"millimetre" poems
Okay The Vibe To Write...
Is Now A Part of My Life...
It’s Just A BEAUTIFUL Thing... !!!
When I Start To Think...
And Start Writing Lyrics...
That QUICKLY Sink...
Into Papers Where Ink...
... Display Wordplay...
That Comes From My Brain...
It’s A Vibe That Invites...
..... REALITY Lines.....
RATHER Than THOSE...
Where Lines of WHITE...
Create Mental DOPES...
Who Embrace That Coc’... !!!
Or Yes... *******
That They’re QUICK To CLAIM...
Helps To Keep Them STRAIGHT... ?!?
The Vibe When I Write...
INFLAMES MY BRAIN... !!!
With Things To Say...
About The World Today...
From GREATS Like USAIN... !!!
To Things LESS HUMANE...
That Are NOT So Great... !!!
You Know What I’m Saying... ?
Or..... DO YOU..... ?!?
Cos’ The Vibe When I Write...
Is... NOT For Fools... !!!
Who DON’T Use Their Brain Tool...
So..... Is That YOU... ?!?
One Who’s Confused...
When It Comes To What’s TRUE...
Cos’ The Vibe When I Write...
REJECTS Those In DENIAL...
It’s A Style That Profiles...
A Great Deal MORE...
Than... Peoples’ Green Miles... !!!
It Relates To Flicks...
That EXPOSE How We Live...
But Also Deals...
In Things MORE REAL... !!!
Than Things That Are Filmed...
On... 8 Millimetre Reels... !!!
Because Words I Write...
Do Not Promote Lies... !!!
Or... FALLACIES...
The Vibe When I Write...
Is..... REALITY........
So ISN'T Written To Deceive...
Or Make People... ANGRY... !!!
... It Is What It IS....
So... If The Cap Fits...
You’d Better Deal With It... !!!
You See The Vibe When I Write...
ISN'T MOULDED To PLEASE...
Because THAT ISN’T Poetry To Me... !!!
It’s About Being REAL...
And Relating What You See...
In Ways That Display...
TRUTH And HONESTY... !!!
And Reflections On Life...
All It’s Lows And HIGHS... !!!!
And Those Last Lines...
Are The Things That DEFINE...
Why... Whether Day Or Night...
I Continually Find That My Mind’s Eye...
QUICKLY Provides A Mind Like Mine...
With...
... “ The Vibe To Write “...
Sep 18, 2020
Sep 18, 2020 at 11:44 PM UTC
We are pieces of grass
Not washing liquid, not pancakes
Our blood is green, not red
Our bodies are thick, with fibre
We are strong!
With the soil
With the fellow worms and slugs
We will rule nature!
WE WILL NOT DIE!
HUMANS WILL DO WHAT THEY DO
ANIMALS WILL DO WHAT THEY DO
HUMANS SHALL SQUISH US IN THOUSANDS
ANIMALS SHALL ****** OUR POINTY HEADS
But what we can't do
IS DIE!
WE WILL USE OUR BLADES!
WE WILL USE OUR TIPS! TO STAB!
WE WILL LEARN TAICHI!
From the bugs, the butterflies and that TREE!
PIECES OF GRASS WILL LIVE ON!
So, my fellow pieces of grass
What are you waiting for?!
LIVE ON, GIVE BIRTH!
GIVE WAY TO YOUR GREAT SEEDS!
AND PUSH, PUSH HARD!
FOR GENERATIONS AND GENERATIONS
WE WILL SURVIVE!
Look, look beside the nearest Seven Eleven store!
LOOK AT THAT FAT PIECE OF GRASS GETTING BLOWN BY THE WIND!
LOOK HOW HE SUFFERS, OF NO SOIL!
We are not like any other
WE CAN FLY!
WE CAN TRAVEL! TO CHINA!
To the most populated country!
TO **** THE MOST HUMANS!
We will have a secret weapon
We will bring so forth
PEANUT BUTTER!
WE WILL NOT GIVE UP!
WE MUST REMEMBER, who we are
We shall make something like no other
We will weave, A BASKET!
PEANUT BUTTER WILL NOT BE WASTED
BY THE HUMANS!
WE WILL GET OUR REVENGE!
