Touch my cheek,
burn a hole in my heart and stop its beat. Let’s
wander the forest and pretend
that its paradise. You and I, only
one life: a hole in my heart,
a hole in my old self and you’ve burned away
crucial parts of me.
Where’s this girl whose incandescent fingertips held her
world one moment,
a pen the next. Recreating the world
in faux romantic colors, was my medulla.
Crisp pages dripping with lust and love can drive even
a cynical ***** to art and insanity.
“Medulla, I need you.
Muse, where are you?”

Tomorrow the forest leaves me lonely,
Thoreau all dressed up in nature, auroral colors kissing
my skin and eyes, cannot even console me. Searching for
my Muse, I’ll wait.

I need no medulla but my brain’s.
I touch the leaves, the trees, a cigarette.

And I will learn to find my own Muse.

FADE IN :


                   Open Casting

Medulla Dentata ;
The Marrow Of The Matter
The Teething Of The Day
A Whittle In The Pathway
A Meander In The Pattern
But An Anchor Within The Stray

Both A Complex Labyrinth
And Baby's First Rattle
In Oceans I Lay ;
Medulla Dentata

                   Patter Root


                                         FADE OUT


© Jon Thenes 2015

Tell me what makes me love you?
Tell me what makes me want you?

I am going to sew my soul with the trace of your voice that trembles inside the medulla of my dorsal spine.....

Dear God. i hope You’re listening, i need to get close. im steady running in the same position.
i can’t get close.
my fingers hurt because i’ve been trying to pen down a letter to her & me & You for me.
im trying to be good.

these past few days i’ve been trying to get my thoughts in unison. working on harmonizing my processes & prioritizing my priorities.

im going to be raw.
i wrote letters to her but every single time i think of sending them to her, i remember that i won’t get much weight with my actions. so i throw them away.

im steady running in the same position.
she’s been thugging lately, in a good way.

i won’t even try to make sense tonight, i’ll let words flow.
****** of the youthful mind, hold me.

play softly, the strings at the back of my mind. be attentive, this tune will catch you.
she’s stroking my medulla oblongata, painting vivid images of passion.
steady running in the same position.

ever looked at someone and feel a conversation going on between your souls? no verbal action, just distance & the space between the two of you.

im steady running from nymphos of the youthful mind.
Father, hope You’re listening. help me to not bend Your will.
i’ve been good. dry cleaned my suit, im ready to walk with You.
i need to get close. but i can’t get close to You.
but im steady running in the same position.

****** of the youthful mind, tell me what do you want me to do to help you, help me, help you. she’s been straight thugging.

ever been so close to a beautiful conversation yet words halt at the opening and you’re left stuck with regret? days later, you remake the scenario and polish on what you could’ve said.

i wrote a letter to her & me & you for me. but i threw it away. wouldn’t have made a significant change anyway.

****** of the youthful mind, i need to get close.
but im steady running in the same position.

she’s been thugging. hat low, sweatpants low, afro hair, smooth skin, smooth **** dancing under the moonlight.
scorpion eyes, deadly eyes. i need to get close.

****** of the youthful mind, my gangster, i need you to stroke my medulla and play a thousand songs at the back of my mind.

im not trying to make sense, i was just trying to let thoughts flow.
Dear Father, can i run away? i want to run away with her, to a place nobody knows. us.
but please help me not to bend Your will.
send me to a golden forest, to the Garden of Eden, so she & i can be Adam & Eve.
we will be good. before then, i need to get close.

******, sing. sing me to sleep, sing away my troubles. i will run away with you.

Father, hope You’re listening. i need to get close, help me not to bend Your will. but i can’t get close. to You.
open the gates for me, im outside.

i need to take control of me and pour out vibes so hard the universe capsizes. ****** of the youthful mind, run away with me.

i wrote a letter to her & i & you for me. but then i threw it away.
don’t even try and make sense of the words i wrote.
don’t ask me how im feeling, just keep your eye on the poetry.

TeddyBearTribe.

