"incisor" poems
Gripping ***** locks
knotted to his scalp,
she kicks him to the road.
Glass bottle bits scrabbling
under his fingernails;
he yelps, dragging away.
Their pressed flower daughter
clings to the soot-stained wall.
She tiptoes his nape
into the pavement,
drawing a gag and gurgle
bubbling out of his throat.
Two fingers pull his nose,
resting his teeth on the curb.
An incisor plinks to the girl’s feet.
She hugs it as close as a home.
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 4:58 PM UTC
The National Security Advisor
In all his frumpery and trumpery
Waves his combat moustache menacingly
Backed up by each nuclear incisor
He threatens Iran with his “hell to pay”
Word missiles through his bristles - “We will come after you!”
Omitting to say (through his ****** hairdo)
His child will not go, but yours will – hooray!
For his own combat record is no joke:
He bravely fought the Cong around Fort Polk
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 8:46 AM UTC
My hands are not my hands
My voice is not my own
My lip never was my lip
But this blood is all mine.
The spoon sedated my fears and insecurities
It's tender metallic surface gleaning
And involuntarily shaking
As I lapped up alllll the yogurt.
I could use a cartwheel.
I don't want to sleep
I'm afraid of dying
as my back and forehead sweat in agony
My eyes don't open anymore
A steady beeping
A flickering fills the air around me
I told my brother I'll be back soon
If I stop
I'm writing with my eyes closed now.
My heart rumbles like a cannon shot
My only regret is how I never knew you better
Mr. Cobain.
We had such fun nights with Mr. Yorke
and Mr. Coyne
Just laughing
And taking turns rolling Thom's glass eye across the floor.
Spring training.
I'm laughing on my bed outside
Catching glances of the summer
Coiled and contemptuous
They go on their lives not caring
Who lives.
Who dies.
Three girls climbed into my window
They smelled of grass and
polyurethane
The children died 6 years ago
The Johnny Carsons of this life
And
GET OFF MY HAND *******
PASS ME THE FOOTBALL
Percodin.
Codin.
Coding.
I just turned the page
And I'll be ****** if I do it again
“oh ****
If Dan went white-face ghetto
And wore beatnick clothes
It'd be
AMAZING
The incisor broke my fall
Sorry.
No pork and beans today.
Ericccccc
Help my head
Chalk these mint leaves up to fate.
Because GOD **** are they good.
I'm reading your expression
On an empty pizza box.
You don't seem too pleased.
I fear
This ice in my tray made me soak my bed
Honest!
Flounder had a mohawk
I don't give a **** what you say.
His **** mohawk was badass.
His stubble made Sebastian jealous
A bed of ice is better than a bed of coals
Or a bed of cars
Or a bed of rice
But that would feel really, really good.
Take a guitar solo
Now a bass solo
Now a keyboard solo
Now a harmonica solo
Now beatbox, no go?
Maybe the former
The TRANSFORMER of course. I hope I live to see that one day.
Yes.
Sep 19, 2010
Sep 19, 2010 at 5:50 PM UTC
Look down
From on high
Lord knows
How bleeds your sharp knife
Incisor
My pack fights tooth and nail
Our brood suckles hard
Gets our due from each ****
Renewable Romulus and Remus
Makes Mother happy
Her pups engaged
Zeus burst his brain making you
Jupiter’s irrational exuberance
Pumped up
Hear me now
Believe me later
We guttersnipes must contend
With your white largesse
**** on us trickler
At least give us jobs
Blown handy our daily ****
Rather eat ***
Off a silver platter
Served by Salome
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 5:48 AM UTC
**It's 5:00 pm,
any poems to share?**
*my watchwoman, Seamless Siri,
my conscientious conscience,
gives said inquiry daily,
at the precise heure de rigeur,
with the perfection of a
mechanized soul attending to her
imperfect human programmer
poetry, a sometime thing,
comes when it comes,
what the query,
my godmother faerie,
truly seeks knowledge of is
something she cannot measure,
like my counted steps and distances travelled,
what this overseer mine truly seeks to know*
why am I here?
*Here. On this earth. On this site.
have you any new written proofs,
your existence on this day to justify,
were your failings and flailings,
surpassed by any acts of kindness,
this new, freshest penmanship, a reflection,
an accounting of grace and worth,
blogged and logged here
as if only I had
one day,
one poem
left...
at tabulation time, the incisor bites,
are you juiced or morbid,
this, your essayed life,
are the words,
deemed shareable,
is their value,
calculable palpable?
