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"memorialize" poems
unsure, uncertain, of the laws invested in the realms and reams of poetry ingested, am i addict, or supplier, retail consumer or wholesale supplier, a mom & pop candy store, or a metastasizing intelligence that takes any thing, and all, a solitary letter, an instance of a sighting, a gasping palpitation and reformats it into a hehe literary madhatter^ piece you supply, I demand, I supply, boy oh boy, do I ever, but you never, come to me directly asking, write me a poem, thick or thin, witty fitty or an overly looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong e~pistle (a/k/a e~pistol) yet the trade goes on and om, the marketplace never closes, except when periodically the gatewaykeeper is slow to pay his bills, and the trading centres are global scattered, young entrepreneurs try to sell a single piece, as if it was breaking news history, and tired old men, review their lived, eager to memorialize, so it's ok to forget, in retro!spect perspective, the mirror who cannot lie, states affirmatively, you are both ****** and dealer, a corporation scientific of ancient biblical origins, a psalmist, a deacon, a lyricist, but thankfully not a singer, an essayist who writes best when ****** by tawny port wine, who snatches inspiration with equality of equity, (wait! that's wrong, the equity of equality,) where he can find, ***** city streets, the deaths of heroes, the sunrise calm miracle he drinks in daily, by rivers, by seas, by estuaries brackish, and streams of watered purity, the riveting bays, the individualized glisten deflected into my eyes, that each contains one pure blessing within….                                                 nml
0
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 9:24 AM UTC
Supply & Demand, Demand & Supply
unsure, uncertain, of the laws invested in the realms and reams of poetry ingested, am i addict, or supplier, retail consumer or wholesale supplier, a mom & pop candy store, or a metastasizing intelligence that takes any thing, and all, a solitary letter, an instance of a sighting, a gasping palpitation and reformats it into a hehe literary madhatter^ piece you supply, I demand, I supply, boy oh boy, do I ever, but you never, come to me directly asking, write me a poem, thick or thin, witty fitty or an overly looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong e~pistle (a/k/a e~pistol) yet the trade goes on and om, the marketplace never closes, except when periodically the gatewaykeeper is slow to pay his bills, and the trading centres are global scattered, young entrepreneurs try to sell a single piece, as if it was breaking news history, and tired old men, review their lived, eager to memorialize, so it's ok to forget, in retro!spect perspective, the mirror who cannot lie, states affirmatively, you are both ****** and dealer, a corporation scientific of ancient biblical origins, a psalmist, a deacon, a lyricist, but thankfully not a singer, an essayist who writes best when ****** by tawny port wine, who snatches inspiration with equality of equity, (wait! that's wrong, the equity of equality,) where he can find, ***** city streets, the deaths of heroes, the sunrise calm miracle he drinks in daily, by rivers, by seas, by estuaries brackish, and streams of watered purity, the riveting bays, the individualized glisten deflected into my eyes, that each contains one pure blessing within….                                                 nml
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57
Hollywood is dead and gone It died a lonely death It's just too bad no one was there When it took it's final breath Forget the tales of yesteryear Of junkies and of ****** The Hollywood I speak of Is behind the golden doors Warner Brothers and MGM United Artists and 20th Century Fox Are now owned by conglomertates With more cash than Fort Knox Film is just an extra In a business it once ruled With the advent of computers The industry's re-tooled CGI and Green Screen Let them do more at great cost But, without the use of actors There is something that is lost The tie in with it's history We only see each year When they memorialize those who passed At the Oscars....shedding tears There is now just two places To process film itself When, way back in it's heyday Of these there was a wealth No new ideas forthcoming Movies get rebooted or remade And the startlets in the pictures They're the one's who're getting laid Merchanidising movies That is where the real cash lies If you're not attached to a food chain Your bottom line will die Hollywood died in it's sleep It died with dignity The funeral will be shown though On reality TV It smothered in it's excess A victim of it's greed It gorged on people's wallets Forgetting peoples needs Old Hollywood is magic It lives on in peoples hearts Too bad the studio system Was sold off in such small parts The western died, musicals next Then came the comedy You can't see them in the theatre But they're on your big tv I stand here and salute her She put pictures in our heads But, now thanks to her avarice Old Hollywood is dead...