They don’t put dead bodies in the wall anymore.  They put them in those walk-in coolers that they use in food service and they stay in there until the funeral home or the autopsy people come in and wheel them out and do whatever it is that they do.  But what happens if the cooler fills up and another patient dies—where do they go?  Outside of the cooler?  In the hall outside the morgue?  Left in the hospital room until there is an open space for them in the walk-in?  Or are they just not allowed to die in the first place?

Place a check mark next to the option that makes you the most uncomfortable:
• when dead bodies are still warm and growing lukewarm
• when dead bodies are ice cold.

You can survive two weeks on a ventilator before there is an increased risk of illness.  

Eula Biss writes that she does not believe that absolutely no pain is possible, that the zero on the pain scale is null and void.  I would like to say that I agree with her, but I have this stupid sliver of hope where I believe that towards the end of it all, everything will be everything and everything will be nothing at all.  I guess what I’m saying is that I would like to believe that when you are dying, you are a zero on the pain scale, but by that point in time, I supposed it doesn’t really matter anyway.

There is a strange, numb void that occurs when someone you love dies, but I am not sure if this could be rated as a zero or a ten on the pain scale.  Getting ****** into a black hole could either hurt very much or not at all.

The medulla oblongata, located as a portion of the brainstem, is the part of the nervous system that controls both cardiac and respiratory mechanisms.  If severe damage occurs to this center, death is imminent.  

After one minute of not breathing brain cells begin to die.
After three minutes of not breathing, serious brain damage is likely.
Ten minutes: many brain cells will be dead, full patient recovery is unlikely.
Fifteen minutes: patient recovery is virtually impossible.

A “thunderclap headache.”  A cerebral aneurysm that has ruptured.  A subarachnoid hemorrhage pushing blood and fluid down on my mother’s brain.  Grade five: deep coma, rigid decerebration, 10% chance of survival.  

In some hospitals, if a loved one has passed, the caregivers cut off several small locks of the patient’s hair, tie them up with a ribbon, and put them in little pink mesh bags for each member of the family as some sort of morbid memento.  They take the dead person’s hand, place it on an ink pad, and then stamp it to a piece of paper that has some sort of sappy and sorry poem typed up on it.  I do not know where we put the paper, but my little mesh bag is still on my bedside table.  Somewhere.  

They put dead bodies in white body bags.

Philosophical epistemology strumming adventures
Albeit, coherent mental decoding stratifications structured
Supposedly our world rests in our minds, revolving knowledge
An entwine of conceptual abstract flowing within oneself
The mind in the “I” the “I” a reality lived in my experiences
George of Leontini, a mine mind approving solipsism exploring innatism
Imaginative insights that nothing exists, the secrets secreting secrets
The knowledge behind the veils that remains un-communicated
A reverse of normality and known existences, moral disposition
Hypothesis of depersonalizations, adventures of self internalization
Justifications for what lies outside the Medulla Oblongata
Skepticism and just alternatives to western philosophy
Subjective unapproved experiences only robust in one’s mind
Descartes abstraction of inner experiences, reciprocated paradigm
Intuitively, perceived lived formulations of "Cogito Ergo Sum"
Psychological conscious undoubted individualistic thoughts
Berkley explored perspectives that physicality is an embodiment of the mind
The mind a decoding visualizer, that encompass the non-existent
An idealism marriage of ‘metaphysical’ and epistemological philosophy
The intense esoteric “dualism” verses the fiery “monism” reality
Mind boggling differentiated truths bleeding with blinking unresolvable hypothesis
The jiggered methodological, streamlining the un -logic sequential beats

