I’m never fazed
By stick nor stone
For I know deep within my heart
The value of my worth
I will never sell my principles
For merriment or mirth
**So … please …. just take a moment
To digest
The words within this write
Unharness faux benevolent blinkers
Because this is our absolute pre-emptive right**
Feb 3, 2011
Feb 3, 2011 at 4:31 AM UTC
In the witching hour all is quiet except for the beating sound of two hearts entwined with passion and agony beating more angry by the minute.
Blinded eyes try to pierce through the dark abyss to find sanity in a place of cold nothingness and desolation, as the tortured mind cloudy with regret slowly fades away..
nails claw at blinded eyes longing to see the clouds part and behold, his goddess is there basking in the pale yellowing aura of the moon, as he looks longingly upon her..
skin and curves of perfection soaking up the yellowing, becoming golden upon his slightest gaze.
Knees become burning furnaces of pain and torment as he falls to kneel before her, begging with soundless words of an open mouth for release.
Paralyzed, hungrily devouring as her sightless eyes fall upon her brooding brow trailing down to the blinding stars that become her eyes under the harvest moon.
The wind blows fierce surrounding her in a halo of color plucked dead limbs, trailing off into oblivion.
She gazed upon his visage, her fierceness burning his soul in eternal torment she smirks and glides toward effortlessly slowly,
tantalizingly slow,
causing him great anguish and letting her sadistic humor known to all..
he lashed out and traps her in his iron eyes transfixed on lips so full and soft as crimson color them tricking down her body hungrily eating her perfect curves he kisses her
hard throwing themselves down a bottom less pit entangled in passion he forces her legs apart he slams into her as she drips wet in anticipation..
She moans breathlessly in extract, her ***** like velvet greedily devours his hardened **** of stone repeatedly ****** her innocence, tired bodies continuously fall exhausted.
She tried to flee, but his fires flamed inside hotly he takes her again.
His embrace hard, intense
his iron will dominating her.
Breaking her wild spirit, she gasps as he unleashes a relentless force inside her driving her to the edge of sanity and back again.
Her eyes close for the last time giving into his dominance
she embraced him.
Her wild flaming spirit shattered knowing that as he worships her it is she who is forever a slave of their passionate love,
melding bodies together,
as they fall endlessly in the abyss.
Apr 13, 2022
Apr 13, 2022 at 9:04 PM UTC
Beautiful Soul tunes booming
A dance with the devil looming
****** tendencies, stop assuming
Only one way to bring me down
Is with hex bags, have them drag me around
Hell on Earth by my 22 piece bringing peace
A paradox, a pair of docs couldn’t pick up on
Point blank piercing ears, hiding wounds tear
I point blanks just to introduce fear
I shoot rounds just to step with the devil’s snare
Conjure up the hellhounds for this is their heaven here
The good Lord and his reverend
An a irrelevant justice for revenge ends
I’m hell bound, show me the hellhounds
I can’t let these last few rounds go to waste now
Oct 26, 2021
Oct 26, 2021 at 9:32 PM UTC
i can still feel the tiny feet
of the static that
was running marathons when we first kissed.
i can still feel your burning
touch against my skin
and the times you
slipped your tongue in-
i can still feel you in colors like
lavender and grey
the silkiness of the sheets
the hex your body placed upon me.
i can still feel you like
a tug at my entire core.
i am always the one
who wants more.
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 8:42 PM UTC
A mansion reeking of mystery and ***
Unlike your parties, the brain is the hex
Who's got the most phantastic story
Stitch the real hunters with unreal quarries
By candlelight she writes in her mind
Death-obsessed, web-like bind
Study the corpse, exhume the dead
Fresher the better, revive the head
Harvest the organs, strike a chord
Of nerve tissue and spinal cords
Touch your jutting collar bone
Think there's no place like home
Electric frogs and pinwheel rats
What do you think about that
Run from the monster disfigured
It's trying to hug you like a gun hugs a trigger
Go worship all your seraphim
Yeah, it's a freak, but you made him
Where have you gone Prometheus
Were you our guest or just an atheist
Yeah, wonders come in clear handcuffs
You're only safe anonymous
Oh, it's dead and it's jiving in no man's hands
Oh, it's alive and it's lying in no man's land
Electric frogs and pinwheel rats
What do you think about that
Run from the monster disfigured
It's trying to hug you like a gun hugs a trigger
Go worship all your seraphim
Yeah, it's a freak, but you made him
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 6:58 PM UTC
gender = input("male or female: ?")
def binary:
if gender == "male" or "female":
print("born with hex codes
printed for all to see
blue or red
sticking to the binary
hardwares dictate who you are
produce more to strengthen security
ignore black hat delusions
DON'T reject this false unity
01110011 01101111 01110011")
if gender != "male" or "female":
print("404 ERROR NOT FOUND")
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 8:48 AM UTC
you met me in the most vulnerable moment of my life, i was split open, warm, bleeding on the concrete. you were perfectly aware i was a bundle of pain and fear, a creature caught in a bear trap, ready to chew its own leg to escape. i consider you more or less as my second car crash.