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May 17, 2012
May 17, 2012 at 6:40 PM UTC
Old Hollywood
Hollywood is dead and gone It died a lonely death It's just too bad no one was there When it took it's final breath Forget the tales of yesteryear Of junkies and of ****** The Hollywood I speak of Is behind the golden doors Warner Brothers and MGM United Artists and 20th Century Fox Are now owned by conglomertates With more cash than Fort Knox Film is just an extra In a business it once ruled With the advent of computers The industry's re-tooled CGI and Green Screen Let them do more at great cost But, without the use of actors There is something that is lost The tie in with it's history We only see each year When they memorialize those who passed At the Oscars....shedding tears There is now just two places To process film itself When, way back in it's heyday Of these there was a wealth No new ideas forthcoming Movies get rebooted or remade And the startlets in the pictures They're the one's who're getting laid Merchanidising movies That is where the real cash lies If you're not attached to a food chain Your bottom line will die Hollywood died in it's sleep It died with dignity The funeral will be shown though On reality TV It smothered in it's excess A victim of it's greed It gorged on people's wallets Forgetting peoples needs Old Hollywood is magic It lives on in peoples hearts Too bad the studio system Was sold off in such small parts The western died, musicals next Then came the comedy You can't see them in the theatre But they're on your big tv I stand here and salute her She put pictures in our heads But, now thanks to her avarice Old Hollywood is dead...
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56
The way I memorialize a woman's heart against my own, is by pointing to the scars she has left on my heart in my moments of solitude. Like the wounds on sharks during mating, I hold close those moments when I sank my teeth in and when she sank into me. So when they ask me: "Would you have done anything differently, now that you see how it turned out?" And I say: "No." I cherished those moments when your placed your mouth on my heart and squeezed with perfect teeth.
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Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 6:10 PM UTC
Shark.
just know   eyes do souls aside   try lips leave thoughts    tears God dream better    take breaths love life     drink water read voices    say thoughts see beauty    memorialize play kind     silence worry don't    great small look naked    feel alive
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Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 9:44 PM UTC
hey zeus
if we were to assign emotions to colors - passion would be where magenta and orange kiss the horizon at sunset, joy would be the yellow of my socks every easter sunday that i can remember, and melancholy would be just another shade of blue. i told him, i am not done with you yet. three weeks post breakup, we shouldn't feel as unfinished as we do. like, in the ridiculously complicated narrative of he and i, the author got up one day, scribbled a quick ending, and then set the novel on fire. i read an article in an obscure magazine about Shelley Jackson, an artist who got thousands of people to tattoo a singular word from a story onto themselves, and then sent them back to their scattered existences. maybe that is what this is, another scattered story. another vaporized narrative. i can feel it in the air, but not pull the phrases together. it's like trying to hold onto smoke. our story slips through my fingers and gets in my eyes. if we were to assign emotions to colors - my ribcage would look like a Jackson ******* my head would be a paintball arena. i am so full of indigos, and mustards, and crimsons, that Van Gogh, himself, would dip into my palette and claim to have never seen such beautiful sadness before. *i don't know if it hurts because it still matters, or if it matters that it still hurts.* i feel the frenzied ache of creation in my gut. i am not a painter, but my mirror is showing me the immaculate collection of brushstrokes i have become. a few weeks ago, i was approached by an artist who offered to paint my bruises. to collect my contusions with watercolors. what a beautiful intention, to immortalize the growing pains, memorialize the bumps along the way, to make something permanent of these perpetual transitions. if we were to assign emotions to colors - my pride would be gold-plated and rusting from use, like my grandfather's watch, courage would be the pure green of every bud that has dared to grow through concrete, and love? love would be prismatic, like spilled oil on asphalt. a rainbow one moment, vanished the next.
