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"infrared" poems
I forgot how much I loved the Foreignness of a stranger's hands on me. My waist, my arm, my *** I felt every touch Like an infrared light sensor The heat from your hand Stayed and glowed on my arm, my breast, my thigh It's fine though, Nothing more. I have a boyfriend, And you have A Fiance and a Baby on the way
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Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 6:24 PM UTC
A Fiance and a Baby on the way
I spit that non fiction, when i say life is my addiction, I'm such a contradiction; you can call me COURAGE the cowardly. don't OVERSTEP your boundary. the lames seem to bow to me, and if life were a ***** i'd charge her by the hourly. i feel FREE like a SEED, in the wind there's no need to pretend that no thought is more electric than your intent, i intend to manifest success. my game infrared, sounds like a different dialect, fresher than disinfect, dangerous like Russian roulette. when its us or them the beast against men melanin augments; to increase my inner G for the main event!
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Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 12:03 AM UTC
Whistle...
There was a big boom once Population dynamics are intrin- sic functions of gumption and big booms echo in eternity. I look at the industrial revolution through infrared filters to parameterize the haze of our lives using a kaleidoscope landmarking technique andor technology where the function of plutocracy (and it is taking shape) while it resonates on post-reformations and pre-modernisms How do you like them schizms? Living the religion of capital ~ ism and paying homage on prayer mats of blood ~ sweat ~ and 1, 2 many beers through our blue collar dollars and masonry jars and crossroads guitars (and between the bars) of our own creation. Now moving toward remediation and un-plebiation. I cried vermouth and reconciliation while they expunged truth and trylobytes. The inevitability always bubbles up. And in the trailer park of our lord: 2017 Ricky and Julian and Bubbles pay homage to a great poet lost: Mr. Lahey. (within the mystery of our own creation) Thus we toast to: The Theatre of Life
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Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 6:09 AM UTC
A Function of Structure
the clatter of machinery invades my bedroom as rotors defeat gravity for as long as fuel allows someone's on the run headed for the woods at the back of my house why do they think the darkness of trees and undergrowth will hide them from infrared's all seeing eye, their journey to freedom is about to end dramatically under spotlight I've got to get up for work in under four hours
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Aug 11, 2022
Aug 11, 2022 at 9:07 AM UTC
police helicopter
False memories and track marks pave your arms Sudden revolt of youth pressurised to fail Painkillers doubled and stacked for a head to slumber Soft heads and dead leg spasm attack pillow piddles in ***** Fictitious tesla coil blue breath mortifys mortality And your goggles won't fog out the underwater current miscellaneous Digital tectonic pushing ideas you brainstorm Shadowed reluctance to consume the musk of infrared roses This romance is one that was jealous of itself Pre-divorced in its own certainty on incompatibility Basin top full too top heavy to predict precarious Living in a shaded sense of erased memory lapses continuing truth Toward magnificent still life categorised by perdition Forward thinking ruby gold phong shaded hatred quantum conversate Unthinkable Nebula of gas Face first head in hands Euthanasia between my thighs crush my head Choked neck Throat Strangle me and give me breath I roll and the conductor pulls apart my mouth Diseased by euphoria lips separate and teeth show Pupils land home and iris jumps ship Perfume gum dry bitter butterfly kiss Head held back in place tongue falls back into the razor-front of the mouth Caution held simultaneous irrelevant body load carries my smile Jump knee deep into the silence of my own lungs It's been a while I breath vindictively in time with the respiration of the country Somewhere out in the hexagon sun I burn candles and whisp Hold in smoke Die Twitch forward in palliative peace motionless and still Cuspids and lochs Spread across the grass the harmony touches yours and mine A hole and whole dream Conscious and dead Content Voices rattle in unified mono-chromidity Sadness Carrion
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Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 2:52 PM UTC
Hexagon Sun
False memories and track marks pave your arms Sudden revolt of youth pressurised to fail Painkillers doubled and stacked for a head to slumber Soft heads and dead leg spasm attack pillow piddles in ***** Fictitious tesla coil blue breath mortifys mortality And your goggles won't fog out the underwater current miscellaneous Digital tectonic pushing ideas you brainstorm Shadowed reluctance to consume the musk of infrared roses This romance is one that was jealous of itself Pre-divorced in its own certainty on incompatibility Basin top full too top heavy to predict precarious Living in a shaded sense of erased memory lapses continuing truth Toward magnificent still life categorised by perdition Forward thinking ruby gold phong shaded hatred quantum conversate Unthinkable Nebula of gas Face first head in hands Euthanasia between my thighs crush my head Choked neck Throat Strangle me and give me breath I roll and the conductor pulls apart my mouth Diseased by euphoria lips separate and teeth show Pupils land home and iris jumps ship Perfume gum dry bitter butterfly kiss Head held back in place tongue falls back into the razor-front of the mouth Caution held simultaneous irrelevant body load carries my smile Jump knee deep into the silence of my own lungs It's been a while I breath vindictively in time with the respiration of the country Somewhere out in the hexagon sun I burn candles and whisp Hold in smoke Die Twitch forward in palliative peace motionless and still Cuspids and lochs Spread across the grass the harmony touches yours and mine A hole and whole dream Conscious and dead Content Voices rattle in unified mono-chromidity Sadness Carrion
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41
My body is made of information, I see in infrared and j-peg, PNG formats I can't share over the internet. Their eyes see mere mortal things, and nothing supernatural in technology. No ghosts in the machines, no flesh in the software. No hope in the problem, nothing thick in the water, don't call me at home, remember I can't be bothered. My skin is a spreadsheet and my hair is string theory in action and theory. My brain is afloat in liquid caffeine so it's no wonder I over react. Where do people go when they daydream?
