"intersection" poems
and here i am again
at the intersection
of pedestrian language
& old wives tales
swallowing gum
like 7 year memories
opening umbrellas inside
cause i can't seem get away
from all of this rain
i ********** with my left hand
cause i was told
back in highschool that
"it feels like someone else is doing it"
it gets me wondering
about the difference between
losing you and finding out
that some one else found you
or my sleep
or lack thereof
its starting to tear me apart
i keep having this dream
where you are in
an unfamiliar body of water
trying to wash my poetry
off of your hands
or the one where
something happens in my chest
every time you sit
on someone else's bed
i'm tired of feeling like something you've misplaced
but don't have the heart
to look for anymore
tired of you saying my name
like you're trying to bury it
i'm tired of wondering
if you can tell the difference
between the absence
of my voice & silence
the other day
i almost started sobbing
at work when a woman
asked me about
our equipment
i was explaining how
things come apart
and almost mentioned your name
it made me think
of how you used to say
things like "what would you do
if i showed up on your doorstep
one day?" now, i haunt
the windows in my house
i don't leave for weeks at a time
i sit on the porch like the dog
you didn't shoot behind the shed
the one that refuses to die
until you come home again
i told somebody once, that
you didn't even know
what my voicemail sounded like
i wonder if they thought
it was because you
are so important that i never
let it ring that many times
before picking up
or if you dont know
what it sounds like
because you've never called
you can't be the ****** weapon
and the search party
i'm tired of all the seats
to the ferris wheel in my chest
being empty
tired of your voice
being the one i look for
in abandoned places
that one sound i beg
to bounce back
down vacant hallways
i just seem to stand there
in all of that quiet
like someone looking for a mistake
on an eviction notice
so i guess the hardest part
isn't letting go
it's forgetting
you ever had a grip
in the first place
and since you've been gone
i wonder if when
you pushed yourself away from me
you used your left hand
so it felt like someone else did it
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 12:54 AM UTC
as i stand on this street corner and watch these two roads meet, i finally feel at peace
maybe it’s because it’s my feet at the intersection of two distinct paths,
merging at a point of vulnerability
maybe because it’s a reminder of you and me
and a blissful bond we once shared.
without a care in the world,
your arms wrapped around me to shelter me from the cold.
two souls kept warm by each other’s company.
two hearts dancing in the rain playfully, two minds with the same thing in mind; you want me to be yours and i want you to be mine.
i don’t know, maybe i’m crazy.
maybe time has finally outplayed me maybe i’ve stopped seeing beauty in the little things, maybe i’ve stopped appreciating the gift life brings.
maybe i’m in over my head, or
maybe i miss the familiar contours of your body between the chalk white sheets of my bed.
i don’t know,
maybe this is normal.
maybe i stopped being myself after you left, maybe this is all a test.
maybe i failed and i
couldn’t clean up the mess
maybe thats why the rain suddenly feels colder on my skin.
maybe thats why whenever i try to apologize i don’t know where to begin or
where to end all these that I’ve typed in my mind to tell you i just
can’t hit send
maybe i ****** up and i won’t admit it maybe I’m a coward.
seems like I’ve got all the time in the world, maybe i should do something about it i mean
every minute without you feels like an hour
maybe I’m a fool for distancing myself from you
maybe that why i couldn’t end with that i loved you because for some reason
i couldn’t accept that
maybe
just maybe you might of loved me too
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 5:57 PM UTC
A bleak motive, turning in a black backwards motion.
Fluent in rushing, pursuant in the crushing.
Ebony wood, the serenity compared to the knife.
A stifling recollection, within the house of corrections.
Was it a natural selection, gazing within the angel's reflection?
Garbed in white, and in her conviction.
A change of direction, now...
The resurrection of our mutual affection,
Was it over protection, or was it just mental rejection?
The pain was only an imperfection, built within all our disconnection.
My sense of direction gone within your vertical selection,
left with words- sharp like a needle;
sticking an intravenous injections.
So, should I offer my protection? Moments, within sight of the point of intersection?
No, keep on...
Keep on spreading the rejection infection.
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 2:10 PM UTC
A lifetime ago, I was younger like you,
before my dreams faded and life was still new.
I wish I knew then, all that I know now,
I wanted our life but didn’t know how.
I settled for less and tried the right things,
and cashed in my soul for all that it brings.