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Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 2:03 PM UTC
colors
if we were to assign emotions to colors - passion would be where magenta and orange kiss the horizon at sunset, joy would be the yellow of my socks every easter sunday that i can remember, and melancholy would be just another shade of blue. i told him, i am not done with you yet. three weeks post breakup, we shouldn't feel as unfinished as we do. like, in the ridiculously complicated narrative of he and i, the author got up one day, scribbled a quick ending, and then set the novel on fire. i read an article in an obscure magazine about Shelley Jackson, an artist who got thousands of people to tattoo a singular word from a story onto themselves, and then sent them back to their scattered existences. maybe that is what this is, another scattered story. another vaporized narrative. i can feel it in the air, but not pull the phrases together. it's like trying to hold onto smoke. our story slips through my fingers and gets in my eyes. if we were to assign emotions to colors - my ribcage would look like a Jackson ******* my head would be a paintball arena. i am so full of indigos, and mustards, and crimsons, that Van Gogh, himself, would dip into my palette and claim to have never seen such beautiful sadness before. *i don't know if it hurts because it still matters, or if it matters that it still hurts.* i feel the frenzied ache of creation in my gut. i am not a painter, but my mirror is showing me the immaculate collection of brushstrokes i have become. a few weeks ago, i was approached by an artist who offered to paint my bruises. to collect my contusions with watercolors. what a beautiful intention, to immortalize the growing pains, memorialize the bumps along the way, to make something permanent of these perpetual transitions. if we were to assign emotions to colors - my pride would be gold-plated and rusting from use, like my grandfather's watch, courage would be the pure green of every bud that has dared to grow through concrete, and love? love would be prismatic, like spilled oil on asphalt. a rainbow one moment, vanished the next.
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57
We all want to be someone carved into stone— assured in our identity by the admirer taken enough to etch our jawlines into eternity from the heart of a marble slab. If you work on me as Michelangelo, I will proudly stand as your David.
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Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 12:07 PM UTC
Memorialize & Immortalize
the Webster's, the Merriam's, residents of the Oxford say not, an exclamation or a noun, but an action, a doing word, not so much... as a poet~sorcerer digressing rules, is my input appetizer, poems, my exported entrées all posted to be dessert for all the sweet tooth parts of you all to feast on this process, when I hallelujah you... "Praise the Lord" the translation literal but sojourn herewith me for a few extants, together, let's invigorate, expand the understanding of an ever expansive definition... if I ever fall out of love, with natural words, can no longer hallelujah/scribe to memorialize why we claim, we are alive.... hallelujah's praises for you all the master designers' praiseworthy creations, an extension of themselves, they said in each human godlike spark hallelujah installed there is nothing more godlike than being human, so when I hallelujah I praise each and everyone it is a mixologist's dream, some of it a thank you, some of it a your welcome, all of it a celebratory exercise, in appreciation, of the finery of what we can be come greater through the words of our blood transfused Oh! act out Hallelujah, write it as if you must urgent do Hallelujah, do it not just now but, Selah!
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Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 5:18 PM UTC
Can Hallelujah be Used as a Verb?
Death and love dancing together, In her youthful and strong body. Her hand is like paper, soft velvet you meet in the wild flower petals, Her lips sad and chapped with poetry wheel she wrote How much in the darkness?, it is heart bulb as the stars share unforgettable joy! Death and love kiss her lips let go of desire for life, Because two people can not distinguish, in the dance blew all three.
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Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 11:40 AM UTC
Memorialize
I hear talk, of the cruelty, and heartlessness of humans, but I see things on a regular basis that disprove this. There is no cruelty in a childs kiss, the gently caressed cheek that puts a smile on your face. But, today I saw the clincher, a RIP sticker, for A Squirrel... It hit me like a punch made out of "What the **** I didn't know whether to smile and break into tears, or shake my head in curmudgeony disbelief. A memorial sticker for a road **** Would an animal do such a thing. I think not. They'd eat the thing or just as some leave it to rot. A Road **** memorial sticker is about the craziest compassionate thing I've seen... Animals don't memorialize us when we die... Of course, that's not true. I remember my dad's old mangy bloodhound... and how, after he died, she moaned everyday, at the time he used to come home from work. For weeks she did it, just sitting  by the door and moaning. Until the sun set, then she would slink and lie at the foot of his chair.. She died two months later. And if that isn't mourning I don't know what is. Maybe animals and humans aren't all that different, we just mourn differently.
