"multiples" poems
complexity bias
how you love to criticize my poems
as too long and overly complex
poor me, I’m no genius, don’t prosper by exploiting
unrecognized simplicities, rather deconstruct the
intricate complexities that I flatter myself are the me-sinews
Writing is a **** temptation -
we focus on the 10% that is complex and ignore the easy 90%
perhaps this once I will surrender my bare bones
put aside the rich, satisfying of cave diving, urban spelunking
word caressing tongue verbiage rich tapestry exploring -
give you the plane of plain where nestles my destiny: nesting near motionless where the couch is my kingdom and cold cereal is
easily digested and there are no consequences
I am a member of a discriminated-against minority
we have no charismatic leader, no marchers anywhere, and government programs say
hey you’re free white and twenty one plus, get the crap out of
our faces, you useless piece of rhymes with **** and includes dirt, though I shower twice a day to keep myself occupied
25 years old, a high school dropout, of course I’m white,
my occupation is playing video games and making sure
my supply of opioids is adequate in these great United States
where I was born
there are fewer jobs than none that my application survives
a first glance discardation, and now my disability preempts
any demand to pretend there is gainful employment in store in
my future
this reductio ad absurdum is a technique to expose the fallacy,
ah what’s that you say no interest in hanging about,
on your way out, of course, of course,
we are the wrong flavor of downtrodden
my life is simple - simplistic in its a chaotic entropic way,
order slowly declines into disorder
my rituals are a fight against slip sliding down, falling off the
the Herzog continuums
and the poems are desperate hand holds to prevent my
going, gone under
so forgive me if I tax you without possessing not the
requisite taxing authority
you hone in on the obvious disparities and my contradictions
resenting my sending you this bill of extravagant length
compose with me and a mean will be located and to sleep I go,
perhaps to undress my dreams and explicate the wealthy multiples of complexity in the simplicity of a junkies life
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 3:56 PM UTC
The left of center
are in north bound throes of a dupe
and can't begin to forecast this wonder of polluted marvel,
in the morrow
my optics discharged in a catastrophic traversal
While whimsy and accidental feels like I've taken pills
a power rain this sobbing has spilled
No longer to be contained based on sheer will
Attacked by neurotic transcending
While sifting through files and photo stacks
Came across multiples of your smiling face
From when I shot you, a couple hundred miles back
No one would dare debase the abundance of your emitted grace
Bloodshot mist eyed and blind from tears
control lost during transport steer
Drips off my cheek pouring down my chest
Could make great sense to don a life vest
Filling up floorboards like a spraying firehose
Shattering cascades diamondize the windows
A single glance at an image turns farmland into rural seaquake
If they interview my lifeless corpse what a headline this will make,
turning tragedy into a foolish mistake
people will curse and laugh
Paved over roads now films unseen
when dusk fuse night from the weep my eyes dispensed
Elements effected by incidents
Rising waves climb over to decimate interstate 65
All over a tiny tear drop and her sweet smiling photograph
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 8:01 PM UTC
The root suggests multiples,
a pair of shoes, yours and mine.
The prefix is a verb in motion, a
positive direction; a triumph of gravity
in defiance of its equal and opposite reaction.
He stands by the car in the grey light
with drizzle beading up on his shoulders.
Our life upset, torn at the seam into his and mine.
Turn around,
the coward whispers from my mouth.
I see my face reflected in the glass window
staring back at myself, the coward,
half of a set now rendered unusable, sold as scrap.
Turn around.
Multiples reduced to singular nouns.
My shoes are kicked and left by the door.
Everywhere his shapes are cut out of the dust.
The coward in me grins wide as a sickle
In the bathroom mirror. Our set of ghosts are
making too much noise, all night they keep me
up.
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 10:24 AM UTC
Churches and cathedrals filled with paralegal misfits,
its just sick how beautiful nations can come to this.
Bowing down on knees just to see a better view,
quoting a bunch of words or two,
you lie sins still comes in multiples.
I know because I've seen many clips being load,
and triggers pulled to explode flesh just to expose the soul.