uh strippin' ya titles n fame
Ya got no game shame I had to show up in flame
burn every last one of y'all til a single grain
snorts of ******* to rush into my brain
gives me crazy pump
like kriss kross I'll make ya jump
got ya body arched like camel humps smokin' punks like a smoke blunts pull stunts more than steevo straight evil
ya can peep me on underground radios
**** mainstream and pipe dreams
make this ***** jalel sings
more than crows gathered around for the wicked sound
body molded to th ground for tryna step to Htown fools drown
with no water slaughter
Like shots from a thousand mortars
got bids on the Satan's daughter's
ya need to get smarter y'all fallen like denzel welcome to yosef cell no bail no fairytales as I silence ya yell
from my lyrical gat that goes through ya medulla oblungata
got more ranks than shabba mister lover lover undercover like brother as I smother
ya baby mama and ya mother like no other duck her with no rubbers
cut into ya head piece like cookie cutters
see ya in sta sta sta studder
yosef be hoppin' like hoes like mudd rudders
straight from the gutters
I got rhymes for days that's was displayed before even my rhymes was said
plus **** what ya said
I'll  leave ya dome open like a Sun roof
catch. spoof off my tactics
my lyrics be more controversial than the gulf tonka make ya wonder magnificent blunders sound the thunders
once yosef grabs the Mic enticing brawls under heat lights
sweatin' cuz I'm a threat ending ya fate and might uh

Just like i told ya ya can't stop the reign
as i bring the pain more than major playa hatas
move over theres a new sheriff in town puff by the pound
its goin' down in htown time to ****** crowns
off unknown clowns whos rounds
ain't hittin' nothin' but air as i heir
the rhymes from my hip hop ancestry
like i said who spit it better than me
****** is what i write
check the obituary even burn ya cemetery
while enemies stay worried i stay buried
with rhymes that pull like tech 9s through ya mind
as ya touch the flat line
give em pump up so he get the adrenaline up
only to get knocked the ****** up
by the mister evil sinister preach lyrics as a minister
this ain't the last inning
we goin' all out til we fall out got guns that clear the skies out
nuclear blast spin around emceez like taz hit ya with jazz razzamatazz
that's the sounds of gats bustin' that ***
left ya body soakin' breath chokin' hopin'
to make it but can't shake it as i mold it then break it
like my last drip a *** i shake it
til its nothing left cook up these lyrics like a chef
even make ears open of the deaf
cuz my lyrics be so powerful irresistible hard for ya know to go
and bob ya head to my **** i hit like rockets outta space
loose ya paper chase for tryna step into yosefs face
with that disgrace that ******* you call hip hop?
i got heat tha'tll make ya lip lock hip go hippy to the hop
naw talkin' sugar hill deliver more dead than clothes to Goodwill
we ***** as the Goodfellas knockin' tailfeathers money come like atm tellers
no pin toxic rhymes poisonous as donna,bella

He was very much mentally exhausted from the three previous rounds of word play that we had. But I was very much still aroused.

I needed to grip on his large cranium as he inserted his think logophiled member into the creases of my cerebral.

I wanted him to feel my muscles tightening around his fingers as he caressed my mind.

I needed him to use his tongue to make my brain drip wet like a leaky faucet. I'm wondering if he lost it. Grip on my medulla and massage my grey plump jewel.

I could of done something else to stimulate my brain like reading a book about trains. But what fun would that be when my mate is by my side willing to start mentally ******* me.

I think I went overboard. He has his thinking cap on like the supreme overlord. Should I grab 100 words you never heard. Or just take my defeat and get back to the sheets.

Baby as the pendulum swings
We exist in moment that escapes time
Let my lips service your soul
with great rhetoric when i bend on my knees cause baby about to blow your mind

Should I make his toes curl by the vigorous word use I'm about to hurl.  No I'll just sit back and play defeated like the nymphal  bad girl.

I thought I was stronger
a champion being
of swollen muscles,
arterial achievement

all along my vessels
depleted
unable to thrive
in the you

Malnourished
Adrenal Medulla demanding,
chanting
"beat! beat!"

return to functioning.        please.

