"microscopically" poems
no emotionally ecstatic experience compares
to the seminal instance
whence spermatozoa
(from profuse *********** beget
the miraculous propensity
to procreate despite the steep odds
female fertility fosters potential impregnation
fusing the hereditary debt
of feral, fiery, fomenting friskiness
fueling fancy free footloose fornication
prior to seminal fertilization union
sans ova doth induce fret
full ness in tandem with
diametrically opposed exultant sensations
(biologically, embryonically, microscopically,
et cetera) seismic shocks inject
when deliberate intent arises to disregard
applying prophylactics choice
plying reproductive roulette let
which analogous fruitful uterine plain
bastes the "cooking" egg omelette
which impregnation upends cessation of "self"
first and foremost asper desire to breed
wrenching role of "me" as operative
of webbed world de jure upon
consummating that most miraculous deed
necessitating yet for the fecund female relief
from messy menstrual cycle
she becomes temporarily freed
that perhaps a novitiate (or even a gal practiced
in the euphoric family, she instinctually
abides prenatal signals that heed
without feeling debased, harangued, lectured
pedagogical, polemical, puritanical, et cetera blast
assessing copulation enjoyed gloriously,
ineluctably, kinesthetically
lectured by elder, especially cast
in thee reel life drama, that nine months
til offspring utters initial whimper
elapses exceptionally fast
emitting a radiant golden halo wishing
to bottle confluence of hormonal secretions last
ideally fully awake to the birthing process,
when juiced the first stage of maternity past
cuz every moment thee inconsolably
(perhaps colicky infant)
gets first dibs to suckle,
which round the clock nursing
consumes moments many vast.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 11:04 PM UTC
Oh, you seed of mankind.
You who reside in the same Coloured white *****
You carry the sex-determining chromosome.
Before union with female egg, human colour was same.
After fertilization, emerged different coloured humans.
Oh melanin, you who determine our skin colour.
You went as far as differentiating our hair colour.
What have you done?
Are you to blame for racial discrimination?
Maybe blame theory of evolution.
Oh no I blame you mankind.
God gave men brains of a kind.
The kind, that knows wrong from right.
In the image of God, mankind was created.
Colour was not restricted.
I urge mankind across all racial groups.
A plead to all *** groups.
There’s more to what you see in the mirror.
It was microscopically a seed within white *****
We might differ racially, men and women.
We came from same coloured seed.
Sep 19, 2017
Sep 19, 2017 at 5:17 PM UTC
no emotionally ecstatic experience compares
to the seminal instance
whence spermatozoa
(from profuse *********** beget
the miraculous propensity
to procreate despite the steep odds
female fertility fosters potential impregnation
fusing the hereditary debt
of feral, fiery, fomenting friskiness
fueling fancy free footloose fornication
prior to seminal fertilization union
sans ova doth induce fret
full ness in tandem with
diametrically opposed exultant sensations
(biologically, embryonically, microscopically,
et cetera) seismic shocks inject
when deliberate intent arises to disregard
applying prophylactics choice
plying reproductive roulette let
which analogous fruitful uterine plain
bastes the "cooking" egg omelette
which impregnation upends cessation of "self"
first and foremost asper desire to breed
wrenching role of "me" as operative
of webbed world de jure upon
consummating that most miraculous deed
necessitating yet for the fecund female relief
from messy menstrual cycle
she becomes temporarily freed
that perhaps a novitiate (or even a gal practiced
in the euphoric family, she instinctually
abides prenatal signals that heed
without feeling debased, harangued, lectured
pedagogical, polemical, puritanical, et cetera blast
assessing copulation enjoyed gloriously,
ineluctably, kinesthetically
lectured by elder, especially cast
in thee reel life drama, that nine months
til offspring utters initial whimper
elapses exceptionally fast
emitting a radiant golden halo wishing
to bottle confluence of hormonal secretions last
ideally fully awake to the birthing process,
when juiced the first stage of maternity past
cuz every moment thee inconsolably
(perhaps colicky infant)
gets first dibs to suckle,
which round the clock nursing
consumes moments many vast.
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 1:11 AM UTC
I tried to make pasta salad for dinner
but my "healthy" pasta was spoiled.
The only little critters known to man that are able to microscopically sneak in to prepackaged wheat have won again.
So I settled.
I figured I'd make up for my starchy negativity by using "veganaise",
but,
of course,
it tumbled out of the fridge that day in my absence
And shattered.
....So I settled.
Cleaning the kitchen behind my
half-satisfying
yet
I- ate-too-much-of it anyway
meal shattered my glass across the tile,
Persistent tiny shards
just jutting from the grout
like my bruised confidence after trying to clean my soul
of the filth that holds me hostage.
As of today I've gone without car insurance for a month
I've been absent from school
because my attendance is hard-wired to my lack of a
functioning.....wallet.
I got caught in the rain this evening
wondering how long I've got before defeat
catches me by more than a single strand hair,
drowning me in a thunderstorm of
uncontrollable emotion,
pattering and piercing my consciousness so hard
that when I finally got indoors,
I approached my filth with open arms of surrender--
soaked,
sitting,
And settled.