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Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 9:37 PM UTC
"Theory."
-The best way to fight the fear of terrorism is by turning off your TV screens.- TV Terrorist. Ladies hide your burkas! the 1st amendment ain’t gonna protect ya because for as little as an ignorant comment... -YOU can be a TV Terrorist too! Racist slurs, misinformation and greed are 1/2 the price of what they used to be ACT NOW so they can see! -YOU can be a TV Terrorist too! Don’t let the sirens of the fashion police disturb ya we’ll wiretap your mosque from the city to suburbia just grow that beard Osama style! -And YOU can be a TV Terrorist too! After your Morning Joe just head over to CNN they’re about to have some Baklawa at Fox & Friends let’s keep feeding more hate speech to the talking heads. -So YOU can be a TV Terrorist too! Replace your Quran with the National Enquirer so you can be as American as they are Muhammed is not a match for Uncle Sam. -Just wear that robe the way Jesus did and YOU can be TV Terrorist too! You see, turban rhymes with Taliban therefore you’re all the same so pump our gas brown skin clashes with the red, white & blue of our flag. -Just make sure to look angry! And YOU can be a TV Terrorist too! Sensationalism in the media is worth more than your beliefs your good morals and spirituality is not for us to say as long as that red dot across your forehead turns into an infrared. -Look up Hassan! And YOU can be a TV Terrorist too! From the cities of Iraq to the caves Afghanistan ride your camel and dignity right through an EZ Pass watch the drones drop and the ratings soar! -And YOU can be a TV Terrorist too!
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May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 11:30 AM UTC
TV Terrorist
-The best way to fight the fear of terrorism is by turning off your TV screens.- TV Terrorist. Ladies hide your burkas! the 1st amendment ain’t gonna protect ya because for as little as an ignorant comment... -YOU can be a TV Terrorist too! Racist slurs, misinformation and greed are 1/2 the price of what they used to be ACT NOW so they can see! -YOU can be a TV Terrorist too! Don’t let the sirens of the fashion police disturb ya we’ll wiretap your mosque from the city to suburbia just grow that beard Osama style! -And YOU can be a TV Terrorist too! After your Morning Joe just head over to CNN they’re about to have some Baklawa at Fox & Friends let’s keep feeding more hate speech to the talking heads. -So YOU can be a TV Terrorist too! Replace your Quran with the National Enquirer so you can be as American as they are Muhammed is not a match for Uncle Sam. -Just wear that robe the way Jesus did and YOU can be TV Terrorist too! You see, turban rhymes with Taliban therefore you’re all the same so pump our gas brown skin clashes with the red, white & blue of our flag. -Just make sure to look angry! And YOU can be a TV Terrorist too! Sensationalism in the media is worth more than your beliefs your good morals and spirituality is not for us to say as long as that red dot across your forehead turns into an infrared. -Look up Hassan! And YOU can be a TV Terrorist too! From the cities of Iraq to the caves Afghanistan ride your camel and dignity right through an EZ Pass watch the drones drop and the ratings soar! -And YOU can be a TV Terrorist too!
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37
It's like I used to be able to see so much It’s like I used to be able to feel so much More than I should have been able to... Infrared, red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet, ultraviolet But infrared and ultraviolet were too much to bear They were blinding me, crippling me Too much of a good thing, I guess So they gave me a pill to pop That blunts the edges And all I see now Are yellow and green But I remember when I could see ultraviolet...