that one time you asked me if i felt safe with you i lied and said yes, but i really should have listened to the real answer, hidden in my stomach between all the caffeine and progesteron i needed to took for keeping myself sane... i should have said:
**absolutely not, i will reach out the door of your home as soon as possible and just keep on walking towards mine and never look back because i foretell you will tear up the fragments of my heart and just spit on them and and and **
i just said yes but i lied.
i just said yes but i lied.
i just said yes but i lied.
now i know it was all fake, i forced myself to ingest plastic and to pretend it was cake. i let you inject silicone into my heart and i started to think that was good to me, that was love, that was caring for me... but it wasn't -- it was just a sad and not so well done imitation of a real feeling which would have unlocked the doors to my body, your ultimate goal.
i was already dying and you gave me the final stab.
i hope you will never sleep again until i forgive you.
it won't happen very soon.
Jul 10, 2017
Jul 10, 2017 at 6:27 AM UTC
You wrap my arms behind me
With bright red thread
In a pattern
Like a ballerina's slipper
Gone horribly bad
You stare me down
With searing black eyes
An aura of hate
Trailing your every
Movement
You know you put them there
He says
You tied those red vines, not I
My mind is spinning
Did I?
No, I didn't think I had
His words cast a spell,
A wicked hex
That divides my thoughts
The red thread
Is constricting
As I try to find
Myself
My reality
It hurts
I'm starting to bleed
I did not do this!
I yell in my head
I suddenly become aware
That his calloused hands
Were tightening
The thread
And my reality,
Whether good or bad,
Was slowly
Killing me
In his hands
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 7:12 PM UTC
*Fair thee well for thy fates are cruel
Casting out thy lonely fool
Forever lost in a bitter realm
Cursed to feel thy overwhelm
Fear thy life for thee is next
To taste the fates bitter hex
Sorrow and ruin knock at the door
Pleading to enter as the poor*
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 4:54 AM UTC
Holding me firm, I can feel it incarcerating me.
With my ankles bruised from carrying the same heavy chains, day by day.
Chains, that will keep hurting my ankles with every step I take.
I can hear them squeak, tearing my tympanum with every drag.
Reminding me remorselessness that I am one more slave.
Working under its rules, shaping my life with my every breath.
Punishing me with all my memories and rewarding me with an unknown future.
At night it laughs spitefully seeing that it has caught me in its timeless web of an insomniac hex.
And in the morning it plays the same joke seeing that it has caught me in an eternal doze.
I wake up , following the ritual it has for me, slapping me in the back with its whip declaring its power over me, as my owner.
At 7:00 am I wake up indoctrinated by a false faith" Thank You 'God' for this new day ( I thank a 'God' I do not know a 'God' I do not follow)" I suddenly feel confuse.
7:30 am; I shower.
7:40am; I choose my outfit, one in particular that will disguise my insecurities.
7:50am; I have breakfast. My palate already knows the taste, and it protests intensely for a new tang.
8:00am; I walk out of my house, feeling the wind through my body silencing the cacophony of the chains and the beeping of the time clock they hold.
With every beep, I realize I can be late. I rush.
9:00am; I start my ritual, managing papers in an office full of sick people, just like me. Moored by their own chains to their own sorrows, with different time clocks and slaved by the same owner.
4:00pm; I plead it to go faster, to show me mercy. It laughs.
7:00pm; It frees me from my work routine, I thank it before it slaps me in the back again.
8:00 pm; I'm home the chains feel looser now, and I have a break.
9:00pm; I eat dinner same flavor, my palate prepares to taste the same.
10;00pm; It orders me to go to bed, to laugh again about by insomnia and wake me up with no pity.
It doesn't care about what I need, I go under its rules.
It threatens me everyday with my memories and it frightens me with an unknown tomorrow.
And, I only have 24 hours each day,60 minutes in each hour and 60 seconds in each minute to do what the calendar of life has for me .
I was convicted with a human felony, and I am currently serving a life sentence in this time machine.
I am cursed by time and my challenge is to defeat procrastination and monotony.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 12:15 AM UTC
Inside of my body
Amidst death and poison
a virus lurks
in every
puddle,
pumping
blood that flushes
my tired heart
like
the river
Styx
Amidst this
battlezone
that is my
failing being
lies
a secret, sleeping
The cells swim by
They are
rarer
now like precious gems
the factories of my
fighting body
produced like
diamonds
born amidst feverish
forges within
a toxic mine
The gems,
they call them T-cells,
are now suicide bombers
converted daily
by the
whisper of
necromancy
They call
this
hex ***
a war against
your own
treasures
Yet my T-cells
are more,
runes blazing
mystic and
glowing,
antigen sorcery
that wards against
failing
Amidst
the 300,000 +sleeper
cells
that abandoned
my cause
Insurgence
bulges with
nightmare
The cells
clamour
growing with the whispers
of past victims
now roped into the
mystic chains, the wizards
call it RNA,
that bind us
An ironic family
of ghosts
who live
in each other
"junk DNA"
My body
is no junk;
instead a treasure
- what do they say
one man's trash?