WE WILL SACRIFACE OURSELVES,
TO LIFT!
THE PEANUT BUTTER!
INTO!
THE BASKET!
Until the mighty lump of peanut butter is plunged onto China
WE!
WILL NOT!
REST!
Our plan, WILL WORK!
Now, you may be thinking
That I am just a random piece of grass on the internet,
Playing a 3 millimetre laptop!
But I am not just any piece of grass
I CAN SPELL!
I have what is called,
A BRAIN!
DO NOT LET THE HUMANS RUIN OUR SPELLING!
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 4:03 AM UTC
-arriving at eglington west station-
there's the fragrance drifting off
of her shoulders
as she checks her reflection
on smartphone mirror app,
floral pattern matching the
bright of her nails,
the sun shining onto sequined flats
that show no wear.
-glencairn, glencairn station-
there's her youth indicated by
backpack, baseball cap,
and conversation subject matter
discussing video game system merit,
there's the hand me down excitement
of muddy knees and torn jeans,
-arriving at lawrence west station-
each millimetre contributing to grimace,
beard whisker, wrinkle stationed
to the sides of each of his eyes,
weary traveller, seemingly ignoring
everyone with grocery bag
occupying chair like child,
-Yorkdale, Yorkdale station-
we used to weave through these crowds
and people watch together,
and the people would watch us,
young love, so simple,
oblivious to stage,
fingers interlocked, blocking
crowds from passing by,
there was the taste of strawberry
banana smoothie, freshly squeezed,
on your lips, we'd race up
escalators, only to circle
back down, we'd find the nook
of book store, to steal a moment,
you'd ignite, ignoring the clatter
of barrista, starbucks adjacent,
and there would walk by or sit
dolled up princess,
adolescent tomboy,
aging cantankerous senior,
these faces haven't changed
as much as ours have.
-please stand clear of the doors-
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 1:12 AM UTC
Black ink branches stretch sober against the drunken orange sky determined brush strokes ever upwards side by side lovers carve their names in oak afraid that they alone are not enough to bear witness to their greatness
fearless twigs to root themselves in air and ***** at nothingness ever upwards and alone inside themselves a cold wind blows they brush each other in the breeze while green tips know that somewhere long ago and down below
we were related
but now
no turning back threatened by inflation and rivals that compete through fear and jealousy compare ourselves and someone has to lose happiness no more magic than energy neither made nor lost just changing
hands our currency no worth our pompous pity cannot afford the toll to pass a millimetre closer to ourselves in ever shrinking families as words remove us from our cousins and define our being badly
Feb 22, 2011
Feb 22, 2011 at 4:52 AM UTC
Hippin and hop insync
Dub'n on a slip disc......
inc
Boyz on a spliffdrift blink
Neighbours heard a sound
Da beat of a town
Running on gold and bling
Players on a pound
of bullets
One man down
Millimetre round
DEAF in a sound of
bullets
Sherrif''s no clown
Laying it down
The law''s gonna beat you
Pound for pound
Players on a round of
Bullets
One man down
Millimetre sound
DEAD in a pound of
Bullets
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 10:26 AM UTC
Tiptoeing over this week
leaving fingerprints of sleep
in every fold of your shirt.
Voices like humming birds,
echo of mint and
train tracks on a hot day.
Respite.
Sounds like its meaning,
feels like a sigh.
Learned a new word.
Cafuné.
To lovingly waltz
fingers through hair,
Portuguese stuck to the back of my hand.
The air smells of limes.
Hiding cherries
every day this month
made my tongue purple.
This is not a poem.
It shouldn’t taste like purpose,
lethargic bubbles rising in a cup.
Drawing peaches and crayons
between the millimetre increments
of your knuckles.
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 1:41 AM UTC
My body is wet, and slick
writhing from pain somewhere within
and still there is a smile on my face,
for every grimace for every single sin.
I don't mean to be this way,
it's a coping mechanism, long been taught
and i live this daily battle,
til my mind is subconscious and overwrought.
I mean to love you,
and i'm sorry if it's just too much,
that it begins with some words,
and it begs for my sublime touch.
For i am superbly subliminal consciously,
with every note i speak,
and i cannot help that i love you,
for my heart is tough but weak.