You wash your faces with holy water,
then when service is over your back on corners bringing wars such as black on black slaughter.
Selling dopamine to fends hellacious scenes seems to be clear to see hell-raiser dreams I seem to intervene,
contradictions to competitions, imperfect visions,
natural destruction I can't believe,
a deep pit I can't perceive.
Arab stores selling crack, Coors and ****** ******
Nobody scores in this world of imperfections.
A twisted method and deal we keep our lips sealed,
and peace is killed all because of the choices of freewill.
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 8:34 AM UTC
too many lies have made me blind
i'm just trying to make myself feel and be better, but i wasn't a great partner.. always two sides to the story
she pointed out things i already knew about myself, i'm not perfect but i try to be patient with myself... if I could I would've rushed the process
i'm worth it, yes... i think... but sometimes it doesn't feel like i'm worth my next breath of air
i've always had an issue with that until it backfired, one bullet turns into 100
right at me, if they were real i wouldn't try to dodge
questioning the "logic" behind these emotions
imaginary weight? but it's dragging me down before the sun rises again
i don't have anything to believe in, i'm not the one for her... is what she's decided
nothing is right for me... after endless mental agony
facts don't make me feel better, but it's good to be honest
always better to be honest... things are **** at the moment
there's nothing to do but live through it again
i was... dumb to think otherwise
they say to step away at first sign, but you always want to try to fight it
for the sake of making things work, even if they don't
i've given up plenty of times, this time it feels like i shouldn't again
when i should, again
here it comes
i get it, i get it
ahhhhhhhhhhh
yes i'm flawed... i know... i'm still... growing eww
sooner or later
"just let her go"
it's so simple... she's vanished
and it wasn't meant to be, but i thought she was the one to settle down with afterall
she's hung up on an image, multiples
if it makes me feel better, believe it
she just wasn't into me
just focus.. on living, not just exisiting
imagine loving someone that doesn't love you back
thinking about a certain future that's been taken away
my mind is lost right now.... i'll let it run for a bit until i can catch upppp
dreams unlived
i dreamt about our kids last night and I forgot to tell you
an ending with too many photos to feel alive to
Jul 26, 2022
Jul 26, 2022 at 5:23 PM UTC
At What Cost?
This Purchase of Our Future
*a thousand answers + variegated shadings, a summation:
∑
of millions layers of our owned chosen complexities,
so many possible outcomes, it makes infinite randomness
seemingly simpler than our googolplex crazy preposterous
notational choosings, our owned decisions which though false,
cause nothing is tandomn random except for love at first sight
it’s all just ******** we conditioned from pre-birth,
the expectations subtly subsumed into the woman’s womb,
overlaid by the ***** donors whisperings that you will be a
great third baseman, or a great bass player, or both, but
“your” fate, ha!
is anything but yours…
to purchase!
if you were born to live in a home with no heat, and water was
obtainable by walking 100 yards away, you would still be a
pianist, writing notes of plaintive need, grand desires, musical
words of agonizing delight just as when
you first blushed when the brain
connected yellow rays with a word,
sunrise,
and an experience was synapticaly imprinted,
that real things could be defined by an ordering of letters and sounds
and you were tongue burnt by a need so great
to collect these pleasurable things and put them in a right order
of your
peculiar
particular
personal
inherited inputted
design
=
and
you yet debate
what is my instrument,
knowing that the multiples of your fingers
are the engine of your existence,
and on any particular day they, your well connected perma-crew,
will pick which is the chosen one,
and
no matter which,
for you had nothing or little purchase,
it was coded in your pre-history
just as you prepare a transmission list
of your own,
when you daily first touch your face,
closing the sensory sensual connection tween
the ephemeral and the physical
and
the new combinations
that you will imprint upon
someone’s flesh,
that is your right,
that is you write,
that is what you were
predestined,
to
create
but,
(what the heck)
you get
to-pick the instrument of the day…*
(
that,
is your purchase, your only cost,
everything else has been
pre-paid
)
Nov 9, 2023
Nov 9, 2023 at 8:54 AM UTC
Numerous number systems beyond the real:
complex numbers, octonions, omnions which can eat whole black
holes.
