"lessly" poems
It's been a year
since I saw you
die
since I slept rest-
lessly, my forehead pressed
against your
hospital bed
Night after night
your struggling
breath and
the beep beep beep of
your monitors
It's been a year spent
licking my wounds
in hopes that they
would heal,
like people say that
time will do
It's been a year
since I saw you
die
and, my
love,
I still can't
live without
you.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 1:44 PM UTC
i remember this one conversation
with such clarity it alarms me
in the dead of night
with a longing for ecstasy
seeping through his tone he asked me,
"could..you imagine....what..life...would be like...if we weren't..mentally ill?"
and with that question
my hanging heart
sunk even lower into its pit
due to jealousy and frustration
for my cursed blessing
and i was confused on how
for i had believed my heart already laid
at what i'd thought to be
rock bottom
well besides that,
he did provoke me
to question
is there is a chance
for my heart to find
its rightful place
in my body
yet again?
and maybe along with it
all of my chemical receptors,
and my neurological network of pathways
could all find their own
harmonious balance and natural sources
of dopamine, serotonin, and epinephrine
and have them work "flaw"lessly
just, way they were originally created to
when the goddess of mental
crafted these things with such care
and gifted those beautifully painful things
to humankind
****
the unholy things i'd do to obtain
the goddess of neurotypicality's
scientific? spiritual? situational?
whatever the **** is in her elixir of secret
for mental peace and serenity
that few were blessed with unconditionally
to me it just sounds like magic
but back to him the only way i could reply
was with,
"i could only dream"
for i believe
in a lifetime of mine past
i may may have made a deal
with the devil of neurodiversity,
a fallen angel without malice,
who simply forgot
to grant me the knowledge
of how i would be reborn
into a world
where its society
would be unfit for me and my kind of mind
and with that thought lingering i added,
"but yeah...it must be nice"
Jun 10, 2021
Jun 10, 2021 at 6:27 AM UTC
When I push the pedal to the metal theres no limit I **** space...
my movement never constant just can't stay in one place...
So I zoom zoom through the poom poom...
leaving ****** scenes in bedrooms..
given girlies the boom boom...
Explode...As i unload...
round after round clip after clip...
as their bodies shake and twitch lick after lick...
Sounds of *** remind me I'm some ****
And why the **** Im i even sittin here doin this...
With no remorse in my eyes..
I **** em until they die...
pound after pound
clap sound after clap sound...
pelivis agianst *****
we know which is the meanest..
Wit no protection Im at war..
with criminals who only *****
Thier war crimes they get paid for...
then the death toll I get blaimed for..
As i leave them slayin to rest...
Some label me the best...
others just another *** that clucks at all the hens..
Can't read my metaphors that means ***** alot of women...
The reaction is i get a lot of practice so i can be to half bad..
So dont sign up for tryouts get cut then get mad...
because you haven't had the amout of practice i had..
See I know all types of tricks..
lights skin, brown skin, dark skin, i got a whole lot of picks.
The ins and the outs..
when to drive in and when to pull out...
Squirting your insides against my stomach...
you panic..
instantly proclaiming to your maker...
that Iam your ******
the one who drove to fast that your waves decided to crash...
all over me..milking your sweet nector...
as you lay life lessly twitching..the side effects of a killing..
so i place the pedal to the metal i tend to burn rubber...
one hand around the neck of the wheel and the other around my lovers...
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 10:48 AM UTC
Recto:
She‘s vacuuming: the dog has leapt, afraid,
onto my lap and sent my papers flying.
Till then I‘d slept. Still half-asleep, I‘m trying,
relentlessly, to finish things I‘d made
a start on yesterday, identifying
slips and errors, trading words or phrases.
Mystifying, the way we go through phases
laid in stone, half-stunned while time goes flying
by and nothing‘s done for days. Is stasis
part of the deal? We‘re drying up, we fade -
and then, bejaisus! - that small fire we‘d laid
that kept on choking re-ignites and blazes!
Verso:
She‘s vacuuming: the dog has leapt,
afraid, onto my lap and sent
my papers flying. Till then I‘d slept.
Still half-asleep, I‘m trying, relent-
lessly, to finish things I‘d made
a start on yesterday, ident-
ifying slips and errors, trad-
ing words or phrases. Mystifying,
the way we go through phases laid
in stone, half-stunned, while time goes flying
by and nothing‘s done for days. Is
stasis part of the deal? We‘re drying
up, we fade ... and then, bejaisus!