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 9:52 PM UTC
I wish people were smarter
And even with this singular declaration you bristle
Cocked head, tense claws digging into air or own thighs
Ready on the defense
So I prepare to have “Pretentious Snob” branded onto my forehead
The metal meeting the fore of my skull
Don't act as you would do otherwise
I can see you dipping your tool into the fire,
Ready to reveal glowing edges
Beneath an illuminated face
But I stand by that which I have said before,
I wish people were smarter
That you would stop gossiping over her scandal
That you would instead remark on how scandals change the world so microscopically.
That you would attempt to trace the origins of gossip
That you would see the irony of wanting to know everything
about a person
if only from another mouth
But you don't even bother to entertain such ideas
And so I stand on stage alone, audience-nil
I wish people were smarter
So that when I have a new thought
Discussion and open ears sit down at my table
Rather than me waiting for the hostess to (never) call my name
Left to hear only the sound of eyes rolling in your well-oiled sockets
and a chorus of
“There she goes again”
Why do you refuse to come with me?
You are invited
And if ever there is a Bitterman, party of one
It is I, trying to discuss the concept of originality
(As in does it exist among influence)
While you chat of liking songs only for the good beat
(It's got something, I don't know what it is)
I do try.
That is to listen to incessant conversations about spats and fights
In truth they bore me so!
All with the same ending
Emotions stuck on the same unmoving clock hand
Of never change
You may have an excuse
Perhaps you find an analysis of Harold Bloom exhausting
Or write it off as too like school
Well I do like school
And thinking
And questioning
And wondering
And so I wonder
if you aren't exploring such prospects
What on earth are you doing?
It seems so mundane to act otherwise
We all seek to fight against boredom
Or so we claim
Perhaps we are in different arenas
Maybe the simplest of messages is the most clear
To face branding or to avoid:
I wish people were smarter
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 11:28 PM UTC
Unfolding flowers, grasping, slipping through the future’s mist
The weights of fear and experience worn on a wrist
A touch, smooth yet microscopically rough, transfers words
Like a ****** postcard with postage stamps worn on a wrist
A god’s sculpture, a child’s toy, and scientist’s creation, a trinket –
The rust of effort and tears worn on a wrist
Wet from lake water, dried on a dock, then wet again by grassy dew,
Friend’s woven strings warmed by the sun worn on a wrist
Like museum displays, filaments suspended through champagne and handshakes
Everlasting elegance worn on a wrist
Twisting and folding, the doorways to gentle kindness and flinching pain
Choices and reactions worn on a wrist
Strings that pull with fist’s enclosure, blue laces act as highways beneath glazed skin
Flip over hands to a weak exposure worn on a wrist
Windows open on a Wednesday, a gaze across the room
27 bodies rising and falling
A look left – a look down – hair cascading:
Secrets and apologies worn on my wrist.
Jun 26, 2010
Jun 26, 2010 at 10:39 PM UTC
wahid. don't spread yourself between my thighs, and expect my breath to come in gasps because i forgot your name. sprawl on a bed and weep for nothing, i won't wipe your tears.
ith-nain. jilted lovers are the worst kind, don't tell me about the romance of a broken heart when you don't have one to break. don't spin beautiful tales with perfect grammar that follow a flaxen haired princess from a tower into the jaws of a dragon.
thalatha. a cocked hat, painted coal black, some unidentifiable baseball team inscribed on the the front with mercerized cotton.
arba'a. don't take your ears in my hands and close my mouth slowly, i want my words to leak all down your clothes and stain your skin and carve me into every pore, microscopically and geometrically. i want to **** your soul to a hell that doesn't exist, slice your anima into three point five inch wide pieces and strew them across my palm, counting your molecules of existence with glee, don't stop me.
Nov 4, 2010
Nov 4, 2010 at 7:53 PM UTC
I hate going
to clubs
where people just stand around
with beers in their hands,
laughing and sleezing
under the revolving eye
of the strobe sun.
I gotta dance on a girl.
I gotta feel her hips
underneath a velvet miniskirt;
her legs
all soft
and microscopically
prickly.
Jan 3, 2012
Jan 3, 2012 at 6:45 PM UTC
When I was born
they cut off my tongue,
so I spoke in colors.
Spitting red in my father's face:
an invisible vapor
lingering a decade or two.
I tried washing it out with blue
and black
smelling of tar pit tantrums
it oozed microscopically from my gums.
Generating sums
of recycled metals
gray and solid crushing my body.
I licked in silver whispers
gold drips on my seat.
I keep repeating
a staccato pleading purple
please pay
in love.