I’ve made my mistakes, like others before,
forgiveness more fleeting, ‘til you closed the door.
Waiting for answers, I went into shock,
you left me no choice but to turn back the clock.
I walk this new path while finding myself,
forgetting our past is best for my health.
As I move along, a decade removed,
my body more fit now to go with my mood.
I realize by now we could have had more,
alone I will see what life has in store.
I so miss the comfort of you every night,
kindness from others, brings love at first sight.
Each new encounter, just gives me a shove,
reminding myself not to fall back in love.
When, where and who will be the right one?
I’ve so much to give, just let it be done.
I may never take them, to become my wife,
but I need embraces to sustain my life.
Addiction exists with drugs and affection,
I’m itching for love at each intersection.
How long must I wait to rip out the sutures?
Pleasure Delayer, indefinite future.
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 5:48 AM UTC
the angel amongst us
~for Alexander, master splasher~
*flexibility is important when poetry writing in a warm tub and a long day ahead is scheduled; so willingly accept the autocorrect
for I am both an experienced poet and bath soaker and
believer in wondrous mystery and unexpected fumbles
that lead to to miracle touchdowns
~•~
the two mathematicians examine the angle, measure the degree of difference at intersection and bless it with an identity,
calling it by its name,
perhaps obtuse, perhaps right, perhaps both
two sets of eyes examine the angle,
study its ****** expression
the old man says:
see the angle on the clock formed by the big handle on the twelve and the little hand on the eight?
this is angle of eight o’clock:
time to stop the splashing and start the get-readying
for we have miles to go before the ocean can say hello!
little angel says angle no go
and slashes the water with both
hands to establish the firmness of his views
and change Einstein’s time from present to future
the angle depends on the perspective of the viewer
the old poet comprehends leaving a warm tub is a regretful thing
but he measures the degree of difference at this
intersection
of time and bath and blesses it with an identity
“time to go”
the angle of my angel is now 2 pointed arms, pointed straight up,
at the twelve o'clock,
as he stands up in fevered protest,
my arms sweep his little legs to
a point at eight o’clock,
angel, commenting on his swift flight
disputes the grandfathers physics
"no go now,
now go later^"
though the angle is unchanged
the perspective of time and space
(and traffic),
yet differs
one sees an angle,
the angel sees time
eternally folding in on itself*
that is the angle amongst us
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 8:58 AM UTC
The nature around us
Provokes to think!
The geometry of nature
Creates coincidences and intersections!
Coincidences of creation- destruction and re-construction!
Intersection reveals the connectivity,
Connectivity between deconstruction and reconstruction!
Geometry portray the commonness and uniqueness,
Commonness and uniqueness between
‘image and number’ and ‘shape and number’!
It leads all relation to number relation!
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 2:30 PM UTC
As we kiss,
Our hips like waves of flesh crash together.
Into one another they collide like two craters pulled in by gravity.
Our bodies connect like two streets at an intersection,
Lines "X" and "Y".
Your body as if a black hole ***** me in.
I ****** moving deeper with every movement.
You moan,
Such an ear tingling sound.
It slips through clenched teeth, only after climbing up your throat.
A song like no other,
Made only when your body is pushed to its point of bliss.
As we kiss,
Your heart races as if running for Olympic gold.
Your mind becomes clouded by a satisfying fog.
The sensitivity of our bodies skyrocket.
Our body's are overheated by our sensual passion.
Our hands intertwining fully making us one entity.
As we kiss,
Ecstasy in it's most unsullied state is reached.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC
I see two people
so in love with each other
schmoozing numinous dialect,
only a purest of heart can fathom.
I see a kiss I hear it too,
I see eyes pinnacles
lips singing
and heart sinking in love.
Now, do not tell me
I’m seeing
a teaching of Venn diagram
on the display board,
and my explanation for
A intersection B is ludicrous!
Please do not tell me
I’m wrong.
It must be poetry
I'm seeing,
and I'm in love with it
more than anything else.
/*Orginal poem published in Mayalayam, translated by poet. */
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 8:30 AM UTC
Love is a ***** soup going stale but steaming like it's brand new;
And I'm Oliver twist walking up to the *** with a rusty spoon full of desire and hope asking for more but getting none.
Love is a Doctor gathering dead bodies and shackling them up in chains;
And I'm a green freak with Frankenstein bolts ****** through my head walking around with only a mumble to muster trying to love people who just want to run away.
