"injectable" poems
Where Is Shelter?
depends on the location of the storm…
so oft have I queried the gods and you?
Where is Shelter?
*to which, my response, while surrounded so well (!)
within
my moated island circumferences redoubt,
always was a simple:
“Here, Here is shelter!
But so human, thus so prone to delimited vision,
always, we scan the skies outward, fearful of
the hurricane and storm that approach,
from without, appearing, and the brewing
sky’s danger is visceral~visible to the naked eyes,
when,
it is disguised within the chambers of the
body, festering, until it is pestering, and
shelter, sadly, is not injectable, transferable,
easy remedial, and the hunkering down
with four walls not the solution, for the walls
themselves are damaged by decades of
waves of innocuous gently lapping that* still
*erode igneous granite(1) and fissure the self,
this secretive, enemy insidious…*
so it comes to be, that my own daggers have
pivoted, the pointy dangers pointed outwards,
well entrenched in their own defenses, now targeting
the whole of me, my outer walls breached, and
fired upon by cannons of cells, a treacherous
attack, bombardement par l'artillerie et les drones,
of the Fifth Column (2)…
so once more, say no more, but ask the brief of demand,
Where is Shelter?
the answer is as of yet to be decided,
but the forces
arrayed for and against
are equally determined!
W.S.
Jul 29, 2023
Jul 29, 2023 at 3:30 PM UTC
I am not disposable.
That's a fact, it's non-negotiable.
A fact, which right now you smirk at-
but I am not a servant, and
you're certainly not an aristocrat.
I am not expendable.
I wish proper etiquette was injectable,
because that's a vaccine you desperately need.
Caring and truly caring-
you need to learn the difference between those two things.
I am not nonessential.
You think you know me inside and out,
but you don't have the right credentials.
I try to understand your motives,
but your thoughts are cryptic and confidential.
I am not unnecessary.
You make yourself into two faces-
the object of all my affection, and my greatest adversary.
This situation is just a coal mine-
your treating me like I am these things is the canary.
These things are what I am not.
I should be paramount in your life.
Through your own actions you've proven these are all I am to you,
You've unsheathed a backstabbing knife.
I am here to stay.
Though you've nonchalantly tried to toss me away,
you will learn someday,
that I am not disposable.
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 8:47 PM UTC
my name is brandychanning the writing drips over the side of the coffee mug,
dripping stains upon its ceramic clean whiteness,
making me love the perfection of its perfect~rounded simplicity
even more…to love even more…
what a great thing
that is, must be, to love beyond loving, even more,
makes me morning giddy at the possibility that at
anytime, or even at any any you will offer me an
elixir to turn dross into injectable gold, thrilling me
for real down to my tingling toes that I laugh at my
very own foolishness and immensity of possible that
this
poem spilled out when I spilled my coffee and was born
in totality, and received like an infant in a straw basket
floating down the Nile, where a princess (yeah, yeah,
was a princess before becoming a Queen, no nitpicking),
pulled me from the bulrushes flanking a wide snaking
powerful river, aged in its own right, dress in a hurry,
out, out with no destination other than LA sun on my
face, a calming force to my warnings of rapid heartbeat
Apple Watch informing on me, so yes, I need your comments,
need your knowing attention to reassure this sharing is
worth something to you, that this too
is a possibility immensity.
so here’s that poem:
even more,
even any,
any any
for real
my
very own
possibility immensity*
Nov 22, 2023
Nov 22, 2023 at 1:54 PM UTC
there are manacles of lead on my wrists,
poison bleeding into blackened veins
capillaries thinning from overuse
and over-abuse of injectable bliss
that pumps incessantly
into my dying heart
(it contracts so painfully now)
scale my fortress; a cesspool of lies,
of drunken kisses and hasty goodbyes
find me behind
closed bathroom doors and
abandoned alleyways
before my pulse ebbs away
and is swallowed
by the endless night
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 5:25 AM UTC
blood-letting once more;
let's waste a pint or two.
heavenly red roller coasters of
veins and arteries
dilate with nothing more than
the hint of injectable
ecstasy.
pure toxic delicacies line
intestines of precious
wasted years, nothing
accomplished but the faith
of a million highs; followed
evermore with drowned
spirits.
never letting go, yet never
quite in grasp, its a
purgatory at best.
Apr 11, 2010
Apr 11, 2010 at 12:57 PM UTC
(the drug cos. have invented this,
tablet, capsule, even injectable;
but the pharma cabal says
no to all,
who know & ask for a public release)
|~|
For
A Kiss That Lasts All Week
it will cure most illnesses,
and what’s the point in that?
you will just have to learn it
with practice, practice & tactics
no need to hurry, play with
the concept, roll it over the tongue,
ready for overseas deployment
said tongue,
the tongue now
the advance force
close your eyes
focus on the overwhelming
(says the now all powerful Wizard of Lips)
those underestimated sensors of the lips,
too oft disdained
in a overhurrief hurricane rush
to the
“big n’ better “ orifices,
and the slow luxury
of the tingly
uttering of
WOW~
shooting through you to the parts of you
suddenly rewoked
& now revoked
from the
quietude of functional boredom
and think
but do not speak
*** *** o m g,
this is
the fountain of youth,
the revitalized
cellular generation,
the speeding up of the
flow of blood
to places long forgot,
allowing the heart to pump
its gifts to the deadened spots,
reawakening the invisible
soul
that we all have in common
so:
get to “work”
Oct 13, 2024
Oct 13, 2024 at 12:52 PM UTC
If passion was injectable would you stay in this purple stuck cavern without saints or pain, left alone with only feeling together you and I, and as apache tears fall and cut my knees, will you take my hands and let me taint your skin with golden spikes? To run away with blinded lovers and gouged out eyes, will you silently yell my pure white lies like a pope to his god?
Don't be afraid, I won't let you leave. Not until i die in every breath you breathe
After all, all’s never fair in love and war
Feb 24, 2021
Feb 24, 2021 at 9:20 PM UTC