I arrive
Altered and away
Hungry
Hunting for your crooked smile
your forest thick roots
your red hurt
your tangerine lips
your towering stature
that offered my infant soul

a famished freedom

I saw you

I saw your brain spilling out its cerebellum, medulla oblongata, etc

All over- unrecognizable

indistinguishable

I saw

I thought those were some kind of pink pulses

Lord knows, weirder things have been found

and seen

I saw


I saw

I hope there is justice for you

I will pray for your soul

My soul will meet yours
when the knell rings for me


I hope you find peace

I hope you know that I called

And called and tried and tried

To help you even though you were already gone

I saw your friend- his eyes, his expression


I really did try
Please find yourself another life

I hope your friend finds peace
Knows it wasn't all his fault
I hope his eyes lose the haunted shocked expression
I really wish he can drive again

I hope he can continue working
- he looked like one of those people
you know those ones?
working hard to make it out of drudgery?

I hope he makes it through this
And I really really wish you guys hadn't had a fight before this

Find peace
Go safe
Go softly

Your death was sudden
Ripped out of this earth
Like you were never meant to exist
That was meant to be me

I hope it didn't hurt too much

And those ******* that did this to you?
I hope they didn't mean it
I wish they hadn't been high before this

Your death shouldn't be meaningless
And although
You might be simply another obituary in tomorrow's newspaper

This poem will say

"I saw you.
I prayed for you.
I greeted you.
I witnessed your existence.
You meant something
Just as your death did.
I wish you peace and that you go
Safely, soundly
Wishing you that your loved ones
Remember you with love
And maybe some heartbreak
But they find strength.
Tonight,
I
s   a   w
You"

To me,
you have always been a reflex
as natural as
vomiting, coughing, and sneezing
(albeit more pleasant—
sometimes).
Somewhere in my medulla oblongata,
something
is telling me to love you
but I suppose that something
might be tainted by a ghastly neurological disorder
because this
just isn’t working out.

Lady adjacent waiter,
ruler of the medulla,
give me a certain angle
that'll make her want to maneuver,

make her want to consider
in the absence of his figure,
that maybe not the whole gender
is full of secret agendas,

with her left over right leg,
glass in her right hand,
a tribute to her innocence
ever since she walked in,

assembled it's, white wine
Krispy Kreme eyes,
glazed look,
lips glossed like her oil thighs,

it's finally off time
her sorority cross line,
it's happy hour,
she wasn't,

his whole crime has been a cover up
since she wants him,
this whole scene has been taped off
by her girlfriends,

it's often I see it,
alcoholic rehab,
a culprit — a demon
making contracts with my open tab,

broken bad in the bathroom,
clad woman,
For all the attention
such good first impressions,

but not you,
I feel a different aura,
I feel I'll get exposed
so I call a different offense,

Semper Fi
within my eyes
this energy —
I quiet the restaurant,

Can you hear me?
Proceed to throwing signals
Tom Brady couldn't throw,
the ball's in my court so I'm finally on the move,

crushing on you while the sky undresses,
you catch a glimpse
as the clouds bare witness,
Excuse me Miss Unfortunate,

I know I'm at a disadvantage
but I had to call it
head or tails
I'm still offering,

a chance to be your man? No
a chance to be your author?
a chance to be your narrator now or later
call me,

a chance to say “there she is”
her piercing eyes, fixes her finger on my lips
be quiet, “I saw this in a movie once”
she told me as I spy and I grab onto her truths,

excuse me thats selfish, pardon me
apart of me just wants to see that movie,
a father daughter dance,
a chance to be your groupie,

a chance to see that smile
that you flashed
like a lunar star,
meteor crash

and its back to reality,
eye connection broken
and it’s back to the irony,
a word barely spoken

and I’m back to asking:
Check Please.

i considered it a sneeze
more of a natural expulsion
of that which contaminates the spaces
between our mustaches and our medulla

no
something ejected and the room paused
most placed aside their drink
snuffed their cigarette
to see if you would pass away
smooth

chuckled
thats what you did after
and we breathed a sigh of relief
some glad that you hadnt seized up
others glad they didnt have to leave yet