Love is a white paper rolled so finely, full of sedatives and drugs;
And I'm sitting by a fire reaching in for a log to smoke.
Love is puzzle made by Einstein and Sam Loyd;
And I'm a child with eyes made of glass and hands made of thorns crying to my mother because that puzzle is a *****
Love is Navy Seal training on a beach covered in cold water spilling blood for a chance;
And I'm a pot-smoking hippie who holds up signs and tells soldiers they’re monsters as I take a puff of death.
Love is a ten-syllable word compacted into one;
And I'm a hooked on phonics children’s thesaurus struggling to find a comparison that I can actually pronounce.
Love is a white egg timer sitting on the fridge set to all nines;
And I'm a busy housewife waiting to cook dinner at the sound of its bell.
Love is a robber with a 45 in his belt;
And I'm an eager dad trying to protect his family with a wooden stick.
Love is hot coffee from a luxury beverage shop;
And I'm a plastic party cup melting away.
Love is a doctor with a PHD in heart surgery;
And I'm a sick child waiting with his mother with no healthcare ******* on a free doctor’s-office lollypop.
Love is a huge pink eraser;
And I'm a graphite pencil struggling to write while me and the eraser fight.
Love is a pickup truck speeding through town drunk;
And I'm a lost puppy running through the same intersection looking for my owner.
Love is meant for fish;
And I'm a bird.
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 12:18 PM UTC
<>
"And then one day you came back home
You were a creature all in rapture
You had the key to your soul
And you did open that day you came back to the garden
The olden summer breeze was blowin' on your face
The light of God was shinin' on your countenance divine
And you were a violet colour as you
Sat beside your father and your mother in the garden
The summer breeze was blowin' on your face
Within your violet you treasure your summery words
And as the shiver from my neck down to my spine
Ignited me in daylight and nature in the garden"
In the Garden,
song by by Van Morrison
<>
***This touches me deep in the chest cavity,
the palpitations of its internalizing echoing cavitations,
a warning, go slow, choose your words wise and
accrue, the mood,
for the ache of creating, hurts, fevers me
for I am but steps away from the garden,
and its violet hues infused with fresh sunrising golden hazes,
with kindly warmth, with warming kindnesses,
touches,
caresses my shoulders, begs me to stop crying,
overcome, for I am overcome, eyes dropping wetting droplets,
for find myself at the intersection,
interlocking crossroads
where perfect perfection
begins and must
meet its natural endings
thoughts of capture, retentions, preservations,
all impossibilities, challenges,
see me, begging itinerant
muses
in the neighborhood
to guide my hand, teach me newsome words,
mine feel so old, so unworthy of this moment,
hearing me solicit their
Treasure of Summery
Words
but they won't,
excusing themselves,
that this in particular human has exercised, exorcised,
all the tools in his ever diminishing capacity,
time insufficient to learn a new calculus of
addition
and bid me calm my heaving chest,
seize my tears, just add them to the brackish salted waters steps
awaiting away
live in this moment
live within this poem,
revisit it frequent,
weep no more,
your stilling heart weakened,
take fast what is given now,
and be contented,
your treasury chest is full,
overflowing with this summary of
summery***
but I am not, cannot…
7:48:am
jul 22
Jul 22, 2025
Jul 22, 2025 at 8:03 AM UTC
we lay together, 6:00am, body warmth touch-sharing,
as the June morning summer chill coming off its night nadir coolness
surrenders very reluctantly,
full length pajamas, blankets and coverlets in use,
keeping cold out while bodies touching generate heat -
a big difference
through these layers of cotton controversy, my right arm,
my cunning, falls awkwardly upon her, advising I am woken
and aware she is as well, hear her earbuds emplaced, make shushed
whispering noises re the future of artificial intelligence
and other such mental knottings
my awkward angled arm rests on her landscaped outline of shape,
coming to rest where legs meet at the top of an upside down V spot,
which makes no request, but accepts my bequest of steady
stroking of her ****** as an unnecessary
but atheist-acceptable to her
morning prayer ritual, kept at the intersection of the
physical and physics theorems
funny how some prayers,
where recitation comes thoughtlessly and routine,
uttered without any contemplation are yet
deep comforting for their inherency,
so I pray a stroking repetitive on her body,
well hid neath a summer coverlet,
wordlessly chanted, wordlessly accepted, silence connoting approving permission
I comfort her,
above and through a floral coverlet for her floral coverlet,
till the sun rises enough to truly warm up our plot,
my praying reaches the end of its rope,
where quality and quantity achieve unanimity resolution
no longer needed,
but am appreciated, besides my arm is cramping,
not designed for the rising, unleveled angle of her breathing bodice
my comfort is her extra comforter,
an offering of coffee my reward,
for my daily work has begun,
and I have many more poems stillborn
that require coaxing stroking
to become
witnesses to living
Jun 17, 2019
Jun 17, 2019 at 7:32 PM UTC
I stroke your skin like a leaf
and hold it up to the light,
allowing fingertips
to go slow from root to tip.