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Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 2:30 PM UTC
Differently
The immediate introversion, A safe solitude. Alone and alive. Lacking loneliness, At this disturbing depth, Unlike the saliently superficial. The calming confusion Relaxes and reassures. Defiantly deliberate, And thoroughly thoughtful. Marvelously mesmerized By my continuous contemplation. Overtly observant, And insightfully introspective. Fiercely focused On building and bettering. I meticulously memorialize, And succinctly summarize, My lavish love, For being Alone and alive.
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Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 4:45 PM UTC
Alone & Alive
I dye my hair to be different from the person I was an hour ago. I didn't like her very much. I take a picture or two to memorialize my new baptism of peroxide and pigmentation. The chemical smell fades and the new becomes commonplace and I'm back to the person that I was. And I'm fraying like the ends of my hair and splitting and breaking and I'm her again: just as ugly as ever.
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Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 9:15 PM UTC
Dye
Forget Forsaken, Lose Lost Since this Connection, there's no Desertion Reminisce in this: Neglect the Past but Embrace this Present I'll say it as long as you can hear, This friendship should cast out every one of our fears. I may bring stress But I'm not always going to be your mess--- Understand I wear frowns not tears. You may worry and I may give you reason But don't ever take it as treason Im here and let it be clear I Love you, Dear. The Glass Shatters A Reflection cast in each other, Myself Projected in your eyes. Acknowledging the Resemblance Still Seeing the Difference While Appreciating this Coincidence. Love bread Consistency Constancy created Honesty Close from Compassion Dedication by Devotion This is Dependable Since this is nothing short of Remarkable. Affection Motivated my mind Want wrote what needed to be Expressed But neither could convey this Blessedness My aim was to Memorialize Even then no one could begin to Conceptualize. Who would I Be Without You and Me Never forget this "We" Despite the distance between Seas Even if it's more than just You and Me This will always remain to Be. Don't Doubt what you know Don't Question what I've told Don't Worry I will leave Because I'll always be here for You and Me.
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Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 5:31 AM UTC
You and Me
unblemished smiles wither swiftly crisp smile creases line the cheeks and adorn the eyes as youth fades into age and age fades into oblivion then the rest is dust and ashes. breath is ephemeral transcendent, even. viridity is fleeting foliage browns even as we speak and soon folds into a worn leather bag along with baubles from days of yore. but there is a moral to the story that these trinkets tell they remind those remaining of what has passed and what is sure to come again reminding the new to memorialize the old and savor each moments as it comes.
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Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 1:24 PM UTC
ephemeral
i was at the my mom and dad's gravesite trying to do some soul searching and really and deeply missing them and i will never get used to being an orphan and life has been so difficult since they left me and i took for granted how much love support and an ever ready hand to move heaven and earth to help me and i didnt even appreciate it much less utter very many thank you's and i would give almost anything, the rest of my life to have had just one more time of sitting at the kitchen table and i would actually this time drink her nasty Folger's instant coffee and when she died she left a jar of it and although it only contains a hard inch layered congealed ball it is so comforting to open the cabinet and see it still up there and you want to try to judge me when instead i was sitting there on the ledge of their headstone watching the beautiful and powerful electrical dry lightning and feeling the wind hit my face and i cried out to a god that i no longer even believe in to please have my mom cont to keep looking after her grandson the one she never admitted to, but over time it just became apparent of that she was most partial to Colton, the one that she had the special soup and salad dates on special occasions and i find myself agonizing about how whether my son is here on earth in the physical form or his physical blood skin organs and bones have decayed into apparent nothingness but either way i want to feel that my mommy is looking out for him and that i can have answers and can at the worst case scenario be granted just a tiny piece of real estate to go and release my grief and have 1 place where i can finally have just a piece of peace and know that he is with his grandparents and i can visit and memorialize him in the usual manner rather than having moments that can last for months of something that is truly a most insidious form of torture that i can't even grasp words to express and i have been so blessed to be able to have you want to play martyr with that last comment?