either way
thanks

i wont buy you a triple meat again

Swerves the verve of voluptuous curves
That ******* clad lies become ironclad wides or wives
That the uxorious mission is a useful instrument of precision
That a denuded forest becomes the acme of toon and television
Let us garble our quotes and refrain from prolonged oaks
That whisk the memorial flames beneath the softly and the constricted spoke
I wrangle with big swells and tumescent lips
Labial love is liquid rushing to impress my scent and my lisp
Flamingos careen the specialty of wide-nosed oxygen
The toxic ragamuffin does lack the characteristic halogen
Runny tears on whitewashed days, scrape the pond of excess
**** of waifs and wastrel sways the world’s columns stand ever more proud
The future has two authors a converging future and an approximated past
Leeching on to the dastardly knockers of hacked brass tax
We then linger and malinger with germs that flippantly exercise the *******
That exorcise the ruffled harbinger in an incomplete rhyme
Sordid yet sublime, a city breaking on through to the mother side
Of the brother’s promise, to bequeath love lost and undressed
Unbuttoned snooze caffeinate my coffee
Established crews scour my pastiche of laundry
I need a confirmation that some littoral joke isn’t anymore creative than a hoarded broke
Broken in fracture, illuminated by rapture, the panacea of pain disaster
The deliverance of fragrance yet to gain and yet to lose,….. refrain poetaster
Simpered friction swipes the edict of election
As ******* becomes the Olympus of defection
But ponder no more these quodlibets of regaled glory
The amaranthine time has been proferring the same tried and true Love Story
Arranged or deranged, the best will *** and the rest will come
Thereby we become the litter of Medulla Pons surviving on Jack-and-Dandy ***
Remember this in many ways we are a shining city paid for by the mentally ill
Waylaid with the marble of the ultimate rocketship dumb enough to thrill
We soak and absorb the truest bright and the weakest light
As the fraternal order of the lambent moon becomes an extraterrestrial communion rather than an aghast fright
John Derry offers me two geese and I offer to fleece the homespun danger of the moral police
But Capone cannot cap the stone with signature and artistry alone
He cannot unfurl the booth bonfire and the broken home
But his evaded taxes are relaxed because of meritocratic classes
Of wisdom becoming wizardry and idiocy becoming harlotry of sinister waste crass plastics
Limpid with freckled frowns and monolithic and nomothetic pounds
Of zeros escalading a spawn-trout upward voyage and a quiet pillage of a bear-eaten town
Benign rumors of soaring afflictions and deloused tumors swarm the pasquinade village
A Potemkin place where gays get spayed covertly by laying a nescient egg deceased and weighed
In the navy we are not, but thanks to the gravy we are bought and we are sold
And of course you must trim the bushes before they scowl in the fold
Hedged bets on arts, squirts and debts
Of hottest flirts, car washed shirts and wrangled King Tut **** and Cleopatra wet
To this history I owe a greater than perfect debt
A Raider with influential sweat
A gamboler with a frisky totem of regret
Radiant sun says goodnight
Glazed to beat you, you fearful fitful 1997 willful fright

Life and time...

In life, leave
In time, use
In life, live
In time, ideal

Why do we exist but not sist to exist?

Water is useless to time,
Fire is unnecessary to time
Water is essential, to life
Fire is nonessential, to life

What happens if planet's rotate backwards?

Will we'll ungrow and get young again,
Will the medulla metamorphosis diminish,
If time could move much more fasters
We would had towards future
Travelling through speed of light towards future
If time could move more fasters but backwards,
We would stop reminiscing and live in a nostalgic life.

It takes time to make greatness,
Greatness is also timed by time it self.

She stumbled onto a stack of mossy grey rocks and looked into a perfectly eye-shaped crevice in the rock formation which gave view to an absurdly apt vision of the swathing valley below, furnished with incredible glimmering foliage under a masked crimson sky that echoed thoroughly her desire to live.

She had grown obsessed with her own teeth, waking every other morning to an incessant thumping pain that rang from molar to medulla. The first thought that entered her weary mind on interim morning bleariness was one of suicide and regret. She'd stumble lackadaisically from her wrinkled bedsheets onto the hardwood splintering floor of her bedsit solipsism through a minute passage and into the molding cracked-tile bathroom, pulling the light cord and inspecting at great length the chasms appearing on four of her bottom teeth, mentally noting the size and shape until the next sultry morning pawed her crimson pillow case ravaged face awake with another dull toothache.