to sew the lining where two unlike materials meet.
to code this friction into tactile intuition...
And yet--
I am afraid.
With this and all acts of temptress divination.
I, I...am afraid.
I want to read our intersection.
I want
to see in your life-line.
myself.
First, I will find the highways of your pulse-
watch as they
give way to country roads.
Dissecting life-ways into bi-ways
where I can go slow from
root to tip.
rise
Feel the land
and fall.
from grass
to hallowed knoll-
Throw me dirt and blow out your windows.
Take me slow
down the side roads.
Next, I consult
the creases of your open fist.
Gone are the fine blue lines
-the tomographic
Heat, and its rhizomatic
beat.
Instead, you hold me in this underpass
[the clamminess and opposite-land of passion and speed]
where
[shadows cling and relationships keep].
You hold my hand.
To leave, and blast!
- to stay, I will need a map.
Hide me here long enough to find beauty
in the fine etched lines
that paint the walls in broad swoops of graffiti:
those cryptic tag-lines that advertise your witty, poetic celebrity.
from finger to wrist
arc
the to the thumb
the pulse that could run
on and on.
[our] distant reflection
-a mirage in the rising sun.
where
the earth line cuts off the air line
to fuse the heart- and the head
-line.
Jan 17, 2012
Jan 17, 2012 at 10:51 PM UTC
Here I stand on the intersection
Blocking every apparition
That appears before the collision
Of my unearthed passion
The debris it scattered
And the fragments it recollected
Did no good for our Russian Roulette
And my black dress that sweeped
Aiming blade to each direction
And shadow-chasing apparitions
Here I stand, on the intersection
With the devil’s spawn in front
The sinner angel on my left
The lost brothers of long-ago arts
And the mourning ladies behind in red
If I let my blade slip in front
Inferno is the runaway paradise prepared
Yet if I let my blade to my sides
Heaven hold no place for my stained black dress
And the mourning ladies in red
Have no colors that resembles mine
But that is just an extermination
That won’t even matter
For tragic is just a trapped magic
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 10:31 AM UTC
Nostalgia isn't what it used to be
Neither am I
Bewildered I am at how it turned out this way
Dreams and reality have to coexist
So they say
Unfortunately
That's the truth today
You see me and Casey had a good thing going
We were more than compatible
This was a love incomparable
We held hands, kissed on the street
We were happy, it was neat
This is the part where I get hurt
One day it was over, all in a blur
Something about us not being right
She moved out of the house and into the night
I'm not big on introspection
Now, I've no choice
I'm at the intersection
Of dreams and reality
With love somewhere in the middle
In search of a compass
Pointing to where I need to be
Mar 13, 2017
Mar 13, 2017 at 2:15 PM UTC
If the x-axis represented
the year we met, and
the y-axis represented
the year we stopped talking,
our point of intersection
would most likely be (14,15).
And sometimes, it seems so unfair.
Sometimes I wish
we were parallel lines, and
we never met in the first place.
Other times I wish
our lines coincided, and
we had an infinite number of solutions; an infinite amount of time
to know each other.
But our relationship is beautiful,
too, in it's own way.
We're two lines with
a plethora of things in common, and our lives got to cross
for just a small amount of time.
We got to find each other,
and then drift apart again.
But I'd rather have one point of intersection than none at all.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 10:04 PM UTC
Sa unang limang segundo, berde.
Sabi mo mahal mo. Sige, andar.
Sa susunod na dalawang segundo, dilaw.
Magmabagal ka muna.
Pagisipan mo kung tutuloy ka pa.
Sa huling segundo, pula.
Tigil na.
Wala na.
Maghintay ka nalang.
Magiging berde rin ulit yan.
Wag ka na mag-beating-the-red-light.