And the crowds are laughing,
the cupboard is lacking and bare,
and i sit here and sigh,
whilst you sit with them and stare.
Wait for me to fall for you,
then beg me to stay,
tell i am beautiful, enlightening, precocious and rare,
and then take it away.
I can hear my heart pushing at the black of the sweat,
and i am partially here nor there,
and i am partially yours whether you want me,
under the weight of your succinct stare.
But your victory over me
is not through the love for me that you wish,
it is rather through your rejection,
best served cold, in a hand for a dish.
Nevermind my worries, nor my cares,
I know i am of no consequence nor thought,
of everything in your daily life,
but trouble i seem to have brought.
My dear, my darling, my love, my quarry,
I seek nothing but silence with you,
for i know at least your words,
once uttered, is a missile projected from you.
I am sweat and hard work,
I am scary, new and everything you fear,
but your rejection, though rough,
is what i expected, my dear.
There is nothing i can expect,
you will not allow yourself to become tainted by me,
and my devils they call to my aide,
to show you the wrong side of being free.
You are not willing through self righteous fear
of being covered in the dirt of my love and care,
and when you are not looking,
i am always really, just here, and there.
To want is to suffer,
of this i know which is to be true,
i was sent you in a lesson to learn,
and i was meant to learn from, about, and in you.
I have a wet, slick, black wanton spirit,
there is no innocence in my blue eyes,
for everything i love within myself,
is equally something there to despise.
There is no crowd now,
there is abrupt silence in the dried up air,
intake of acrid, wanton, holy breath,
to see if you really do truly care.
And this aint no love song,
there are no guitar rifts or longing in the chorus of a singular word,
i merely cannot understand you, to love you
and my flight is as free as a bird.
I am wet, and slick, from lack of sleep,
there is something of you inside my head
and every night i wish i was dreaming,
but i think of you instead.
My love,
my quarrel,
my fear,
my future.
Never have dis-pleasured someone so much,
with a singular, single, millimetre of tingle of a touch.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 6:16 PM UTC
My ink craved to pen down
the infinity thoughts - emotive frequencies
for you. You fill up each millimetre of space
confined in my million cells
multiply by a trillion
on the single line page
My thoughts could only fathom
the air you drew
which circled round
and round, round
We italic
reach the same line,
empty all over again.
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 9:21 AM UTC
I am 26 letters more empty,
Than I was yesterday.
This world is the constant dripping of a tap,
Drilling into my skull one millimetre at a time.
This world is safely wrapped in bubble wrap,
Beautifully shattered from the inside.
We have thousands of bubbles to pop,
One god ****** pope at a time.
Interfering personal spaces,
Dancing wildly on the edges of dust.
We sit and rust on O2 particles
Kissing dreams of lust as our bones cuss.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 2:10 AM UTC
*the alphabet is incorrect when nouns come to use,
why necessitate the ordeal of a, b c... x, y, z -
the first sequence an order of literacy,
the second sequence an order arithmetic -
the correct lineage of letters from henry ii
to richard the i, to king john was written
in the minor carta of (bytes): tetra-, petra-, exa-,
zetta-, and crucially yotta-; everywhere transgressions
of the original standard arrangement of
the first memory placebo you learn at school,
placebo memories out of schooling,
ineffective memorisation swayed by the self,
and soon that lost too; memories that shall please
the doctrines, where once we were coalminers
of our selves looking for that nugget of cold,
by being schooled to restrictions, we found only
many nuggets of coal, and as they say: the cold
grey en masse realism of being suited and booted
with the sole reward: procrastination and procreation.*
indeed quantify in the realm
of ∞ (infinity),
but then express a quality
of 1 (the union disregarding
obstructions of centimetre,
millimetre and nanometre,
or the excess of gigabytes)
avoiding the kantian symbolism
of 0 - negation - of any
number to your liking given
power over the base:
with the squared acidic or otherwise,
mitigating ∞ of the unfathomable,
to search for deo sapiens
is to search for yourself
when others defined you in
the narrated enclosure of **** sapiens
and the 20th century's failures:
it's the pedantry of unlearning
praying to something and simply
thinking about it: secular ****
and you the wriggling anaemic tadpole.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 8:15 AM UTC
*whenever i drink with friends, i wake
up the next morning thinking i had a midlife crisis
and bought a yacht with my debit card,
given that i was using the card on 3.50 pints of guinness.*
a loveless scene, that is, full of laughter
and itemisation of the surroundings -
in an adams’ family house type of pub
with gargantuan pillars and more expanding lung space
than in an asthmatic convention the troopers
gathered for talk of almost anything.