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Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 8:53 AM UTC
play martyr with that last comment
i was at the my mom and dad's gravesite trying to do some soul searching and really and deeply missing them and i will never get used to being an orphan and life has been so difficult since they left me and i took for granted how much love support and an ever ready hand to move heaven and earth to help me and i didnt even appreciate it much less utter very many thank you's and i would give almost anything, the rest of my life to have had just one more time of sitting at the kitchen table and i would actually this time drink her nasty Folger's instant coffee and when she died she left a jar of it and although it only contains a hard inch layered congealed ball it is so comforting to open the cabinet and see it still up there and you want to try to judge me when instead i was sitting there on the ledge of their headstone watching the beautiful and powerful electrical dry lightning and feeling the wind hit my face and i cried out to a god that i no longer even believe in to please have my mom cont to keep looking after her grandson the one she never admitted to, but over time it just became apparent of that she was most partial to Colton, the one that she had the special soup and salad dates on special occasions and i find myself agonizing about how whether my son is here on earth in the physical form or his physical blood skin organs and bones have decayed into apparent nothingness but either way i want to feel that my mommy is looking out for him and that i can have answers and can at the worst case scenario be granted just a tiny piece of real estate to go and release my grief and have 1 place where i can finally have just a piece of peace and know that he is with his grandparents and i can visit and memorialize him in the usual manner rather than having moments that can last for months of something that is truly a most insidious form of torture that i can't even grasp words to express and i have been so blessed to be able to have you want to play martyr with that last comment?
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31
Where once we had school -a tall building, the gathering of books, thoughts- Now a hollowing out. The stale wind blows through barbed wire, remnants of horror, intended to remain To remember This hollowed out place A school becomes a building A building becomes chambers Chambers become cells - all paths lead to the Hill of Poisonous Trees, where many red rings hang; symbols to replace horror with Remembrance. A school becomes a building A memory becomes a memorial; But the trees grow despite the poisoned hills. One day I hope they outgrow this place; and yet I want Strychnine Hill to stay - If it is the only way to remember, To memorialize the school that was raized.
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Aug 10, 2016
Aug 10, 2016 at 12:50 PM UTC
Strychnine Hill
I realized tonight While I laid in what use to be our bed I realized that your voice has left my memory. I can't hear it anymore Not like I use to. I can't remember it I kept trying so desperately to remember What did it sound like? Any of it when you laughed or even cried. What sleepy noises did you use to make? I can still see your smile, thank God I can still see it I can see the crooked grin but I can't hear you. You're beginning to fade I don't know how to stop it. I don't know how to memorialize every part of you. You're drifting away I thought I could hold on for eternity. I thought for sure I’d keep every bit of you Locked away in my memory I was wrong. You see we’re human And humans forget I'm so scared one day I will wake up and you'll just be gone. You've been gone 4 years now I don't want anymore of you to leave me. I will not, I can not survive that. I squeeze my eyes as tight as possible Hoping that the memory of your hand on my thigh will come back Hoping I can still feel the feeling of you fingers laced with mine... It's gone. I can't remember how rough the felt. I can't remember the exact shade of green your eyes held I have lost the smell in the air of when you first got out of the shower. I still remember it use to be my favorite moment First thing in the morning but now it's disappeared with so many other things. It’s losing you all over again I don't know how to stop it, stop you from becoming a fictional time in my life. You were real, We were real. You loved me. You loved me so much I know you did There are people People in my life now, that have never heard your name. That never knew us... People that have only known me Without you. How is that possible? Who even am I without you? Just a casing of who I use to be? A hollow person with nothing to give? These people don't even know They don't know me at all.
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Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 11:47 PM UTC
A Mortal Memory
I realized tonight While I laid in what use to be our bed I realized that your voice has left my memory. I can't hear it anymore Not like I use to. I can't remember it I kept trying so desperately to remember What did it sound like? Any of it when you laughed or even cried. What sleepy noises did you use to make? I can still see your smile, thank God I can still see it I can see the crooked grin but I can't hear you. You're beginning to fade I don't know how to stop it. I don't know how to memorialize every part of you. You're drifting away I thought I could hold on for eternity. I thought for sure I’d keep every bit of you Locked away in my memory I was wrong. You see we’re human And humans forget I'm so scared one day I will wake up and you'll just be gone. You've been gone 4 years now I don't want anymore of you to leave me. I will not, I can not survive that. I squeeze my eyes as tight as possible Hoping that the memory of your hand on my thigh will come back Hoping I can still feel the feeling of you fingers laced with mine... It's gone. I can't remember how rough the felt. I can't remember the exact shade of green your eyes held I have lost the smell in the air of when you first got out of the shower. I still remember it use to be my favorite moment First thing in the morning but now it's disappeared with so many other things. It’s losing you all over again I don't know how to stop it, stop you from becoming a fictional time in my life. You were real, We were real. You loved me. You loved me so much I know you did There are people People in my life now, that have never heard your name. That never knew us... People that have only known me Without you. How is that possible? Who even am I without you? Just a casing of who I use to be? A hollow person with nothing to give? These people don't even know They don't know me at all.