It's axiomatic that your personal history, preferences, how you feel
account for nothing at all.
$30 buys a flock of chickens for a needy family (International Rescue
Committee)
$29 gets a girl a school uniform (CARE), for $300 you can stock a fish
pond (Heifer International)
$69 can start a female entrepreneur in the sewing business (Mercy
Corps)
$5 will buy a bed net that protects a family from mosquitoes (Against
Malaria)
20th century experiments demonstrated that electrical charge is
quantized; that is, it comes in
multiples of individual small units called the elementary charge, e,
approximately equal to 1.602
x 10-19 coulombs (except for particles called quarks which have
charges that are multiples of
1/3e).
Why has the experimentalism of the avant-garde, which has failed in
the novel, succeeded in
poetry? Because poetry is always experimental; while the novel, on
the contrary, by its nature,
cannot be . . . which is to say that experimentalism is synonymous
with poetry, and that applied
to the novel, it leads simply to the substitution of the novel with
poetry. --Alberto Moravia
Man made the town, Fibonacci inflated zero to be the wheel
around which the universe turns and language is the soul
walking and talking quietly or going angrily to war.
"Counting is in its very essence magical, if any human practice is at all.
For numbers are things no one has ever seen or heard or touched."
As are words.
Joan Didion thought the scariest stanza in all of poetry
begins Row, row, row your boat gently
down the stream. The elements, the material penumbra,
irresolvable for the mortal, readily dissolve in words and numbers.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 4:08 PM UTC
I was born on a Sunday.
My eyes change colors
depending on the weather.
I am 5' 2'' but feel like I am 5' 6".
I don't know how to do Calculus.
I am okay with that.
My first name means "one who listens".
I wish my middle name meant "one who speaks"
because my God, I am a wishing well
and people have the tendency to toss
their secrets into me. And their loss, their pain,
their anger, their sadness, their regret
it fills up a part of me that I thought was infinite.
I am on the constant verge of spilling over and
when I walk I feel like a garbage bag, dragged
against cement, one sidewalk scrape away
from coming undone. I am expected to keep
everyone's mess inside.
My friends tend give me **** for the amount of
time I can spend staring in the mirror.
The secret here isn't that I'm vain,
it's that approaching my reflection is like
ripping off a band-aid because looking
myself in the eye still makes my stomach flip.
60 pounds of weight lost does not
silence the echoes of words that
convinced me that life as a size zero
was the only life worth living and
I had been alive nine sizes too long.
I can't always remember that I am beautiful.
And I have this collection
of words that I should
have said. When I am alone,
I bring them out from
my closet and introduce
them to the ghosts of
people I have lost,
of the people I could not fix,
of the people I should forget
but can't forget because I
don't want to forget because
there's something about keeping
wounds open that feels better
than letting them heal—
I have always been one to pick at scabs.
This is my declaration of honesty—
My name is Sam.
I can't ride a bike
but I can write you a poem.
I am afraid of perpetually falling
in love with people who won't love me back.
There is a man in a cell I live to forget.
I am convinced Heaven looks like Ireland
and that soul mates come in multiples.
My voice shakes when I say what I think.
and for once,
this poem isn't for you.
This is a poem for me.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 9:17 AM UTC
on the margin
the paraphernalia
employed to obtain
the sweated inspirations
to tell these lies randomized
stories, factuelle (feminine)
pestle and mortar martyrs,
crushed together, drink in
her form, the S curves
of her shape, my fav
place, on a long list
of favs,
and she says;
hey poetry man!
which renders my
100 or so
senses,
that radiate,
congregate,
infantuate
rendering moi
delightfully attentive,
and I think:
Solitude:
Be All well and good,
wells and veins awaiting
for spelunking & mining for the
nexus of the
next line, but when she summons me,
with a cherished honorific I am
sundered by words deep felt,
and the next line forgotten,
disappeared and
for multiples,of poems,
that
die
heart busted broke
when she call poet, come,
it is like living in a gearbox
Stuck in Fifth,
that message of multiplex pixels,
so engaging and so many container conceptual structures,
those poetic burst and bust out,,
gnawing to be released free,
***** solitude, it’s her
attitude that gives
more than I can
handle…
and the poems are about the conjoining
of
the mutuality of our:
soliciting solitude attitude
Aug 4, 2024
Aug 4, 2024 at 11:03 AM UTC
As I sit staring at the "fasten seatbelt" light overhead
I can feel the endless possibilities of places I could go, people I could meet.