one was giving into the psychological testament
of “stealing the show,” playing on the whole social aspect
of respecting the presence of strangers -
a william blake quote was heard -
but since it wasn’t properly quoted the suggestion was:
don’t quote poetry verbatim within a millimetre off precision,
it’ll show you’re not a poet, plus the listener will not investigate
something that’s quoted perfectly.
the quote: had anger with my friend, told my anger
my anger did end. hand anger with my enemy,
didn’t tell it, my anger grew, found my enemy dead
by the apple tree. the prompt for all this? pears,
we were talking with pears in mind.
- we’re talking drinking after a bottle of brandy and three beers
having walked the distance between romford and seven kings. -
all throughout it was concerning to look at the old man
and two frisky girls - we’re talking: are we really going to be
the young philosophers? all the old men in our age are corrupt,
i wouldn’t trust them with a pen let alone a sword -
so while the youth languished the old man took to the girls -
but i laughed on purpose to peacock myself into the eyesight of one,
in the end, i got as close as getting her to go outside,
kissing her hand and forehead and doing some māori hongi,
but then she started with auschwitz dating dynamics: number! nummer!
schnell schnell!
oh right... my house no. 01708766... that’s as far as we got, before she lost
interest and i ended up walking home with a traffic sign signature’d
by my fist; that’s how i practice, hoping for an even connection
between my index and pinky knuckle;
and now? now i’m going to drink a stale 7% with a cigarette **** in it,
cough up a saliva schnitzel and wear sunglasses.
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 7:46 AM UTC
*my my, ain't it June?! Juno, why have you given these poor people snowballs?! it's June and my central heating is on, it's close to 10 degrees Celsius, Bavaria is flooded, people embraced Einstein's relativity of the collapse of the = sign using a parabola, forgetting the basic Newtonian: cause & effect - the moment i coupled Socratic abhorrence of moral relativism, i took to dislike relativism kindred of: claustrophobia and agoraphobia... at some point Einstein's relativity equates space as time, rather than what Newton would suggest trans linear: algebraic squared, Newton still resides in cause & effect, space = ~space, given: 1 = millimetre, kilometre, and any other division... likewise with time... 20th century fashion being the perfect crop of quantum plagiarism, although in the 21st century the dance loop jumping between decades, back in the 20th century a linear expression, an evolution; quantum physics doesn't deal with linear excavations necessarily repeated, it's just repeats what is unnecessary. global warming and the mini ice age, June's here, Einstein too, Newton too, relatively speaking we're aether imprints... speaking via causality we're leaving a carbon footprint - well, **** me, two plus two... it's still scientific negativism, dietary requirements of modern man overshadowed all the scientific progresses in the field... never mind the cure for cancer! never mind that! as long as we can dress a diabetic in Lycra for bariatric surgery - never had i had i heard of such gastronomy, should it have been a pork chop smoked using zyklon B.*
we are living in the age of scientific negativism,
atheism a third limb
and our existential concerns reduced to
hamsters, calories and treadmills:
the basis of all modern inquisitiveness /
Aristotelian awe reduced to rubrics of dieticians
rather than theologians: at least with the latter
we could see the simple mind, hunched
in prayer... with the former we are experiencing
robots repeating the daily 2000 Kcal intake requirement
for a flat stomach... honestly, i prefer the praying
type, than the type regurgitating facts concerning
their diet - at least the former state of affairs
kept them shut up and mumbling, gesticulating
a type of shadow boxing while befriending
Jacob wrestling with an angel - at least that!
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 7:49 PM UTC
My songs can make you cry
Take you by surprise at the same time
Can make you dry your eyes with the same rhyme
Now what your seeing is a genius at work
Which to me isn't work
So its easy to misinterpret it at first
Cause when I speak its tongue and cheek
I'd yank my ******* teeth
Before I'd ever bite my tongue
I'd slice my gums!