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Jun 11, 2019
Jun 11, 2019 at 5:56 PM UTC
Ultraviolet
Honey-flavored icicles In a wintry, wind-blown stand Whispers wander Waiting longer A wrinkle in my hand, I can't Imagine rays of ultraviolet Infrared I see Long lost, bones tossed But blue shines light at sea She smiles, crows are flying They're landing at her feet A carrion She carries on Until her final seat It's nice The light, the red is bright Emitting blue and green Life is this, all that is Much deeper than it seems
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Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 3:11 PM UTC
infrared
there may    or may not exist certain colours that the human eye is unable to see an insipid    blueish-yellow an unpalatable    greenish-red each said to be impossible for our eyes to process; if seen it could appear in all manner of forms but would remain indescribable they say that butterflies can see the ultraviolet spectrum and that the honey bee sees in infrared; and so it would not be too absurd for a person to dismiss the "impossible" to believe in the possibility of the as-yet unseen although scientifically the only way to perceive these "forbidden" hues is through trickery and constraint by forcing the brain into seeing both antagonistic colours simultaneously and without reprieve until the border between the opposing shades finally dissolves there may be a truth but it is hidden somewhere between the plausible    yet impalpable and the proven    yet proselytised
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May 2, 2022
May 2, 2022 at 11:30 AM UTC
once you see it...
Time and space in which we think we are. I wonder where it ends, and the beginning starts. Somewhere past the infrared, Between the black and ultraviolet, The vibration's hum is endless, but seems so still and quiet. Heat from suns and cold, empty distance Keeps perfect balance for our existence. A symmetry for simple structure Expanding in explosive nature. Life is sparked in the darkness. Pressure buckles under construction, Mountains skip and oceans boil Struggle for substance in the morsel Whether microscopic, or colossal. Evolution keeps threading the needle. Vicious fire, ice and flying rock Versus a little blue bubble, that one day will pop. It's too much to take in, like counting raindrops Appreciate the beauty and forget-me-nots. Because one day, this might all stop. What an overwhelming universe.
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Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
Overwhelming Universe
from ultraviolet to infrared and all that’s in between, only you..... my crescent bearing jewel who’s pure as white jasmine © 2021
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Jun 19, 2021
Jun 19, 2021 at 11:02 AM UTC
a to z
Pale skin drained of blood and life, Dark hair covered in snow flakes of dead skin, Voluptuous curves forcing your walk into a limp, You intoxicate me with your tarnished beauty, A dusty copper coin aged green, Lost in a cabinet of old tattered books and decaying heaps of trash, Crushed paper clotting the corners of the window, Blocking the sunshine, Yet through the dust and grime you brought forth infrared light given off from the warmth of your heart, The creamy red fluid running through your veins, Ugly or not, you were beautiful, You were my shining star, My chase, But I left that tattered rotting room for one moment, To open the blinds, To let the light shine in upon your crusty copper, But no light came through the window, In a panic I dusted and dusted, Trying to free the amorphous glass of the gray particulates, Someone had switched off the light, I knew at that moment god was against me, Turning off the sun in a rage, Protecting his pure daughter from my tendrils of depression and cold romance, For when I came back, Looking for the coin, It was gone, Claimed by the man with the candle stick, Using artificial light to seek her heart, He was gone in a flash, Tumbling down the stairs to his steed, As he raced off into the Marsh... I tossed myself out the window, Breaking glass and bone as I slammed into the ground stories below, Struggling to get up, Love pushing me, Yet with everything I had, Every little last cell and emotion, His steed was too fast, The chase was over.
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Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 2:06 PM UTC
Freestyle Love Poem
Pale skin drained of blood and life, Dark hair covered in snow flakes of dead skin, Voluptuous curves forcing your walk into a limp, You intoxicate me with your tarnished beauty, A dusty copper coin aged green, Lost in a cabinet of old tattered books and decaying heaps of trash, Crushed paper clotting the corners of the window, Blocking the sunshine, Yet through the dust and grime you brought forth infrared light given off from the warmth of your heart, The creamy red fluid running through your veins, Ugly or not, you were beautiful, You were my shining star, My chase, But I left that tattered rotting room for one moment, To open the blinds, To let the light shine in upon your crusty copper, But no light came through the window, In a panic I dusted and dusted, Trying to free the amorphous glass of the gray particulates, Someone had switched off the light, I knew at that moment god was against me, Turning off the sun in a rage, Protecting his pure daughter from my tendrils of depression and cold romance, For when I came back, Looking for the coin, It was gone, Claimed by the man with the candle stick, Using artificial light to seek her heart, He was gone in a flash, Tumbling down the stairs to his steed, As he raced off into the Marsh... I tossed myself out the window, Breaking glass and bone as I slammed into the ground stories below, Struggling to get up, Love pushing me, Yet with everything I had, Every little last cell and emotion, His steed was too fast, The chase was over.