Please stay
said with one white cloud above.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 10:05 PM UTC
A silent blue engulfs the metallic body that I lay in
I'm slumped against the side of the door, gazing at the minuscule droplets microscopically reflecting my stare
Rumbles and mumbles tumble through the clouds like badly kept secrets fan faring with a flash of purple lightning
My body is filled with nostalgia as my father cranks up the Yankee game on the century old automobile radio
My mother conks out, snoring louder than a booming stereo at a high school football game
These are the rides I like to remember
When no one is yelling
Or crying
Plastering smiles across their faces when hidden discomfort is making their nerves shake violently
Everything is quiet
But the white noise speaks more words than I ever will
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 9:22 PM UTC
Waiting for the sun,
Blazon badge across a foreign world
A morning stand to, bringing a drop of sweat
Perfectly still, its my only movement
Traveling down, contours of eyes
Impatiently watching an alien landscape
They came from somewhere else
An known place, far in space
Attacked from out of the sun
Decimating cities, structures, life
Pumping chemical nightmares from their ships
Driving the elderly and children insane
Their ships were drones, robotic
Faces unseen, voices unheard
But only at first, and only in dreams
Populating our oceans, broke eco
Processing, harvesting, drinking all life
Like Leviathan devouring life
Massive ships, they sunk deep
More, their ships came,
Some we shot, falling from the sky
Crashing to Earth in massive comets
Of oranges, yellows, and blues
Scarring cities, farmland and lives
Others, tentacled, weaponed and fantastic
Crawled up our beaches, taking cities, crushing homes
Some tiny, unseen, breathed in
Feasting on flesh, multiplying
Liquifing, microscopically treacherous
Life by the millions, blinking out like strobe
Slowly we fought; humanity: nature of war
Learning to protect, learning to defend
Small thousands remained, I think they forgot
Maybe this planet, had grown too cold
We made weapons, developed this war
Brought ourselves back
We reached for the stars,
Reaching for new suns
We found them again,
Decided to wipe them from space
One planet at a time,
Each system in a row
But for the soldier's life
This dirt, this planet, this place
Its boredom and waiting
Burning suns
Freezing wastes
Always just another taste
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 8:31 AM UTC
We are everywhere we have ever been.
We leave ourselves behind
Thoughts
Words
Flesh
Skin
Hair
Sweat
Oil
Traces immeasurably small, permanent
We are in the cracks between floorboards
Smeared onto walls. Stressed into upholstery.
We are microscopically ever present. There is no getting rid of us.
Breaking down. Rotting out of our casings.
Daily decomposing.
Your DNA fills your home. Every place you have ever visited.
Let this be a comfort.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 12:19 AM UTC
God has looked into my heart,
Not at it, but into my heart —
Introspectively,
Microscopically,
Spirtual-scopically...
That lumpy piece of flesh,
holding all my fears, snears, cheers, and revears:
The terror of that lone gunman lurking nearby, forcing a town and the State to ransom for a “new world order.”
The criticisms of others...
Accomplishments in life you held as a goal, not sure if you’d ever bring into the fol’.
And my eternal hope, alarming me when I feel I can’t cope...
Essential to keep me alive,
Essential for me to thrive,
And arrive into my ‘be-ing’.
But it is a bumpy piece of flesh,
Scared with wounds,
Pushed and prodded,
Pumped and plodded
in life, with life
And through life...
“Oh, my heart...”
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 3:05 PM UTC
I promise you I’m not worried
About the trials of life
I promise my nightmares
Mean absolutely nothing.
That the vivid visions
Don’t dance in my mind
Or send me painful messages
That haunt my day.
I promise you I’m not worried
When deadly air topples the world,
Closes my recreational parks,
Locks all my favorite restaurants.
I’ll just sit at home like a good boy
And play around with little toys.
I promise it’s all just static,
That the sky can’t weather
what my mind can dream,
That I’m not falling apart,
At the seams microscopically.
May 20, 2020
May 20, 2020 at 9:00 AM UTC
Writing things down
Feels like
Plucking hummingbirds
From inside my head
And holding them
In the palms of my hands
In front of me
So that I can
Eye them
Microscopically
Then
Let them go
And finally
Finally
Exhale
Apr 30, 2020
Apr 30, 2020 at 11:07 AM UTC
For so long were we happily united.
The divergence began a few years later.
It marked a time of sad and poignant loss.
A death with no cadaver.
What had we lost?
What had been ours to share and was no more?
How to apportion blame?
Why should blame even need to be considered?
There had been so much unity.
Our lives had meshed so thoroughly
and what had fingered one,
had snared the other.
Nothing is ever lost (a physical law).
Every negative implies a positive.
So where was to be found
the serenity and joy
that had marked so many gleeful years?
The vacuum was vast and needed to be filled.
Her arms were opened wide;
while mine were clenched about myself.
I thought I could discern a pattern:
a repetition of highs and lows.
Perhaps, I thought, this could be the start
of a voyage of self-discovery,
and since, as Proust has said,
such voyages are less concerned
with seeking new landscapes,
than having new eyes,
I will have to microscopically
examine every facet of myself,
in order to find my true identity.
Then, perhaps, we will also learn
how to restore that unity.
And yet, and yet, the question
returns and re-echoes again and again:
After so many years, so many years,
how could we diverge so rapidly?
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 2:20 PM UTC