Get struck by ******* lightning twice at once!
And die and come back as Vanilla Ice's son
And walk around the rest of my life
Spit on, and kicked and hit with ****
Every time I sung
Like R. Kelly as soon as Bump & Grind comes on
More pain inside of my brain
Than the eyes of a little girl
Inside of a plane
Aimed at the world trade
Standing on Ronnie's grave
Screaming at the sky
Till clouds gather,
It's Clyde Mathers and Bonnie Jade
And that's pretty much the jist of it
Parents are ****** but the kids love it
Nine millimetre heaters stashed with two-seaters with meat cleavers
I don't blame you I wouldn't let Hailie listen to me neither
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 11:46 PM UTC
I once met a girl
I took the girl in
Time passed
She refused to grow
I looked at the girl in the eyes and told her that she had three days to pack her bags and go
Zenzile looked up to the sky, held my stare then said
“No.”
We talked.
The next day, I wanted to cut down four trees,
She stopped me and said I should cut three instead of four,
“Hopefully, this time it will bring peace and justice for all these wars”
Then Zenzile told me she wished she had not despised herself all of these years
I asked her why, I was naive these days
She told me it was because she had already been tainted by the bitterness of others’ crops
They ate at every millimetre of her skin,
Inserted themselves into the deepest tissues of her heart
And slowly shattered her from within.
She told me she could not save her world nor the people inside.
I told her that oddly, she looked very calm.
We talked.
The next day, I had not heard Zenzile and her morning lullabies
I looked outside, long gone was the sunrise
May 5, 2023
May 5, 2023 at 9:38 AM UTC
If i could have your arms as a pillow, i would bring it everywhere, even on the bus. I would wrap it around me if i was cold. I would put half of it on my shoulders if i was at the cinema. I would put them behind me if i was looking at the sea, and make it squeeze around my
stomach until i felt you in my bellybutton.
I want to be a fish gliding through your veins, come out of your mouth and kiss every millimetre of your lips.
I would make your hair a hat and in the morning i would run it through my fingers, i would drag it up my stomach and around my chest and have it entwine with mine, resting near my nose and stay like that until your smell was gone.
I want to sit under a blossom tree with the sun coming through in little streams.
Only with you.
I want to sit infront of the painting 'scream' for five hundred hours, so when i look at you, you would be even more beautiful.
I want to watch every breathtaking sunrise come up from behind your face. See your eyes glisen, with morning moisture and yellow light.
I want you to always be happy. Your heart shimmers in your eyes. When it is not there,
neither am i.
Jun 20, 2010
Jun 20, 2010 at 5:07 PM UTC
You are wind
And the colour grey
You are a composition played on a piano
A cloud
A drop of rain
A torrent
A ray of sunshine
Your shadow
You are the azure sky
A millimetre of the ocean.
You are thunder and lightning
Racing in your effort to catch light with sound
And sound with light
When the echo drags out too long
You are winter
And you are spring
Nothing and everything
A contrast
And a similarity
You are the opposite of me
But the same as me
Hold the stars
Against my lips
Whisper how everything is ending
How everything is an infinity
Touch me
With your warm hands
Make me shiver
From the cold
You are a symphony
And you are silence
We are infinite
We are saying good bye
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 11:04 AM UTC
Why do I expect so much of you? Love will do that. Love creates expectations, and desires, and curiosity. Love needs to be fulfilled.
An unfullfilled love wields a terrible power. A power to create gut wrenching sadness in a person. feeling of suffering and a sensation so enormous, that it is no Ionger just an emotion. It has transformed....mutated...into an extemely tangible pain in ones self. How do I know? You have made me feel that. I have made myself feel that.
Why do I expect so much of you? It's not your fault. You're not able to meet my needs, because your own are being neglected.
Why do I expect so much of you? You beg me to give you space. I want to give you the world. And I could, of you asked. But space? I can't give you that. For each millimetre of space, I feel a mile of suffering. I cant give you that for which you ask. Space.
Why do I expect so much of you? When You are not equipped to provide for yourself.