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39
Bathtubs don’t work for quantum suicide But every time I take one, A part of me dies What was nice under the crescent aglow? Drunk on stars, or the moon lit show… Ash of night, cradled what was once mine, The repertoire of ever-syncing- jawlines. Puissant is the chalice, its exaltation shined so bright, Bestowed liberation underneath the chatoyant light, The open windows left  niveous  fogs- Breathed -stained –air,  against crystal ***** Alive and one, under the entire earthly tempo, Together left her organic imprints of art nouveau. Beneath the warmth and petrichor ground, The Lord and Lady commence to be crowned. ...Tree roots sink as veins of gods. The serpent whispers his mellifluous facade... The sharp shove of love’s first arrow Lover’s spit, a seed for cupid’s bucolic furrow. Scripture of Solomon’s *** temple of doom All within the nicotine-stained-blue-infrared-bedroom, Velvet allure, bellies of vigor, The cold point, the pulled trigger. Dance of Thelma, ancient cults of non-lovers Feasting north, under the Horned God’s antlers. The concoction of the widow’s deviated lust Skins alive, the excited wolf-mans’ husk… The gun’s mouth ex hailed bullets of smoke Piercing hot wounds became tender lilts in up word strokes. Still, they brought, perforating ice knives through the chest Catching fades perpetually, just until two came abreast. The shadow dalliance and hair pulls leave those weary, The anise flower seeds sanction the suffering query. What was once so beautiful at night? Forgotten, as I turned red-haired-heathen in morning’s sight So I take my hot bath, inure in my offing. Emollient paean of the porcelain, ...which is my skin See you, my ethereal being, In short time spring will be fleeting
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May 8, 2012
May 8, 2012 at 11:43 AM UTC
Ritual Song
Bathtubs don’t work for quantum suicide But every time I take one, A part of me dies What was nice under the crescent aglow? Drunk on stars, or the moon lit show… Ash of night, cradled what was once mine, The repertoire of ever-syncing- jawlines. Puissant is the chalice, its exaltation shined so bright, Bestowed liberation underneath the chatoyant light, The open windows left  niveous  fogs- Breathed -stained –air,  against crystal ***** Alive and one, under the entire earthly tempo, Together left her organic imprints of art nouveau. Beneath the warmth and petrichor ground, The Lord and Lady commence to be crowned. ...Tree roots sink as veins of gods. The serpent whispers his mellifluous facade... The sharp shove of love’s first arrow Lover’s spit, a seed for cupid’s bucolic furrow. Scripture of Solomon’s *** temple of doom All within the nicotine-stained-blue-infrared-bedroom, Velvet allure, bellies of vigor, The cold point, the pulled trigger. Dance of Thelma, ancient cults of non-lovers Feasting north, under the Horned God’s antlers. The concoction of the widow’s deviated lust Skins alive, the excited wolf-mans’ husk… The gun’s mouth ex hailed bullets of smoke Piercing hot wounds became tender lilts in up word strokes. Still, they brought, perforating ice knives through the chest Catching fades perpetually, just until two came abreast. The shadow dalliance and hair pulls leave those weary, The anise flower seeds sanction the suffering query. What was once so beautiful at night? Forgotten, as I turned red-haired-heathen in morning’s sight So I take my hot bath, inure in my offing. Emollient paean of the porcelain, ...which is my skin See you, my ethereal being, In short time spring will be fleeting
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40
vampire bats are jumbo jets flying high with their six foot wingspan flapping through this heart of night stretching against the surface of the sky hiding the face of the sun yes, pitch black leather wings grabbing hold of space and time slicing through the thick of night slipping pass the House of Hades being guarded by gray ghosts griffins and gargoyles but somehow the Gothic moon stands her ground nor does she sleep a wink tonight letting go of fear and fright protecting the still of night knowing that the vampire bats possess infrared eyes to capture their prey
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Feb 13, 2011
Feb 13, 2011 at 7:16 PM UTC
The Gothic Moon
The Heisenberg uncertainty principle Can tell me you've moved But it can't tell me how fast; Or it can tell me You're nearing light speed But not if you're coming closer Or moving farther away from me. Yet I can feel the sunlight I know it takes eight minutes From the central fire of the solar system To reach my skin And so it is, I can sense the flame Of your presence Even a million years distant: Nothing else gives off as much light.
