"molecularly" poems
for Harlon Rivers
the river potion,
the river portent,
the river potent
it is all of these and not one
he is bank sided,
observing the false idols,
the image mirrored
in the glass of the river
transfigured molecularly
he becomes something ferried frothily, forcefully
as if a twig
or a small thing of human manufacture,
an object tossed up airborne-repeatedly
his poetry:
the clash of particles at the many junctions
of objects and water, eddies and the currents,
ceaselessly circumnavigating,
searching revisionary pathways
directed,
but randomized,
prisoner of the flows,
servant to the wind's directives and the
earths magnetic indivisible undulating waves
thinking,
this life,
its unsteady gait,
the irreverent wavering of drunkenness
resultant from potent potions,
portents of inopportune position
in him,
my own histories,
my poetic recordings
also become
water borne,
watermarked,
replayed back for me,
for erasure, censure, closure
and rededication
this River
is a tapestry,
a torn map,
drawn on broken shards
of slivered water,
living with all the others
but we,
are the untitled,
we,
are the un-entitled,
and he is the
Rivers
<•>
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 2:36 PM UTC
Tightly clenched the fist shakes
Never steady like a nail
Blood curdles through the veins
Self-torturous it won’t fail
Keep still to breathe
Inhale the oxidation of life
Flowing molecularly steady
Before the shattered knife
But why negativity it remains
Lingers closely by the trees
Hovering over the city
Lacking soulfulness to squeeze
One refrains from the nuisance
Though it fights back with a rage
No world is perfect
Keep me locked in this cage
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 11:29 PM UTC
Regrettably recording these words,
I’m not a poet or else this would probably flow,
Though I could care less if you don’t want to hear what I have to say
Because I’m comforted by a chance to reason the existence of a soul,
So I could care less if you don’t need to be told that, I’m human and oh so vulnerable
What more can I ask for?
Able to feel the consequence of lusting for something more,
I’m lucky enough to have escaped the 21st century womb,
And avoid the convenience of a couple cuddling with a contraceptive
Understanding that I might just get one chance to say,
I’ve wanted to make the most of my time
Since I’m physically deprived,
What more can we ask for?
Not sure what will happen when these lids seal eyes that were once bloodshot,
I’m so scared of what lies after a life,
My molecularly defected design,
So I must reconcile with the fact that,
My chance to survive without a heart and mind,
Depends on how I use this time,
As we look for the divine our intelligence derived,
Glad to possibly experience the consequence of stepping out of line,
So I could care less if you think I’m a detriment to society
Since I desire to exist beyond the confines of what can be physically defined,
Happy to discover that the divine was not stamped on the penny or the dime
I’m now comforted by the consequences of being materialistically maimed,
Because I didn't find spirituality through Sunday sips of wine
Almost six feet down and comforted by our unknowns,
Maybe you’ll remember me if you made sense of this,
Because I’ve been counting the days before I’ll realize,
If I made the most of my existence
Feb 29, 2012
Feb 29, 2012 at 6:58 AM UTC
shattered dreams
American nightmare
ghoulishly stalking mankind
Bilderberg extremists
owl effigy looming
behind the all seeing
eye of rah –
multi-national tycoons
inspire blooming death
radiated waters flush with fluoride
filter through sippy-cups
washing away the taste
of vaccinations
and GMO soy –
mutated masses mumble monotonously
meager motor skills
meandering through melted meadows
masochistic in the macabre –
moonless morning breaks
trails checkerboard the sky
cubism
from air force fly-boys
under orders to implement agenda 21
disguised as protection
from solar radiation
old soil toils under the strain of oil based
pesticides
and molecularly altered
food crops
for profit
and to experience the long lost joy
associated with being a swashbuckling pirate –
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC
There are these spots on my ceiling.
Plainly speaking, they are
off-white patches where
the heads of nails were
mudded over, but not well sanded.
I opt to see them as
push-pins squashed when spat
on monochrome maps
to point me dippered ways outre-ward.
Their gap-tooth patterns micro-mimicking
constellations hap
my eyes to hazard
hopping through new belt hoops.
Then passed by barely habited worlds,
I wheel round orbits
molecularly
chained to collide, next time.
My neighbor's heavy steps fade out.