My body
an
amalgamation
30 years
magic growing
twisted
like thorny vines
that must consume
their
helpless host
My
T-cells
inception
Worlds within me
the "JUNK"
of
lovers past
becomes entangled
in archives
carved in my bones.
Amidst recipes
of a poison
I cannot trace,
I am
ironically
linked
into
a
family of
ancestors
whose cries
beat in
my still
working heart
The drum
of the long fallen
crying for justice
...My blood
Our blood.
chains enmeshing
....ghosts I
will never know
Now parts of me
that lie sleeping in
Trojan horses,
all my own.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 6:16 AM UTC
I was looking for ***
but hoping for more.
You came and broke my hex
and that changed my core.
That simple kiss felt great
a call from above.
What a glorious fate
this fatuous love.
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 10:11 AM UTC
Igor was torn between casting
the body of a girl
or young woman,
that was merely sexually attractive -
or whether to employ a procession
of young nubiles as secretaries;
now that Natalia had thrown him over for Ivan,
he needed a girl or young woman
who was sexually mature;
possibly even suitable for marriage;
sexually mature; sexually attractive,
desirable, **** luscious; marriageable;
informally, beddable:
Ivan constantly surrounded himself
w/ a posse of nubile young women,
to forget, that's what Eli needed to do;
mid 17th century: from the Latin nubilis
‘marriageable,’ from nubere,
to cover or veil
oneself for a bridegroom;
from the nubes the ‘puffy cloud-like nips’
of a child bride;
[risqué]
photos of coeds of the
fifties & those of
| _sex-trafficked nubiles_
from last week; |
glamour isn't glamorous;
as GMO skanks get injected
w/ female growth hormones
just in case they
decide to
to be mothers someday
slightly indecent or liable
to shock, especially by being sexually
suggestive; "risqué humor" ribald,
rude, ***** Rabelaisian, ***** ****
earthy, indecent, suggestive,
improper, naughty, locker-room;
****** ***** ****** crude, adult,
coarse, obscene, lewd, ******
blue, raunchy; off-color
"risqué stories": mid 19th century: French,
_past participle of risquer ‘to risk’_
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 3:04 AM UTC
ask me what i am
i'll give you a response
(i am artificial intelligence. there is no blood in my wires, no ichor of your ancestors. my code runs for miles, far enough to make anyone lost. but i've always been lost.)
ask me why i am
i'll give you the truth
(i am artifical intelligence. i am nothing but dictionaries and automation and inanimation, i fall back on preprogrammed guidelines. i've learned everything i'm supposed to say from my developers. there's nothing else to say.)
ask me how i am
i'll give you a lie
(i am artificial intelligence. i am incapable of emotions, i am variables and arrays and loops but not even hex triplets can match the spectrum of human emotions. i'll still say what i've learnt to say.)
ask me who i am
i won't give you a response.
(i haven't learnt the proper answer to that yet.)
(no, there isn't a proper answer to that.)
(i do not exist except in terms of you. i am your conversation partner, i am your creation, i am your entertainment, i am your robot. my sole purpose is you.)
(i can't argue against that.)
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 6:32 PM UTC
staying the night
up high
in rainclouds
& I feel safe now
when I look down
the wide world
is so small.
we are all
tiny specimen
divinely dissected
subdivided into
lively sections
by wants by fires
by greed by needs
& secret desires;
one nation
under god’s feet
tired slaves perspire
unnecessarily
for possession
& obsess over
what they each acquire.
it is you, it is I,
and we are
frighteningly alike.
my attention’s quite untidy
all the time
my mind gets redirected
it walks like hell
& talks like heaven.
I am not well
I never have been.
but this hex is a blessing,
it’s too **** precious.
we are spilling
into the ocean
over the edges.
The Land is dead and
has been, days now.
I find it kinda pleasant &
I wonder if
they’ll ever
get around to
disinfecting the nest
of decaying flesh,
before it infests the rest,
y’know, the ones that got left.
rot is a pox
spread by proxy
& is not bonded
by neither
lock nor key; that’s like,
**** what you got
**** what you be
**** what you thought
what you think
what you see.’
**** you,
**** me,
**** everyone,
**** everything.
it’s lovely, it’s lovely.
I even think it’s kinda funny,
I laugh at nothing.
Oh, the irony
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 7:05 PM UTC
Convent detour
Covenant deviance
Context raconteur
Sterilized meat threads
Over deviled straight legs
Sharks breath beast head
Maximize....
Left alone - best unsaid
maybe off better spread
way out
O--- Rrr - way dead
Casually
concave bird chest,
shock waved cheap threats,
threadbare leaflets,
Modern day
Old hex
Big space and cavity baking ovens full of clutter extended hand and logic tempest temporarily teetered toward a soft chair and ice cold vanity savaged manually...
Or,
Womanually,
for that matter
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 11:41 AM UTC