Today you asked me "you feel miserable here a lot don't you?"
You've never been more right.
And as I sit here on this **** plane in your **** sweatshirt I wonder if you know.
I wonder if you know how scared I am
of all the opportunities the fasten seatbelt light brings me.
Of all the opportunities you bring me.
I swear the way you look at me
while I'm in the passenger seat of your beat up car
on the way to the dinner that you'll buy me
and I'll pretend not to care about
is the same way I look at Columbia and blank notebooks.
The possibilities and beautiful what-ifs are spelled out
in the whites, blacks, and multiples shades of brown in your eyes.
And I am thinking to myself how beautiful this fasten your seat belt light is
but I am also thinking of how beautiful you are
and how you've never been given the chances or opportunities you deserve.
So as I sit here stirring in my just barely big enough seat
I am feeling things that not even the damien rice in my ears can suppress.
I am seeing every beautiful night I spent wishing I never had to go home.
I'm seeing all the miles you put on just wanting to talk to me a little longer.
I'm seeing the way you nod your head back and forth
and tap on your steering wheel to the beat
of your latest favorite pop punk song.
And I am seeing the tremble in my knee that you don't notice
when you say that my laugh instantly makes you smile
because in all reality every waking moment I spent frowning at you
was because I was hoping that if I convinced myself
that we were no good then you would believe it too.
I realize all these things as I sit in seat 20E
on a delayed flight to Orlando
and all I want to do is parachute down to whatever tiny
secluded unknown cafe you're spending your evening jamming
to a local set of bands drinking something fruity you've never tried before.
And just like that drink I want to run down your throat
to the deepest parts of your gut
and permeate through your blood stream.
I want to run like oxygen infused flames through your system.
I'm still sitting in this cramped seat on damien song number five
staring at this fasten seatbelt light and all the possibilities
and I just have one thing to say: fasten your seatbelt with me.
Fasten your seatbelt and see all the possibilities that I see.
Fasten your seat belt and move three states closer to that dream
you've been dreaming since we were neighbors on that worn down block
where we learned to hate our parents.
Fasten your seatbelt and run away with me.
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 10:49 PM UTC
meeting you was drowning without water, i didn’t know i was already dead
my body was stronger before my tongue tasted your name
and kissing you was like cliff diving to meet cement
your fingerprints left bruises without a warranty, i can no longer find my skin
somewhere between lost and found, your hands are ghosts around my throat
i choke on my own steps
you stain the bathroom tile like i’ve had too much to drink
loving you was like eating a cereal box of sea glass, and still searching for the prize at the bottom
my fingertips bleed broken promises
sometimes i sleep on the couch to avoid the absence of your shadow in my sheets
my sheets still ask about you
so do my parents
i rehearse words you’ll never hear
my insecurities crawl out of your one-word responses and tell me i’m not worth more
for your love of multiples, i could have been anyone
your hands carry the baggage of “ew she’s my best friend”
i’ve lost count of all the ‘shes’
you were not searching for my heartbeat when your hands groped my chest
i’ve had trouble finding my pulse lately
i need a receipt for our memories but they’re stuck to me like a shirt i can’t get over my shoulders
i can’t get over your smile –
the way the corners curled like bare willow branches dancing in the wind to our song
it was running your parseltongue through my veins, and i’d run out the high for days
i think i’m still running, but my feet are stuck in the same **** city we met
your face is plastered post-it notes on all the places we had our firsts as if i need reminders you used to look in my eyes and mean it
i visit museums to remind myself beautiful things have history too
no one ever tells you that goodbye tastes like empty air, tastes like looking in the mirror and not being able to swallow yourself
i bear the scars of your touch, poetry scratched into my skin like tattoos
i remember the first time you hit me
your palm crashed my cheek like a chance seismic stamp and i liked it
you told me, “run while you can i’m dangerous,”
but i stuck around to be buried in the dirt of the grave you dug me with “hello”
sometimes i’m convinced we only hug so you can check my hands for a shovel
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 1:09 PM UTC
Multiples Personalities
I’ll defeat you, I said
I have study your every moves
You clustered my inside, like the garbage bin
Gasping for air, I struggle
It snow. I wore a tee shirt
No boots though. I took the train
Trouble follows me
Outrageous! I screamed
Split personalities; Alters assembled
At court street, Nevins and Applebee
Each taking turns maneuvering in the cold breeze
I fought with all my might. I headed to the voodoo priest
Gibberish sounds he offered.