It was a January morning, the date was irrelevant, she woke to the sound of fighting in the neighbours' house, slamming doors and vase smashing antics on a dreary dewy morn when the sun was hiding and cars in the back alleys still bellowed smoke. Her routine went uninterrupted, moments of silence in the next rooms whilst she examined the damage of another night's superfluous drug use and alcoholic torment, she eyed the razor on shower shelf and reasoned to end her life, finally.  That ingrained image of childhood abuse lay dormant until these types of mornings and she reached toward the glimmering raz-
Knock Knock
He was at the door and she was flustered, pulling wrinkled jeans around her hourglass waist and rushing to greet the stranger. He told her to-

She was perhaps seven years old, maybe younger, and the hazy day drew closed through rain battered and silty windows in the tenement building by the murky river, the one that slunk through midnight streets like so many lonely and wrinkled old men, searching for drugs or ****** or love or money. The beige armchair with worn out padding around the armrests was creaking under the weight of her mother, the tilting wilted wine glass that stood delicately between yellowing fingertips was almost empty now and she watched as it grew ever more horizontal before leaping up to save the carpet from another stain and her behind from another beating. Her mother awoke with start and threw accusations at her, thieving little swine. The beating was instantaneous and even in aged memories was enough to resuscitate her consciousness, in enough time to see him come and go.

It was a January morning, the date was irrelevant, and she made a cup of tea as she looked out at the schoolyard distant but ahead. Waves of screaming and rambunctious playfulness swelled and entered her kitchen window (the one with a larger than acceptable crack running the length of the pane) as she washed half a sink of dishes before drifting aimlessly to the black but yellowing nicotine stained stereo, leaving water trails on the buttons as she pressed play on the CD deck and Old Blue Eyes began to sing.

She was five years old and saw her father dripping with sweat on some halcyon summer day. He lay roads by the night's chill and slept on long afternoons. By the radiant late morning rays he would fix shelves and rewire the apartment, drinking gasoline smelling liquids that bloated his inerudite head and he would take regular breaks in the bathroom, door ajar as he fixed, belt tight, breathing heavy, eye-contact with her and she cried every time. He played Sinatra and sang along, her mother would wake and he beat her again. Over and over again. Sinatra still sang, he never stopped, he never cared. Beating. Hearts were beating. She was five years old and she feigned unconscious by her mother's side until his final fix and to bed he stumbled.

The date was irrelevant, this January morning when she gave up caring and the sink of dishes went unfinished and the bedside lamp flickered and buzzed.

my amoeba mind follows
peacock feathered contemplation
un-orchestrated/spreads
hyper driven gyration
of unmasked perception. Do not
chase vocal overtones in
Arabian harmonies, crashing
color prisms covering the inward
revelation of Is-ness that is watching

stay in front of the
conceptual curtain questioning
that which is formless, empty,
nowhere and nothing

Allow.

Sara Fielder © Apr 2018

I remember a lot, though there are compartments of this upper story storage house with bolted doors. There have been hours, even days spent picking at combination locks, soft clicks of medulla oblongata. From within, such malodor,  bleeds ooze and ****. Constant mopping of icky memory's seepage, trickling from underneath hatchway is unending, so I often walk away. Knowing what lies behind vaulted chambers of grey matter is indeed the greyest matter, as nothing is quite so black or white.