Siri inquires but you are jury
at the late afternoon
trial by fire,
wherein my singed bunt offerings
are produced
at the
wake of when,
my nom I do append
am I deserving
of your recompense
of one more day,
one more poem?*
~~for Harlon~~
5:13 pm
November 21, 2015
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
Predilection to: f
tooth between teeth - e
without compunction - e
pearly white - l
welcome mat
a semblance of home
so I
drug
grip
tug
twist
incisor
cuspid
bicuspid
a lovely mouthful
tonight
to my
merriment
you bleed
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 1:10 AM UTC
~
may you ne’er reach
wealth without a struggle;
may you ne’re grasp
success without the pain;
for ’tis life’s struggle
that purifies one’s soul,
and ’tis his pain
that will make
the broken more whole.
but a silver spoon feeds
the want of one’s ease,
and a deep-cushioned couch
gathers only the
lazy and thieves.
for...
wealth is the great insular,
and money is a magnifier;
the core of one’s heart
that beats deep within;
success is the incisor,
that lays bare the soul.
place one the other afore,
regret will sorely follow;
for it magnifies a fool!
but the one who earns,
by grace discerns,
virtue’s voice to listen learns,
attains a stage from which to lead;
his a stature most uncommon,
by wisdom’s mere simplicity
were his mouth to ne’er open
his footsteps and his life
would surely, loudly speak!
this the cost, the
elusive expense,
this the price
of un-common sense.
~
*post script.
i am no philosopher;
these are but a lifetime
of observations made;
and mine are mere shadows
’midst an elusive sun’s shade.
the precise formula
i profess to know not
but of this i am quite certain
wisdom isn't given
to any without cost.
yet she is less elusive
than one might think...
for,
“wisdom calls aloud
in the open air
and raises her voice
in the public places.”
Proverbs 1:20*
Nov 19, 2016
Nov 19, 2016 at 12:11 PM UTC
if i hate myself, just look at the skin of my palms
about the matter of my skin, and the translucent hair
if and when my eyes waver, softly, just for a moment
you, you, you don't even
i am all a mess of words and fragrance that doesn't have a label or a real taste. just a sticky, angry smell. i am all the frayed socks, every ragged hole and i keep ******* the circulation from your toes.
it's thursday, the children are doing that whooping and hollering like they never expressed a real pain between then and right now. where's the pain of tomorrow? do you think their baby fat has ever trembled in the face of all the evers and wonders and hows, all the wretched aches of "not yet" and "maybe"?
that seems a simple question, and all the dreadful needs come wheedling out of the woodwork like maggots. i can taste them, their want and flush and wish and scrape and oh for the love of all that is holy, i would like to be the plaque on your left-hand incisor. let me crawl up inside your cavities, taste all your stagnant air and need like maybe i'll save you if i can just fill my lungs up fast enough with you and all your rot.
Mar 10, 2017
Mar 10, 2017 at 1:29 AM UTC
last night i dreamt
a tooth of mine (maxillary canine)
could simply slip in & out of
place..
often at times of
great personal inconvenience:
interviewing for a job...
making kitchen counter love to a gorgeous new woman (it fell out & down t'ween her breasts/O horror!)
during a presentation in ancient architecture on Ghulguleh, Afg.
-- poor Ghulguleh destroyed by Genghis, wreathed in flame!
(truly i come undone/as did that ancient city!)
found myself thinking
*"this is no blessing!
what purpose does creating a horrid gap
between incisor & canine serve but to repel?"*
when awake it became clear
i shall never understand my own mind.
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 12:40 PM UTC
i'm dead serious about conceptualising a su doku...
i'm on the basis of fractions...
praxis 9
/ 4
optical coordination of stressors of furthered insertion
for some reason i cited:
9 x 6 = 51
and then 9 x 9 = 81...
**** 1 is such a difficult number to muster /
master in a goemetric class...
1 isn't exactly geometrically "sound" -
hello φoνoς -
alternatively, when you're doing a really hard su doku,
quote this quasi-copernican interpretation,
i.e. doing the puzzle "lying down"...
i dunno(h)... when complexity arises
numbers "lying down" makes perfect sense...
su doku?
it's like onomatopoeia in terms of arrangement...
81? and it's still a perfect square?!
o.k. o.k. (leo getz style),
ω
3 ß
m
what the **** was alternative to the said?
u p
d
o
w
n p
u
d o w n
by now you're ****** kidding...
M
3 Σ
W my name's matthew,
so you can imagine why i get all hot and bothered
about this variation.
now for some dead etymology (i,e,
i don't give a **** where the words came from,
i just like the way they sound) -
poligon,
okop.
all, if any, emotional intelligence equates
itself toward an intensity status...
i.e. the more you feel, the more
your emotional competence...
for sure... apathy is the "placebo" guarantee
cure for any type of pathos -
or the λoγoς of guaranteed explanations.
to be honest?
λoγoς has been reduced to a suffix status
with that basic "accomplishment" of -ology.
another "funny" word... by was of saying:
it's actually a city...
Płock -
Łódz*,
alternatively? let's juggle
ò (grave) & ó (acute)....
now i see the funny side of the tetragrammaton
concept... it really is omnipresent...
between ò & ó
you want the sort of incisor that's basically |
straight...
something that really might **** off god
once and for all...
with nietzsche it didn't really happen...
i mean an |
o
that would get rid of god in
the classical roman sense of: oh...
and return to the omicron basis
for having revealed a phonetic encoding
that's simply O... and that means doing away with
the god's portion of a hammer (H) -
or the second syllable of the name:
η - weh...
eta weh...
i'd start translation phonetic encoding if i were you...
that variant stated? eta?
it's also called: a short e....
the opposite like loki to thor?
epsilon... and it's called the long e...
in greek it's ε, in latin it's the basis for avoiding
diacritical confrontation / application...
i.e. ee in the word keep, e.g.