Why do I expect so much of you? Is it because I love you.
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 9:05 PM UTC
While you were playing FIFA
I was scoring with you mum.
Could hear you through the wall,
as I came in her net, I'd home
goaled in her just for fun.
But it wasn't to disrespect you,
I never wanted to hurt anyone.
Your dad came home when you
were at collage, and I told him
shut the door and sit in the corner
till I'd finished his wife off.
See he didn't shout or run his mouth
off, cos I knew who he'd been doing
behind her back,
none other than my mum.
Now my dads a good man and he loves
my mum, now I'm not making excuses
for her but your dad knew we were happy
and played the unloved man
that just needed love.
Well your dad thought she had morning
breath, but na, she's taken my length after
I off loaded in her ***
But I stayed and watched as your pops
kissed her passionately.
Dang that must have been a salty kiss
breath like the sea with raw sewage
and a hint of peppered sweetcorn.
Now this isn't about you,
this is about men should respect another's
mum, ok I didn't yours, but she knew
that I was a length and your dad was just
a millimetre short stop.
And I always hit her spot, so god knows
what my mum
saw in this old punk.
After that day, he never did any odd jobs
around my house, and I confided in my
mother that I knew and that I didn't want
anything, I wasn't telling dad. and she cried
and said it was only a kiss and only once.
But she hadn't instigated it, and she'd been
a little drunk. But I saw him ******* coming
out the bedroom sweating? Ye he'd been doing
some DIY, why what have you done.
Nothing Ma, I just told him he wasn't welcome
anymore, are you going around there's again?
Na mom, I'd played a game done to many home
goals, and they suddenly moved on.
I'll miss my friend but I'll deffo miss his mom.
Jan 14, 2020
Jan 14, 2020 at 5:27 PM UTC
I'm crazy about you,
all other words are superfluous.
I dare not utter about you,
they are useless.
My mind has you fixed,
My heart has you to stay.
The fact is: I'm more than just crazy,
I wish I could show you.
I'm not like the rest.
I don't do much sport,
I don't like to watch it,
talk about it,
I like to write poetry,
and pose the questions that count.
I like to ask: Why am i crazy about you?
because I know i am!
With every fibre, every millimetre of nerve
in my mortal imperfect body,
I know and feel my heart for you.
A passionate flame,
spread like a wildfire
throughout my being,
a delirious joy,
a unending happiness,
some call it rare,
some call it a lie,
I call it true,
because its caused by you.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 5:50 AM UTC
*we just provide the bang, you provide the number of bangs as necessary to craft an execution of poetic extinction via ideology of supposed "survival" with executing the myth of Dr. Faust, because too ridiculous, which begs the question: so Darwin and the Galapagos turtles isn't a good joke akin to some pervert inspecting butterflies who turned out to be a ********** - because of that cherry skin buttocks?*
all this LGBT thing going on
doesn't appeal to me to
reproduce, i just can't be bothered to get married,
i can't be bothered feeding
heterosexual labour
with the end product being higher prostitution
of surrogate mothers,
you have the power to grow ***** into
foetuses and designer babies, i'm not
necessary given this passive-peace;
i'm liberal up to a point,
after that something horrid takes over...
leave me alone, get the ***** bank to be completely activated
and surrogate mothers the new prostitutes accomplish
a new stratum of earning and spending:
heterosexuality is dead...
or if alive it's what enslaves...
i'm no longer the necessary the body to provide
choice, science over-powered man,
not unlike man over-powering nature
akin to china and india,
but over-powering nature unable
to out-number nature's example of ant of termite;
oh indeed the power, and family as pathological...
enslaving nature limits our growth,
liberating nature dis-inhibits a care to gain power over
when still the earthquake and tornado and hurricane...
science is merely millimetre and a gram!
why take faith in itemisation of such nature
when satiated with dinner you take the dog for a walk
and still look into the distance without clear
dissection - because you do not dissect a living thing,
and when science dissects, it presuppose the thing
to be dead, whether dead or alive, but in chemistry
and physics the thing is either too ridiculous to be alive '
or too grand to be alive -
yet the popularisation of a biological theory
is like the birds & the bees, and the hives, and the candlestick
wax made from pollen of what could have been honey...
biologists are the nazis among scientists,
because, i mean, they're not exactly surgeons,
or medical students, are they? they're about as useful
as psychologists when you have historians
and literature students to make the healthier point of huh?