However, not for too long
With some great effort
Conquering we fought the beasts
Depression you lose; we won.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 9:58 AM UTC
I want to come up with amendments,
But my brains cannot function
Because I have spent the last 8 hours
Trying to memorize the 2 “I’s” of Lebanese history
Irony and Ignorance.
I want to fix the world
But I was never the handy man;
I once broke my mother’s phone
Trying to wipe the screen;
And frankly,
I don’t really know what’s wrong with it.
I want to patch my mother’s heart.
The bullet in her son’s temple
Burnt a hole in her arteries,
So every time she inhales
She could taste the lead
Between her husband’s eyes;
Because before the stars collapsed
They were just scanning the shelves for skimmed milk;
His daughter suffered from diabetes,
And before the sun exploded
At the bend of a thumb
She was hanging from his arms,
Jane trying to swing her way
But in this movie
She never meets Tarzan.
His daughter was only 3.
A car bomb
Can conflagrate
From 9,000 up to 27,000 feet per second
Both are multiples of 3.
A wired van
Can carry up to 12,000 pounds
Of explosives
Also a multiple of 3.
On her 3rd birthday
She blew 3 candles,
And 3 candles were lit-
Every night,
In between the white roses-
Over her grave.
I want to breathe
Burning tires,
I want to bask
In blood,
I want to think
In exchange rates,
I want to feel numb;
If this is the only way…
Is this the only way
To survive?
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 6:49 AM UTC
I think the best way to learn something is to put yourself in a situation where you can't escape until you learn it. Learning things out of fear, I find, is the best way to learn things.
Now don't get me wrong. It's different. You don't tell a 3 year old that they have to know the multiples of 2 in an hour or you're putting them up for adoption, that's just cruel.
I mean you have to put yourself in that situation. And I know a lot of you are going to think 'why is she telling us that in order to learn something you have to bput yourself in a situation where you're gonna be scared, how much narcotics is she on?". My answer to that ? None. I'm telling you this out of first hand experience.
I learnt all the languages I know today from only bringing myself and a change of clothes to that country and I worked there for however long was needed until I learnt that language. I had no form of communication, no Internet, no phone, no friends or family with me. Just me and a small suitcase and determination.
I think this is also the same for things you're scared of. Now this won't apply to everyone cause I know a friend of mine refuses to get in a car after something that happened to him when he was younger, I can completely respect that and I know how that feels so I'm not going to tell him to get in a car as he would never tell me that. Some things that you're scared of just never to away.
But my fear of spiders is probably something I could deal with and fix. I mean a spider never did anything to me, I honestly have no reason to be scared of them , but I am for some reason. I think if you have no reason to be scared of something then it can easily be fixed. Like the spider , I could probably pick it up and let it crawl on my hand and get used to it. I mean of course that is easier said than done because obviously I'm going to be scared even looking at it, not to mention picking it up. But I think I'd gain some courage in the knowledge that I overcame something I've been afraid of for years.