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76
I'm thinking I'm thinking I'm thinking so softly in the back of my mind so you won't hear how do I memorialize those 2 boys who sat in the shop and pumped gas by the road near our highway until your ex boyfriend came in and shot them in 2 I'm thinking I'm stopping being in touch with this kind of reality altogether
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Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 3:41 AM UTC
bless them
I spent my 20th birthday in a petrified forest It meant nothing and I sweat very much I wonder how it feels to be petrified, how it feels for Nature to memorialize you, Laid to rest until coal-covered hands unearth you Gingko and sassafras and yew feel the sun’s aged, dotted hands caress all over This is how it feels. A petroglyph carved from ancient basalt And my dad carrying our dog on his shoulders. 15.5 million years of layered rock and Worrying about the size of my legs next to yours. Ice age floods exposed crystalized bark and You wipe the **** off your shoe and we drive some more.
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Dec 2, 2024
Dec 2, 2024 at 11:49 PM UTC
state gem
I have come to cherish the lucky-dice nights when the Adderall just lingers, staying late— much later than times of near-lethal lethargy that leads to interrupted comatose slumber I’ve allied with the recurring habits of winning Most Sober of the Evening, for in my solace, I’m dropping the needle, dancing to Molly's Lips and kicking off damp, muddy socks I feel somewhere—-myself, a place you may have touched and try to burn a placebo curvature along a place you may once have ignited, your artificial fingertips, and trace the beginning of a word, but I lose track where ever the middle may have been Needle scratch, loop, stuck in one, or many grooves Try to exhaust the corporeal, sway, fall, slam body against the wall Memorialize yourself so no one has to, Your storage-unit temple drinking from a dark green bottle Shimmy with a crowbar, lift and uncover, Toss it all in a trash pile For God to rediscover
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Apr 16, 2020
Apr 16, 2020 at 4:55 PM UTC
Could these sensations make me feel the pleasures of a normal man?
When our lips first met, The fragile sky did not collapse The vast heavens did not open up The resting birds did not awake to sing There were no momentous shifts Of the earth between our feet. The world did not change in an instant To memorialize the moment. When your lips met mine, I could feel your warmth in my heart I told myself that I could do this forever With you— just you. And I was surprised by the permanence Which I wanted to create together, Like the ink on my skin but deep in my bones. When my lips met yours.
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Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 11:33 PM UTC
When our lips...
Demonize me, idolize and memorialize me. Act like you’ve memorized me. Cross your heart and hope to die. Romanticize me, analyze and angelizise me. Do anything but rationalize that I’m nothing but human, no better or worse. Demean me, curse me out, be mean to me. The same goes for you, I’m not pure saint or pure sin, you cared where I’d been and who’d I’d touched, Nosy much? I used to idolize, memorialize and romanticize your every move, But then something moved, Unblocked the sun and moon, And soon I saw less and less of you.
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Jan 16, 2018
Jan 16, 2018 at 12:31 AM UTC
In your -ize
Forever is the moment The bedside clock strikes midnight As the insomniac cries, “How long will I stay awake?!” Forever is the moment Staring at the dead of night Seeing the most starlit skies, As our lasting Heaven’s sake. Forever is the moment Lonesome poets start to write Words to memorialize Constant and persistent ache. Forever is the moment When finally things feel right And hopefulness fills the eyes, And no hearts are left to break.
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Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 11:21 PM UTC
Forever Is The Moment
The fabric of my pillowcase Matches your eyes As I close mine My mind begins to memorialize Like adolescents we were Jumping over a fire Hand in hand The love and desire Embracing one another Now part of the scenery The sun begins to fall Oh, the irony Gliding through the night Our tongues collide With dew on the grass We hold on for the ride
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Apr 2, 2019
Apr 2, 2019 at 11:08 AM UTC
Dew on the Grass