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 9:38 PM UTC
Metal slicing the air,
Splitting the clouds around,
Into swirling streams,
That scream against the glass,
Shaking the intricacies welded,
Years before,
To within a millimetre of their breaking point,
But they hold against the unrelenting
Tide.
Nov 19, 2016
Nov 19, 2016 at 6:49 PM UTC
How well ******* up is life and the things in it?
I can't believe the love of my life and soul stares at me across a field,
A busy street, a party, at church and I can't go there. Right there where they are ,without the rue of situations past that, have consequentially, rendered something so beautiful and as pure as it it's tainted; passionate as it is deep as a mute and incomprehensible ineligibility.
I could have had the grand kind the kind to end all kinds. Instead, I settled with an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my gut, that I wasn't worth waiting for.
The stars were so cruel. As with all things that glitter, twinkle or shine like your eyes,they seer souls and play favourites. Not that I didn't do well. I did very well, I didn't do deep. Like the kind of deep that travels between our eyes, the kind of heart reverberation that goes beyond soul. I did very well. I am loved and I love; but, there is that chasm sometimes just a shoulder brush away. Always a millimetre times a billion eons away, so close no matter how far, So far no matter how close, all the miracles in the world can't solve it. The devils got his last laugh, and I my last hope. This afterlife better hold its promise, I don't want to face another endless age without you. Its ****** up.
Still, it's perfect in all it's fucked-upness. It has lasted this mortal realm far longer than most could ever fathom, and I am perfectly content in it as long as the deep still passes through our eyes across a field, at church, a party or across the street.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 7:56 AM UTC
that day
the policeman was in a jolly mood
he sang on the job as he gunned people down
listen to his out of tune song while
cocking aiming firing his machine pistol
emptying the clip into running screaming people
reloading doing it again for he had ten clips
each of thirty two nine millimetre slugs
zipping zapping into people thud thud
the roar of his sub gun echoing about
quick call the cops there’s a mad man here!
oh **** he is a cop who’s just robbed a bank
plugged the teller thru the heart stone cold dead
studded the manager across the chest
all for a bag of gold sovereigns in his shirt
look how he stops to light a joint
deeply inhaling the **** with a smile
then opening fire into store windows
at terrified people hiding inside
who if they live will never forget
the mad singing shooting cop
who broke a dozen laws that day
Aug 31, 2023
Aug 31, 2023 at 11:35 PM UTC
A genie working on a 9 to 5
Faces telling him to stay alive
Oh no, no!
It is the freakiest show
Their devils sleeping under their bed
But they've got him on house arrest
Oh, why
Are we so eager to try?
Don't mistake me for misunderstanding that you had it bad
Just like your dress this predicament is just a fad
Hey, little gender-bender
Watch for return to sender
Make sure you're by the coast
That's where they'll love you the most
No time for entitlement
Your words are sentient
Trade a board for a pen
We don't need no citizen
I got a secret
I want you to spread it
Play them anything
Show us something
A kid jumped off of the rooftops
To make his way safely to the candy shop
Oh, how
Do people notice a house?
The wise fool begged in the biggest square
They put him in the alley and they listened there
Oh, when
Did they do the "paper-bend"?
Don't mistake me for misunderstanding that you had it all
This crass crusade will surely stop at the nearest shopping mall
Here comes the space heater
With a 9 millimetre
People say he's colour blind
Who's court, his or mine?
The joke from the chieftain
Is that he's a Bohemian
Who you are is never born
Gotta start out forlorn
I got a secret
I want you to spread it
Dance in the streets
Trust your heartbeat
If you are deaf, well, we all feel what we've gotta say
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 7:04 PM UTC
watch you go
cherry-red motor
dots that look painted on
no bigger than a fingertip
contact lens bonnet
millimetre-thin wires for legs
shuffle not scuttle
climbing the stem
before you open up
unfurl acetate wings
brisk flicker into
a speck against the sky
Apr 25, 2019
Apr 25, 2019 at 7:12 PM UTC