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Apr 11, 2010
Apr 11, 2010 at 5:15 PM UTC
Super Infrared
I often wonder what stars look like during daylight. Understandably, that seems contradictory, seeing as daylight is cast from a star. This isn’t starting out so well.... Just.. Hear me out on this one.... Alright, let’s start again. I often wonder what stars looking like during daylight. Do the spread life-giving rays toward deep space or is that just the ignorant optimist speaking too quickly? I tend to speak first, question later, Standard american wisdom, does anyone else think it’s cool that the hottest stars are actually blue? Blue... Like the eyes of pretty girls on TV, Blue, like the first T-shirt my second love told me I looked good in, for a third time. Blue... Like... Blue’s Clues? So far, not so good. I’ll apologize to the audience right now, It’s been some time since I’ve written, Feeling like a typewriter collecting 50 years of dust, my words are quite antiquated. Now... Where were we? Right! The stars! They scream to me, words, I only wish I could understand. I can hear the right side of the sky when the wind calms, and clouds disappear. “ gaze upon us, let’s fill your emptyness, enjoy the abundance of mysteries sent through your squinted eyes and released from your over-bearing shout. Hey now, I don’t know about you, that sounded pretty good. Definitely going to keep that in here. I think I’m unraveling the mystery, The stars are magicians. A bit of sleight of hand, now you see me... Now, only they see me. I finally understand why the ends of stars are pointed, it’s the edge of their wands. Cascading star dust over what they see fit, I remember being told humans are made of such a thing. If truth is spoken from these lips, Color me blue, I wish to be the hottest thing in the sky. Sadly, I’ll be an infrared Super giant, just wasting up space. Maybe I’m not to know why I can’t see the stars. I’m not meant to know the mysteries, after all, a good magician never reveals his tricks. Tonight I’ll look up towards them, infinity between us, I’ll speak to them; I still can’t see you during daylight. I can’t hear the left side of the sky, it’s whispers clouded by Andromeda. However, this stellar disappearing act has allowed one piece of light to shine through the cloud cover and dust I’ve collected. They’ve helped me finish the poem.
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Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 3:09 PM UTC
The Stars Guide Me
I often wonder what stars look like during daylight. Understandably, that seems contradictory, seeing as daylight is cast from a star. This isn’t starting out so well.... Just.. Hear me out on this one.... Alright, let’s start again. I often wonder what stars looking like during daylight. Do the spread life-giving rays toward deep space or is that just the ignorant optimist speaking too quickly? I tend to speak first, question later, Standard american wisdom, does anyone else think it’s cool that the hottest stars are actually blue? Blue... Like the eyes of pretty girls on TV, Blue, like the first T-shirt my second love told me I looked good in, for a third time. Blue... Like... Blue’s Clues? So far, not so good. I’ll apologize to the audience right now, It’s been some time since I’ve written, Feeling like a typewriter collecting 50 years of dust, my words are quite antiquated. Now... Where were we? Right! The stars! They scream to me, words, I only wish I could understand. I can hear the right side of the sky when the wind calms, and clouds disappear. “ gaze upon us, let’s fill your emptyness, enjoy the abundance of mysteries sent through your squinted eyes and released from your over-bearing shout. Hey now, I don’t know about you, that sounded pretty good. Definitely going to keep that in here. I think I’m unraveling the mystery, The stars are magicians. A bit of sleight of hand, now you see me... Now, only they see me. I finally understand why the ends of stars are pointed, it’s the edge of their wands. Cascading star dust over what they see fit, I remember being told humans are made of such a thing. If truth is spoken from these lips, Color me blue, I wish to be the hottest thing in the sky. Sadly, I’ll be an infrared Super giant, just wasting up space. Maybe I’m not to know why I can’t see the stars. I’m not meant to know the mysteries, after all, a good magician never reveals his tricks. Tonight I’ll look up towards them, infinity between us, I’ll speak to them; I still can’t see you during daylight. I can’t hear the left side of the sky, it’s whispers clouded by Andromeda. However, this stellar disappearing act has allowed one piece of light to shine through the cloud cover and dust I’ve collected. They’ve helped me finish the poem.