Feb 18, 2010
Feb 18, 2010 at 7:29 AM UTC
they say sad tears and happy tears are molecularly different
am i molecularly different, now that i cry tears of sadness?
did your leaving me change what i am made of?
they say we are made of stardust and other borrowed things
so that means you changed the make up of the stars when you left me,
and you changed a small part of the universe too.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 7:49 PM UTC
Molecularly driven like a locomotive engine
Ripping Suns apart like the universe's darkest invention
Behold the fire **** streaking violently through solar waves
Colliding with asteroids taking bites as they drift away
Feeding on the life force of the bluest helium star
A collection of trillions of souls together coming to grips with what they are
Only in the devouring, can they satisfy their rage and anger
Not realizing they were destroying planets like theirs only making the fire lion stronger
By adding to the sadness and the number of taken lives
For some things, need no reason for their passion to hate and despise.
But all things can be changed with one tiny little notion
It is foolish to believe one drop can change an ocean.........but it only takes one dream!
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 11:25 PM UTC
Have you ever
Sat next to a
Neon yellow-orange pig?
Stared into its black eyes,
Its thick black eye brows,
It's two big black nostrils surrounded
By that
Neon orange
Skin,
And wondered why the kitten,
Who enters with such
Curiosity and sniffage,
Cares so much at first and then,
Cares so little at all.
Certain men
Are like
This.
Certain women,
Act
Like this.
Certain people
Are meant to make
Certain people
Better people.
We are the building blocks
Of
Eachother, one another, everyone.
And I can't stand
The way my mind thinks and behaves/
Self-desctructs, re-constructs
These visions of illusory
Reality.
I've achieved nothing,
Yet,
I smile at the clouds who've achieved
Everything
By
Molecularly genetic chance.
Aren't we all just mistakes
In the gigantic genome experiement of life?
Accomplishing...something?
You know...I've got a pig roast this Saturday?
You know...I think about moving
And I think about screaming at strangers?
You know...I wonder what it would like to be hit by a
80 mile an hour car?
You know I know that all my peers, all my friends, all
My closest dearest closer than family people
Are utterly miserable with everything and just
WANT TO GET AWAY FROM IT ALL
Exhale
But,
To
Where?
We can't all become
Three million dollar
Junkies,
Can we?
There is no great state
Anymore.
It's broken.
The ideology
Of war
Is
Dead.
Patriotism has turned
The country inward when
All should be
Outward.
But then, you make,
The hair on the neck,
Stand on end.
Be in the scene and see
The small grains of sand atop
Her big toe nail, the sun-reflecting upon the nail,
How its pink shade reminds you of
Cotton candy no, bubblegum, yes,
Bubblegum.
These are the minds
Of formers past.
They've made their trists and tried
Their minds toward
Life that was both meaningful and
Meaningless.
What I wish to do is paint with words,
Our words,
So,
When all is finished,
I can see, without mirror
For a mirrow is a stage and a stage
Is too close, as is, the mirror.
Our age needs distance to affect
Any change.
What we've become,
What we truly are,
From there,
From here so to
Perhaps see,
Where we,
Should go, next.
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 2:48 AM UTC
1:47am. Standing on my thumb
awakened by my badder bladder, disobeying the rules,
one reaches for the tablet’s reassuring whiteness and
its scrolling alerts; ascertain that the world order is yet
extant in a normative disarray, the elections are over
yet not, my sports teams have creaked to losses,
my inner devils are resting nesting in anticipation of another
day of sweet self-torture and guilting for a life full of
sinning and mine failures, a dawning realization grasps
my twilight self, half-awake & somewhat sleepy, that
I am writing poetry in the nether space where rules
and space are permeable, my river of conscience consciousness
flows between the gaps of truth and disfiguring lies, and that
I am standing on my thumb.
Yes, a single shorty, stubby, chubby digit is firmly attached,
arrested onto the screen, a portal tween love stories, podcasts
of human grief, leaking creativity and foundational support,
I am upright, upside down, feet in the air and kept there by
a small undistinguished and unattractive teeny weeny appendage through which hard data, drowsy dreams,
arousal, stories are bytes flowing in conflicting directions,
all at risk, great risk, by defying gravity, and the awful pull
of the accumulated weights of sorrow and grime of wasted opportunities, unbearable weight of lightness & love both
taken and given, potential horror stories, and the deniability
of humanoid excuses is pathetic and inutile, indeed, futile.
my suspended state of betweenness, the past and future,
caught up in animated currents of the perpetual and eternal,
unbelievable fantasy and unrecoverable missed opportunities,
cognizantr of a chasm division entre my failing body~shell and the sparking consciousness that cannot destroyed.
all while upright standing, aloft by a single but critical thumb.
the watch face glows 3:12, this episodic journey will be eradicated, molecularly scattered, permanent only in its
self-destruction and the remaining disquietude of the
unrealized reality of a naissance and a renaissance
having occurred,
I am no longer awake and never was…
NYC
Thu Nov 10
2020
Nov 10, 2022
Nov 10, 2022 at 3:41 AM UTC