- that small fire we‘d laid that kept
on choking self-ignites and blazes!
Dec 30, 2011
Dec 30, 2011 at 1:06 AM UTC
skies, that are the color
of the water left behind,
after doing the dishes.
clouds, that are so hope-
lessly pathetic. they hang
there; kinda doing their own
thing.
kisses, that are so full of
passion, and fill the space
of a thousand words.
no grief. just understanding.
understanding that makes your
lips sore.
raincoats, that look poetic.
unbuttoned, and collars flapping
limply. rainy days do no justice.
red raincoats, and dreams of
naughtiness.
cigarettes, smoked to the end.
an orange flame, in the darkness.
leaning against the wall; a careful
posture that's been practiced, and
eventually mastered.
roses, with thorns cut off
with a pair of kitchen scissors.
shaking hands, and nervous smiles.
poetry written on napkins, delivered
with blatant awkwardness. a messy scrawl
with black biro; words that say much more
than a mouth could.
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 2:18 AM UTC
at 16 they taught u
s about shakespea
re, how? but now I
realize there was m
ore learned than bl
ank stares at teache
rs waiting for bells
to slide departures
under the doors of
blank minds. balco
ny preachings in fr
ont of loveless tang
ents foreshadowing
the curvature of the
then mindless. 5 ye
ars gone i still find m
yself wandering aim
lessly to the next cla
ss with the thought o
f the useless priors a
nd the books are get
ting heavier
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 6:36 PM UTC
I am suicide sleeping.
She forgot and took a day off.
So here I am.
I drive wreck-lessly.
windows down. music up.
daring a tire to blow. to lose control.
Stoplights and Speed Limits have become mere suggestions.
I am not invincible.
and I embrace it.
I'll shake hand with death before * I * die.
I am not coasting.
I am beyond your... verbs.
Your... adjectival states of being...
Undefined.
Indefinite.
I want to know. not to learn.
I want to see. not to discover.
I needed to be re-built. not demolished.
But I am without foundation.
Faithless.
God-less.
...Simply suicide sleeping.
One russian roulette away...
Aug 17, 2010
Aug 17, 2010 at 8:56 PM UTC
held is it if summer is most?
(and a bluffing manure ) finely a hotness
of unmarking serf. the beach
gambled with moonlight
errant frolicking cluttered foam
and a little sharp rock bruising your palm
which is unshallow purple
like the firmer shade
i am whereing
on optic
orifice . spring is first. a wig of new moist teeth
cranking tirelessly sore lean branches effort
lessly green voice shaking in a gorgeous
breezy plain. crumpling swift hesitant cold
floundering winter shes'that like a me
a stupid magic at feverish impulse plunging
haphazardly clinging impotent listing surge
over the hairless empire of a bud bisected
most perfectly at the twaining force
this godless holy impudent burst
this SPRING
Mar 9, 2011
Mar 9, 2011 at 12:39 PM UTC
if fingers could touch the points of light
if a finger could stretch and have a slight
chance of brushing when a sun becomes a star.
would there be music.
if breath breathed with lips, pressed
to the heavens could carry, stars on
new currents making galaxies harm-
lessly spin, in empty space.
would it be a kaleidoscope.
if we looked into each others eyes
seeing what stars we first saw, in awe
fingers touching fingers, brushing
until interlocked, lips so close as to
not touch but catch each others
soft shared breath.
would it again, be love.
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 9:29 PM UTC
A clipped voice,
slips noise-
lessly
into
the fray.
Yellow
and shaky.
Bland, I know.
I hate to
Say.
Butterfly
in a storm,
normally deep.
I crack,
lacking wingspan.
Headcave retreat.
Feet save
my mouth.
Because the wrong
thing ran.
Apr 13, 2020
Apr 13, 2020 at 1:05 PM UTC
Cigarette between my frail fingers
lips ajar
my eyes stare emotion-lessly through the people who thought
they mattered most to me
eyeliner smudged
the clothes on my back
are only black
and I've realized
I'm the girl my parents warned me about
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 8:32 PM UTC
punct.u.a.tion is
language,
all its own; words
form-
lessly formed
dripp-ing,
drop on the
page-- Images… Imagines… Imaginations
laced with
Sarcasm
and
rhythmy
rhymes and often-sometimes-maybe emjamb-
ment.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 7:12 PM UTC
What can I say? But, that's not a rhetorical question?