And this just isn't physically either, it can be emotionally, morally, and spiritually. I learnt that if you want something you have to be willing to fight for it and be prepared for some heartbreak along the way. How? Some people know of this, and when I tell people about it some people think that what my nan did was the wrong thing to do and others think it was the right thing to do. I've really only told 2 people what happened, and if you'd like to know then feel free to inbox me, I have no problem telling you, I would say it here but I think this post is long enough as it is,
~ Stay Beautiful ~
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 9:23 AM UTC
John's morning are failed evasions
Life busted him again, shortened vacation
Nights are for him the perfect occasions
To hide from life for a certain duration
John plays hide and seek with people
So their happiness does not find his pain
Because negatives are not good multiples
His sufferance is permanent, any help is in vain
John likes to eat when he remembers
That a full stomach enjoys cigarettes better
He is one of lung cancer's club members
The mailman recently handed him the letter
John brings cigarette butts in contact with his skin
And presses them to feel, a verb he is usually lacking
He has no fear but the fear of happiness
It is a ghost of very persuasive nastiness
John counts days, sees them running and wishes they flew
Death is imminent, death is around the corner, death is at his pursue
Death, for john is the clue
Does John need rescue?
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 12:52 AM UTC
Here I am thinking
What have I become?
Is this me, Was it me before?
I'm exhausted by the constant adding up
-multiplying the times I have had to reassess
Where am I in this maze..
I feel the certainty chip away as the people I love wilt and disappear
The knowledge I once held close I lay down next to their once comforting words
Nothing is definite
Fact is a state of Illusion
Am I alright with this?
I once declared.. "I thrive on chaos"
I now search for comfort within it, and hold on tight to my own prospects
Is this really who I have become?
What do I fear? .. Measurement(?)
Those who are adding up their own multiples(?)
Me
As I look myself over in the mirror
judging.. assessing the weight of each insult
Who cares?
Do I? How can I find contentment in all of these flaws
My lack of effort
My lack of effort to conform to ideals .. is this part of me, a rebellion of sort
Will it pay off in the long run or will I fall flat on my face in the abyss of conformity
I am lucky I am loved. I think
oh so lucky .. luck is temporary, it's all temporary
that's the good part(!) We don't have to dwell but(!) might we have to Answer
To Pay.. for all decisions and outcomes.
Is this why(?)
..I know I am not the only one thinking..
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 8:21 PM UTC
It is a general saying that What You Seek is Seeking You. If it is so , then why the sought for (i.e. God ) is not meeting the seeker or seeker is discovering the sought for (i.e. God). It is very easy to say that God is looking and searching for us. If it is so, then why we deviate from our path. Why we are attracted to the lust, money or other worldly material. If God is searching us, then certainly he has to guide us in tracing him. But the reality is just opposite. If tread the path of God, people will laugh at you. If you are working in any office, it is very easy to talk about politics, movies, girls, foods, clothes etc. It is very difficult to find a companion with whom you can speak about God. It looks as if God has created all these hindrances so that it is not convenient to seek him.
You seek about movie and you find movie theater. You look for clothes, you find the multiples mall easily. But what about God. Go and ask questions to so called Spiritual Leaders, Spiritual Guru and ask for their experience regarding proof of god, and you do not find definite answered.
I have met various so called spiritual leaders, spiritual Gurus and asked about their spiritual experience about the God. But I receive only hesitating answer, that too also in Negative. I do not want to name such leaders.
I have also read many books like GOD SPEAKS by MEHER BABA, LAW OF SPIRIT WORLD by KHORSHID BHAWNAGRI, AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF YOGI by Yogananda Paramhansa, Gospel of Shri Ramakrishna. But the end result is confusion. Each book gives different account of God. If God is seeking us then why the same is confusing us by providing so diverse ways of following him. Ramakrishna says money and women has to be avoided on the path of God. While Osho and Modern Gurus says just contrary. In fact in word of Osho, without treading the path of *** , it is difficult to follow the path of God for modern man.
For Vedanta, the seeking has to follow the ascetic path. The path the self restraint. While the path of tantra (the Left Marg) to utilize women and wine for attaining the Samadhi. It is Just incomprehensible to believe that just two contradictory path lead to realization of same God.