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 1:35 PM UTC
You made “you and I” not exist
And that’s kinda cool in an aesthetic sense
But when I ****** dry your essence
I could taste only me in your skin
You took the chord and chewed it
Tore it with your incisor and spit it in my teeth
Children of the gourd
Children of the gourd
We swim in eels’ flesh
We mix with organs gutted and bleached
From fish in a factory
My fingernail split the cuticle and fell
Curling into your ear
That all you hear of me is mine on a chalkboard
And in a dream my bones rotted
Dancing against your form and encasing you to me
That my touch is nothing but raw and unwanted
I popped your cornea into the pocket of my cheek
Stole your vision for only that of me
That such a vision is now irritating and blinding
Lover lost I blew you away like dust to the wind
Every light popped and sizzled to show mercy
Then I whispered “to the pain” and cupped a vial of our blood
You made “you and I” not exist
But you drank deep until you drained me
And I could taste only me in your skin.
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 2:29 AM UTC
save me the time.
the rotary patterns
click, click, click
till sound drowns out.
chasing dust,
go 'round my spine
and crack my incisor.
o, i am here.
standing beside you,
and in front you,
and underneath you.
tick. tock.
tick. tock.
till the blood rushes down.
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 5:29 AM UTC
it has taken many swallowed words, wretched nights, boiling blood
too many staggering revelations left behind, the moon at sunrise
clarity needed so fiercely, choked to death in a greedy embrace
wicked, wicked fingers ache for liberty from stagnancy
raucous throats wail for gesture
throbbing spirit ponder change
i am seeking enlightenment,
almost gets caught on an incisor on the way out
shrewd minds hail benefits of repetition
a recommendation worthy of a busted record player
rapid internal revolution is fraught with instability
sanity skulking out the side door while you
try to keep your needle straight (and narrow)
there's a silence at the window, whiffs of modulation & hesitation
contemplate the purr of pavement underfoot
if only deranged carnivores counting your steps
kept you off the streets
there is humble grace to a hung crown
a fickle tongue swollen with repose
to listless, tranquil limbs
forthcoming, bruised lips
never quite as pleasing
in the mourning solitude
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 2:03 AM UTC
Homelely lonely snaggle-tooth smile
Tongues urging words forward
Surging as an ardent sword
Swimming in saliva
Ivory incisor
Cruel cuspid
Fangs
And sharpened islands
Teeth
Decalcified
Recalcitrant
There's an empty feeling in a mouth
Provender as a need
Viscious victuals
Forget the taste
Remember appetite
Just when you feed
Don't eat but devour
Mulling molars
Curious carnassials
Fangs
Longing for the flavor of flesh
Teeth
Putrescent
Holy cavity
There is an empty feeling in a mouth
Eat all you can
While you can
Take full bites
And swallow whole
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 1:58 AM UTC
Half-love burns like a half-life spent
Radium lover
is your jaw rotting
From the stress of keeping everything behind your teeth
Incisor
Canine
Molar
In your dreams they fall into your palms
Soft and sacrosanct, grotesque, sharp pearls to string around hope’s neck
And crush it.
Love,
what were you not telling me
And why?
Oct 27, 2021
Oct 27, 2021 at 9:54 AM UTC
Throw some scraps to patchy strays
For every dog will have his day
Bite the hand that scratches ears
Tickles tummy, dabs at tears
Pats a **** receives a nip
I never rubbed your nose in ****
Lift a leg for all to see
The edges of your territory
Whimper as we scratch our itches
Even males can act like *******
Ears lay back as hackles rise
Wither under angry eyes
Throaty growl with curling lip
Saliva on incisor tip
Mangy curs will cry and whine
Till you get yours and I get mine
Mongrels simper, yap, and bray
And every dog will have his day
Apr 25, 2019
Apr 25, 2019 at 1:27 PM UTC
We’ll season our greetings
and
salt one another’s
wounds for free.
We compare our flavorless
lives,
without ever investing
in one another
or
ourselves.
No deposit,
no return.
Give as good as you get,
or better yet,
give better than they deserve.
You’ll get more than you think
in return.
To be leaving,
to have left,
to start over,
to be bereft.
What else is there
but to walk away?
So sorry a state
that only God
might stay.
There was no mercy,
there was no sin,
shook dust from boot,
beginning again.
We’ve set the fires,
the windows are broken,
only shards remain,
the building is gutted,
the staff is insane,
where once we cared
only shells remain.
Oh,
the night is a swollen
wineskin,
the moon hangs high,
I only
wanted to live,
was
left behind to die.
Sated on hatred,
collided with skin,
bones are broken,
teeth are pulled,
pliers grip
incisor again.
The clock is punched,
its wires yanked,
limited options mulled,
the senses dulled.
The hands are dealt,
the aces laid down,
all bets are lost.
they’ve come to collect,
my wallet is empty,
my life
is wrecked.
***
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications 2019
Nov 9, 2019
Nov 9, 2019 at 5:17 PM UTC