We could travel among an Ions Quest,
But still naturally question all the rest
Shall I digress?
That wasn't absolutely rhetorical yes?
Your drug makes me feel caged and free
Like it just wasn't absolutely meant to be
I could quite easily, care-lessly wander about
Take care Leslie, I'll see you at the next drought
Finally Free and clear to listen and hear
The universe calls, and asks for my ear
A little piece of advice, to bake your cake
But whatever you do, have some pie too
If you can't do good, for badness sake
Then what could anyone do for you?
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 2:42 AM UTC
I thought about him today again
as I was
driving,
the narrow, curving road end-
lessly winding
Four years ago this
Christmas
he died
too young for it to be
ok
if death's ever
ok,
Ok,
he doesn't come into my
mind much
anymore, I
admit
but when he does,
it's drilling
it's piercing.
it's a hammer to a nail
incessantly
pounding,
god
when the road is long
when my engine's overheating
when I have spent a morning under
a raging, August sun
painting,
He will always cross my mind because
the sun held him so tightly and then
it wouldn't let him go.
Aug 23, 2015
Aug 23, 2015 at 12:57 AM UTC
july belongs to you,
and songbird. the wind
won't stop whistling,
shaking the trees
amidst the aftermath of
Night-storm.
look, river-and-sea. we
are all but caught in
dream after dream,
weaving parallel time-
lines and fragments
of our memories.
see, i told you.
it is what it is when
i put the book down as
you stare out into the
woods through
the ***** pane.
i want you.
i whisper breath-
lessly. summer, but not
quite. you see, believe me
when i say.
july belongs to you.
Jun 14, 2023
Jun 14, 2023 at 2:50 AM UTC
different season, extenuating
circumstance. hunger
nor poverty a reason.
look for kindness.
i saw them sweeping
the golden, leaving the
vehicle parked badly.
saw the wind change,
sky come clear.
it is mid november,
i drive the same road,
end lessly.
sbm.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 7:15 AM UTC
Losing focus,
Objective,
Blurring,
Merging,
Lines into haze,
Haze into confusion,
Confusion into no..thin....g,
.
.
.
Then,
Darkness,
Lost,
Nowhere to go,
But forwards,
Maybe?
Whichever way,
I happened to be,
Facing,
Before,
The lights went,
Out,
Of,
Control,
No!
Sense of direction,
Or reason,
Where am I?
I'm just,
Running,
A
i
m
-lessly
To,
Something?
Anything?
Until,
There!
A light!
G r o w i n g?
Or closing in?
My whole,
Vision,
Sharp,
Set on,
One,
Thing.
Her.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 1:41 PM UTC
Henry Kline Boyer Elementary School
Evansburg, Pennsylvania
circa ~ 1969 ADD:
A(fter) D(umpster) D(diving).
As a Halloween
costume, that fifth year
literally dug up materials,
sans throw away wear
during grade school,
my father got veer
re: brilliant idea
for this sole son,
which found gritty
sanitation crew unclear
but right at home
on animal farm,
and/or role with
pigpen didst share
this original getup cost Peanuts,
but caused a big stink to rear
up dressed depleted oxygen,
and many classmate didst swear
objectionable odor
also induced eyes to tear.
Missus Shaner (the talon
clawed, shriveled queer
looking relic of a dinosaur,
who taught – for near
lee a millennium fifth grade)
gave me - up pair
of gooey (Paraguay)
“FAKE” genuine heir
looms (bone a fide kitchen
middens) artifacts mere
wrack que less originally care
lessly tossed out by
indigenous: Guaraní,
Ayoreo, Toba-Maskoy,
Aché and Sanapan
discovered in present
day capital, dear
lee benevolent holy city
steeped in prayer:
(Nuestra Señora Santa
María de la Asunción).
Authentic “FAKE” Central A mere
reek'n (American) rank
and file putrid bare
lee tolerable plum
rancid rotten ancient
******* handily found
teacher to declare
me the putative winner
since everyone else
passed out from the fetid air.
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 1:55 PM UTC