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2
Backseat Sheetzburgerz Care not for all theze Rave tunez blaring out of the front side stereo What burgerz understand, and can count on, iz Zeppelin Perfect for air guitar At this time of night on this stretch of asphalt All the defunct amusement parks have infrared cameraz Well, shoot What iz there left to do now but roam Up and down roadz with namez Like Spooky Nook and Crooked Crook Until the sun darez to invade our rubber wheel realm once again The front side disco spinnerz Would like to go home But the back seat burger boyz are ready to roll on Into some sort of surreal horizon With a cotton candy ending And haunted housez to greet us for breakfast
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Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 5:32 PM UTC
Backseat Sheetzburgerz
There you stand in a ring of fire feeling gravity **** you down tearing you away layer by layer. And like a dying red giant you collapse and bear defeat. Here you lay on an ice sheet of apathy; the chilling wind slapping you in the face. A precipitation of tears drip from your swollen eyes and a blue Aura shrouds your head; you weep your way through this transition. Now you float; mind from body. And like an infrared mist of electromagnetic static you shoot up! Towards the heavens! Taking your place amongst the stars and reuniting with your ancestors
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Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 3:55 PM UTC
Misery
In the dark we form From the nebula Of hydrogen and dust We compress Under massive gravitational force Slowly rotating we increase In matter But pressure from others And our own gravitation Causes our collapse We cool down Emitting infrared light And radio waves And we spin faster As our spin increases Temperatures rise And once more we form With centrifugal force A central core Stable And a revolving disc Of future planets Soon orbiting Our heat Caused by the friction of bodies Makes us glow Our fusion prevents further contraction And begets jets Intense beams of radiation For lifeforms to enjoy Or fear But we know That when the hydrogen fuel is spent This star too Will begin to die
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Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 11:58 AM UTC
Birth Of A Star
a kiss one day I'll be nothing the best days of my life have been embarrassing myself on social media it's constant. there is no sound in the world muddy infrared generalizations recognized as awareness in deep thought means I stare at an object in silence. since then a spider has become more nothing than usual I think I might have died too passion for writing is the chemical decay so carbon dating is calculated through words the truth has never emptied me so thoroughly my headache is gone, I wish this was good news a kiss is worth savoring like the number of days your friend's Netflix account stays active what did God try to create a reality where one can receive a MFA in loneliness and still manage to be unemployed that is a distinguished honor especially since Facebook has been pivotal
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May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 11:19 PM UTC
My Own Look into Pre-Failure
Volatile nerves tremble and skin is raised, reaching. I find an eyelash that clings, his gentle fingers are hard, gentle, never weak. He blinks and so does the camera and I’m still, a breath caught within infrared. There are trees, leaves that delight as I eavesdrop in their chatter. I touch the bark, pretend to not see the scars. I whisper for permission to leave another. D plus E.
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Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 10:56 PM UTC
imprints
"It's going to be snowing" I hate it when your doomsday predictions are right. But now that you are, I wish you were here. And in the dark with a sharp wind I'm blinded and driving home, alone. When I flip on the high beams, it looks like hyperdrive kicked in and we made the jump to light speed. But there is no "we" and I'm alone, going home, at thirty-five Which feels a little risky. If you were here, you.'d tell me to slow down... So annoyingly. But, at least it would be your voice With 20 degrees in my vision field, the world may just as well have evaporated. And driving home without you, it feels like it too. If I was a hound, I'd smell my way through this night. like infrared for my nose. But all I smell is the half eaten banana and the cheap pine car scent hanging from the rear view mirror like its some thing anyone would want to look at Why did you put that there? Why do I make these trips alone, without you? My hands are sweaty. I can tell I'm gripping the wheel too tight. I'm tense and losing perspective of the road, my speed, the snow flakes on the windshield start to command my attention. I'm looking only 18 inches in front of me. I need to relax - pretend like I'm drunk so if I wreck, I may not get hurt as much I wish you were here. Your fear would ground me. Instead, my fear imperils me. We're that way. Better together, in a snowy night, on a lonely road. Heading home. .
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Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 1:44 AM UTC
Heading Home
Infrared. Casting shadows in the alley Which was once our home. Our palace. Our place of worship, that now, Only the devil speaks of And the weak We carry ourselves high now Mighty. Sadly, our place dies. Elevated and sacred. But brings anew, a sea-bed of growth And a hyacinth of hopeful hue To think, All this time you knew. That I would begin again Fresh. Spring and fairy-like against the darkness of blue
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Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 8:36 PM UTC
Blue