Caffeine, caffeine-
Synaptic stimuli. My
Cerebral companion:
at home in a cup of coffee.
Yet only partially fulfilled,
Wanting-longing.
Waiting anxiously
for your chance to
massage my medulla,
tickle my neurons.
Watch them vibrate in
your vicinity - until
firing *******
at your temptuous touch
until finally the sun reappears,
and sleep is once again
a possibility

Sleep, Sleep.
Psychic Respite.
To feel myself sinking blissfully
into your cloudlike embrace
Oh! Sweet slumber.
You whisperer of healing
dreams.

one day,
when I win the lottery
I'm going to pay off my
overdue library book debt
and then I'm going to take
my lady out for a drink
in a different country,
just because I can.
as a poet and a poor player of instruments,
a drunk and a breadwinner
as a father of two and
a husband to be,
a ****** of horror flicks and
a collector of vinyl,
a surfer of televisions and sidewalks
(or at least I once was)
and a lover of foods.
this bearded wonder....
his mind is split in two,
there's a difference between
what formulates in my brain to
my mouth
and my brain to my hand.
how I write is not how I speak,
the wires in my gray matter get
twisted up and so does tongue
as my mouth fills with spittle, but
with a little thought and time
my medulla oblongata glues
together words of sophistication
into articulate sentences.
I'm an uneducated man,
just very meticulous with
the absenteeism of rationality
that humanity has to offer.
working a dead end job
as a fluffer for the aristocratic
industrialists
in this mundane life
of mediocrity,
mutually exclusive and
mentally exhausted with
the surroundings of
ignoramus cohorts.
screaming on the inside
for an ounce of stimulation
where my subconscious
can find no purchase,
channeling outlets through
hieroglyphics on a portable
handheld typewriter.
a hundred or even a thousand
publishers could viciously attack
my passion with the onslaught
of a hundred or a even thousand
compositions of rejection, but yet....
I'm still here.
reinvigorating myself through the
slough of privation and trudge
through the days of menial work
in search of surreal reinvention.
far from where I want to be,
in life and location,
prancing down the paths less traveled,
breaking every barrier put up,
carrying mawkish moppets
on each shoulder,
becoming the ultimate
goal achieving marauder.
but until then....
one day,
when I win the lottery
I'm going to pay off my
overdue library book debt
and then I'm going to take
my lady out for a drink
in a different country,
just because.....I can.

you with new moon eyes
and i without mind
between the echoes of screams
we lay here dreaming
you stare back at me
holding a ball of nails
while walls of fire
collapse about us

roused by medulla
fear manifest in blood
seeing and hearing
and ignoring the darkened world
internal chemical stimulus
separate from awareness
sparking the primitive
imperfect and savage brain

my pulsar heart
mirrors the flickering
of images and terror
that haunt my sleep
my black hole eyes
radiate oblivion
and swallow the light
I need to live

one long difficult
brow hair  
sticking out
with a slight whirl toward the end
bending its once linear course

i pull at it
whiff on the first three tries
but get it on the fourth

one smear of red
marks the deed

holding it between thumb and forefinger
i observe its root
pale translucent box-like tag

bags layers of me

the shaft of hair itself
wears three layers

its cuticle tells species
the cortex tells the sort of hair
and the medulla tells ethnicity

but the follicular tag
brags of my very own me
that i cannot see
ladder of unusual protein
pirouettes
and scene

I guess it's no longer a Secret
By now, you are fully aware that I admire you
Your smile makes it impossible
For me not to
Its such a blessing to
Be able to inhale the carbon dioxide
That you exhale
Filling my lungs with a kindliness that
Not even Hathor herself possessed
With a kiss sweeter than Hershey...
And Godiva chocolates combined
With a smile that could
Illuminate the darkest hour
Your hug feel as if you can
Calm an angry alligators medulla oblongata
Flight or fight huh?
Well...
I promise to fight to
Send you on first class flights
Sharks and whales swimming under
Heated glass floors
Even though you deserve
Mansions with pearly gates
And roads cemented with gold
You're my calming lifeline
Every time I look into your eyes
I see a perfectly imperfect forever