When you look to go nearer to a particular cities or places , then on the way you start meeting land marks, evidencing that the path, you are following , is going to lead you to your destination. In fact on the ways, you find many stones, indicating the distance which is yet to be covered in reaching the destination. But in case of God, things are just contradictory. The more people you approaches to seek advise regarding the God, the more disappointment comes to you. The more book you read to tread the path of God, the more confusion you creates for yourself. The more you discuss the topic of people around, the more alone you become. The more you tread the path of truth, the difficult your life become.
Then how it can be said that WHAT YOU SEEK, IS SEEKING YOU?????
In fact , truth is that What we seek, creates hindrance in being sought for.
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 3:10 AM UTC
my existence is redundant
you could find multiples of me on any street
enclosed in overcast skin
we endorse allergy to self
Aug 11, 2012
Aug 11, 2012 at 1:53 AM UTC
Now,
laying on the bed.
Your legs spread,
I’m all over it.
Standing overhead,
You getting over it.
Simon say,
repeat after me:
Deep ****** filling your need.
Uncontrollable; lust
controlling me.
Our Body language,
making progress.
Overcome by my touch
Multiples,
then ecstasy,
next is me,
feeling the energy.
Ready to digress.
Swallow my pride,
leave the rest to me.
Handle it the best:
Removing your clothing,
quickly undress,
actions speak louder than words;
so you know the rest.
Inside your body:
Expanding,
Stretching,
Flexibility: Flexing
as we ***
Deeper ******
Getting deeper,
Continuously; getting closer.
You know what comes next.
The explosions, explosive
Killing me.
The experience; Destiny
left us breathlessly.
Head over heels;
but to some degree,
your upside down: restlessly
looking at me eagerly.
Still so *****
plans to *** again:together
in your holy matrimony.
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 10:55 AM UTC
Stock them high was the order of the day
In queues one by one, they flock shops
A social warehouse of common sales
Slashed home events, buy one get one
On a balcony I sip Chai Latte swiftly
Masses line up on spotlight street path
Each drawn in enterprises of expenditure
A dime for a good, a rhyme to amass more
Coloured triangle on the forehead illuminates
A third eye, a seer pry, mood eased to try
Our eyes meet and my tiled notebook melt
Sing my heart don't protest,soul free to sate
We lost in narrowed jungles strolling multiples
Outer casts giggling, deep withering multiplex
Pasted blocks of concrete as loneliness replies
A vice subtle, an automated paradigm in demise
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 1:24 PM UTC
(do not follow your heart)
do not follow the resolved feeling, the
benefit of the doubt a hundred times over and
bent over backwards and hollow
do not forget numbers, multiples of being alone
prime and so easily covered with the foam that
washes away, worthless
do not follow.
do not forget.
take these foundations you insist upon dispersing like
ashen arms, gritty sand wiped into an eye by mistake
take these.
take these compounded days and
take these dug out pits of stomach and
take these falls and
get the hell out.
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 11:26 AM UTC
Multiples Personalities
I’ll defeat you, I said
I have study your every moves
You clustered my inside,
Gasping for air, I struggled
It snow, I wore a tee shirt
No boots though, I took the train
Trouble follows me
Outrageous! I scream
Split personalities, alters assembled
At court street, Nevins and Applebee
Each taking turns to maneuvers in the cold breeze
I fought with all my might,
then headed to the voodoo priest
Gibberish sounds he offered
However, not for too long
With some great effort
Conquering we fought the beast
Depression you lose; we won.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 9:38 AM UTC
Dear five, without you
I would not be here.
For my mom was born
In your month of May.
And my dad was born
On the fifth of June.
Both of my siblings
And I make a five
Person family crew.
My bank account would
Be empty, but for
Five random dollars
I’ve managed to save.
Would you consider
Inspiring more than
Just me? With your great
Set of multiples?
Without ten, fifteen,
Twenty-five, oh where
Would we be? Dear five,
You’re so important
To all, not just me.
May 4, 2022
May 4, 2022 at 6:45 PM UTC