Pagbabayarin ka pa ng pulis at sasabihin sa'yong, "Nakita mo namang dilaw na yung ilaw, 'di ba? Ba't tumuloy ka pa?"
At ikaw naman 'tong nagbubulag bulagang sasabihing, "Akala ko po aabot pa ako."
Akala mo lang.
Akala mo kakayanin mo pa siyang habulin pero hindi na pala.
Akala mo maaabutan mo pa siya pero nakalayo na siya.
Akala mo.
Akala mo lang.
Pero mali ang iyong akala.
Sana.
Sana pala huminto ka na.
Sana pala hindi mo na hinabol.
Sana pala noong una palang, inalam mo na.
Sana inalam mo na, na di ka na niya mahal.
Kaya nung naging berde na yung ilaw, umandar na siya.
Pero nung umapak ka na sa gas upang habulin siya,
naging dilaw na yung ilaw.
Sana doon palang, tumigil ka na.
Sana doon palang, nagdahan-dahan ka na.
Pula na 'yung ilaw.
Tigil na.
'Wag mo nang pilitin pang habulin siya.
Pero ito ang sinasabi ko sa'yo,
Sa pagkakataong ito'y maging berde na muli,
Wag **** hintaying maging pula ulit ito.
Ang mga busina ng kotse sa iyong likod ang nagsasabi sayo, "Umandar ka na. Berde na ang ilaw. Ano pa ba ang ginagawa mo?"
Umapak ka sa gas, hindi para sa kanya.
Pero para sa sarili mo.
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 12:50 AM UTC
Alone into Rainy, twist a Dai clove, pattering rain, wind lingering foot Yuhuan, lengthy dark gray rain curtain hung plaintive, oblique rain splashes dusty track marks, those rainy season, those day's dependent, those nostalgic every night in this late spring rain, scraping completed my cold lonely, rain turned into a long and narrow alley Resentment, thwarted flows into atria, cool diffuse through the apex. Do not turn around in your mind of the day, I count, chatter thoughts of you, and for your Ai resentment, Acacia entanglement, filled Chu pain, no know what to say, but unfortunately does not help, once the owner of the rain falling, once clouds drifting sea oath, I never touched your warmth, sigh Lane is a rain: Wife - Why shallow edge. (yiwu export)
Came alone intersection, waving a monotonous right hand, held in our left vague shadow, the breakdown of the raindrops bounce dust, Red rain, your shadows, swaying like a willow in the rain erratic, like a hard rain exhibition wings flutter Ling heavy, like rain, pedestrians hurry hurry ...... once Pengguo footprints Bingqing appearance of your hands, had led a faint in the rain blessings Juyi Peng broken tile rain dream, comfort our goodbyes, we pay homage to the past. Acacia is the way the dust, whisk Yang is confusion of resentment, lost pain.
This year's rainy season to refresh my mind, I view Acacia dream dreams, the pain, resentment cut into the rain, stuck into the soil; tears into the hands of deep stone, sank; to have a bunch of rendering painful injury worry text buried in the memory, so that resentment heart of the sea to swim, let the pain out of the bone marrow, dusty track once marks, wound treatment desolate, firmly stand in Kuwata, enterprises no longer envy sea water. (yiwu export agent)
Let love and hate, love and hatred, grace and resentment, thinking and pain in the rainy season falling, drifting in the rainy season. I left alone a pool of water, the flow of soulful call. (Yiwu buying agent)
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 5:03 AM UTC
crazy idea, silly notion,
then again,
come back, circle around,
why not, you ask yourself
now prior to posting hereon,
every word with extra care reviewed
sharing, checking in
with my beloveds,
here, those gone/disappeared
telling myself
telling anyone,
talking to you
letting you know
my grace, your grace,
one and the same,
my face, your face,
my child, my son
know you're
checking in,
checking out,
the comings,
the goings,
knowing full and well,
I see you,
my face, your face
everywhere and everyday
our conversation never ending,
look for me here,
at the intersection
of memory and what's up,
you see my messages,
responding in a thousand
different ways,
our dialogue unending,
formally organized
Face to Facebook,
your face, my Facebook
my child, my son
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 6:34 AM UTC
“Congratulations
You managed being five feet above the ground”
Said a man who
Can’t contain a slight, sardonic sound
The situation:
He’s reading eating magazines from the coast of Spain
And yelling himself blue
For the jeepney won’t hurry in the pouring rain
He smashed his head on the glass
Wishing for a train
It nearly cracked / but his
New cadence sounded quite sane
“Congratulations
You took five before you smoked the first one down”
Said a man who
Complimented me for sinking above the ground
“It’s estimation
I might trip before a wheel enters our lane”
I yelled the truth
At this moment, his presence started to stain
A boat that had already passed us
Yelled, “All aboard!”