Simply calling me crazy
Would be nothing short of ignorant
And so much more than lazy
‘Cause it’s deeper than that
When my demons aren’t freely
Beating up or running up
A costly fee on my mind
And give me some me time
Where my thoughts are actually mine
They’ve got a special place to sleep in the back
And just when I think I’ve out-thought them
They come immediately back
And repeatedly prove once
Again it was me I made a fool of
As what I think I've fixed is shattered
And the clouds begin to gather
And very shortly thereafter
As I think this storm could be a cool one
Lightning bolts of pain
Followed closely by a thunder
That'll drown out the sound
Of everything but the rain
That it combines with at the ground
And culminates as a hurricane
That gets it's spin from their hoola-
Hoop in my medulla
And overload my frontal lobe
Creating a reaction within
My cranium that's a
Lot like splitting a uranium atom
Feels like my brain is gaining weight
And as the load upon my shoulders
Quickly, steadily grows
Until I think my head’ll explode
And try to think of an escape
Suddenly just as fast as
It came on it passes
Like an overfed fire
That just as quickly as it catches
Burns itself into ashes
It's either burning or it's cold
No middle ground
It's either up or it's low
I call it a calming panic
But have heard doctors call it manic
Sometimes it’s dark as any blackness
Sometimes blindingly it flashes
I’ve learned to just let it go
Don't dam the river, let it flow
And ride the wave until it crashes
Ride the line between careless
And just barely careful enough
To not get bit by a shark
Let all the thoughts -
The good, the bad, and the insane,
The glue as well as that which tears me apart
The worst of it won't see the day
'Cause I might think with my head
But I live with my heart.

What is that of this,
I will ask from the question
which sleeps on the twisted lip.

The probity suffers,
when you burn your white paper.
Why did not you write your name?

The cortex invades
medulla. Your kidneys falter.
The sense and price become one.

A **** opend the pride.
The curves, the slants will
ask you to become the flic,

but you become a god,
accept the knife's version
and bleed to death.

Outward brain stem hummock
analogously, (asper bound
minuscule magnum opus)
figuratively paginated with drowned
atavistic animal instincts

roar back to life upon found
perceived or real threat adrenaline
splashes cerebral hemispheres
triggering body electric
to become alert as a bloodhound

countless millenniums ago
the flight or fight reaction apropos
when savage beasts
threatened tribe with bro
whizzing primitive creatures
some forced tweet crow

wing, thence railing, swooping,
trouncing dough
main housing small cluster of emo
ting primates (gabbling in primal
grunts and groans witnessing ruminants

scurrying to and fro
survival of the fittest danger field
thus by dint of inherent smarts didst grow
outwitting wily coyote, or other lion eyes, ***
ping automatic saving grace tactics recalled,
when looming predator doth woof
and warp emergency arises,

when debacle fore stalled
for time against getting mauled
whereby each subsequent ruse
out foxing fierce-some, hungry non a mew
zing potential breakfast, lunch,
or dinner as the sorry loo

sir aye sic newton, sans
this non nonsense game of "Life",
which thru countless millenniums strategies grew
layered upon left and right cerebral hemispheres few
till hetty became diminished

as proper contra bands of bipedal hominids drew
upon accumulated storied history
learned from Bubba Zayda's
many times over motley (foolish) crew

squirreling modus operandi
wove (traversing eons)
corpus collosum hair
(more so nerve fiber weave

a microscopic whirled wide web linkedin
left and right fist size gray matter
coated with transparent integument
custom made swiftly tailored sleeve

ah...proving grounds,
when forebears of **** Sapiens
touch and go tagged on permanent leave
on par with imagining dragons easy to believe.

Write me in your arteries
That any time your heart pumps
With Oxygenated blood to your body
I will always be widely spread and read

Engrave me in your veins
That every time your veins returns
With Deoxygenated blood to your heart
It will always return with me to your chambers
To be nourished and there eternally entombed

Pollute with me your airs that anytime you draws in
Your lungs are smelly with frankincense of me
Your diaphragm is deflated with fragrances of me
You pharynx is perfumed with scents of me
Your larynx is lavished with incenses of me
Your bronchus is covered with colognes of me

Hold me in your eyesight; reflect with me in your retinas
Carry me in your optical nerves; memorize me in your medulla
Beautiful as a final song that never ever ends, as a moment unforgettable
Emboss me in your emotions; share me in your thoughts and dreams
Have me always in your feelings like a fantasy, an ecstasy memorable  
Let your vivid visions always be with a copy of my mirage, image of me

© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.