We weren’t sure it would float
But it had a great deal of cords
Then we clambered on
There was a myriad of golden spades
Two for every buried fool
That was forced to stay
The stench was concealed
By the satisfied old man
A woman muttered
That she was headed to Queensland
A driver viciously flung his arms
Into the air, in apt alarm
The intersection’s volley
Aimed for the starboard
Everyone reached for the mast,
Hoping to soar
“Congratulations
You nodded off before the lights started to blare”
Said a man who
Lied, ostentatiously impaired
I’m at the station
Then, I noticed to my side was a golden *****
I dug myself through
The mahogany and got on with my day
In the rain
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 2:34 PM UTC
The impatient soul awaits.
As crowds push towards the train.
He rushes to pass, can’t be late.
He looked at others, the insane.
He squeezed against and did shove.
They looked at him, silent grunts.
His angry mood, bared no love.
He was used to his way and wants.
One more push and catapults.
Into the air and did not fall.
He laughs at them, at their faults.
As he flies pass human walls.
Surprised, he got no attention.
He roared at them, till the last door.
His super power, that strengthened.
No longer waiting, he could soar.
Everyone looked to the left.
Train now expected delays.
Some tears were dropped as they wept.
A red end to someone’s day.
He flew back in that direction.
A sudden feeling, temptation.
There caught in the intersection.
His body, the impatient.
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 12:04 PM UTC
Bombers & bloggers
Tragedy is triumphant
Traffic gathers in a tweaked intersection divide
Wreaking of those fuming with exhaustion
Speed, cause you prefer the highway
Political in place of partial
The news carries dismay
Where is such trouble in this world you say?
Posing proposing, regulating;
Marijuana laws are changing
Complaining of taxing & weighing
Football, do you recalls, & puppy dogs,
Amber alerts & nostalgia where it hurts
Once again the news contright
Cut short cause it draaaags
Ruthless the truth is;
Everywhere you go, there the news is
You can't lose it, tied around your neck the noose is
Bed bugs It has;
Talking of spread shoots, ***** mags
This celebrity, the new 'fad', & that old hag
Throw up on the rag;
Forget it
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 2:29 AM UTC
My mind is a busy street
its twinkling lights and noisy horns won't shut
whilst the walls are made out of skyscrapers,
only when the rain is pouring it began to quiet
My mind is a busy street
indefinite amount of strangers are crossing every now and then
leaving their footprints on every intersection,
little did they know it cost me bleeding wounds
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 9:40 AM UTC
a gift for Aladdin Aures H
from his 3rd follower...
<>><<>
the inescapable need,
unformed firmament
inquiring; am I capable?
the impulse palpable,
the urge to urgent,
to gorge and disgorge?
instead of morning prayers,
precomposed and ordered,
morning poem plucked from
morning fog, gusted breezes,
early-on, newborn sun rays,
progeny of disheveled skies
words fused, in irregular sizes,
senses censured by drowsy eyes,
but the chest beating arrhythmia
means bursts of free verses
superimposed on reluctant eyelids,
jigsaw puzzlement be re-conformed
and the first poem of the day,
emerges from the intersection
of mind, pale dreams, and the
first is special till the neu morrow,
when fresh bursts explode inward
to windward, and the first is just
yesterday's mesh of hash,
once formidable, now last,
pinned, yellowing, purely a
**descendant of the recent,
but always, ancient past*^
Jun 19, 2025
Jun 19, 2025 at 3:13 PM UTC
Interjection Interjection
Guide me about this rounded intersection
You know the right direction
A hard working Mexican,
Living the dream, spending the suns life in scalding heat, yet he doesn't scream for he is simply living the dream, finally able to afford fancy American ice cream,
An expensive television sits upon his wall, maybe it'll get more use in the fall, but he works the suns whole life so he can watch as he falls asleep,
He awakes the next day, and he knows it will be the same. But he still does not scream, for its finally Friday,
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 11:35 AM UTC