"numbings" poems
I wanted to do it,
she knew it,
I saw by the smile that she gave me,lord save me from sin,
but I just had to knock and she just let me in.
And she wanted to,too,
I knew.
it went on this way, through the night and next day,full of shame lest she blame me for taking advantage,
I gave her my number,she gave me her name,not what I expected,not quite the same as two ships that pass,in the nights when no questions are asked and the heat of the thrill is all that will keep us in answers until the day makes its way through the smouldering kisses and the lingering perfumes of untidy bedrooms.
Sometimes
with the battering ram of the be all I can,I can be so much more than the click of a latch on one more unknown door,one more fated conquest ,one more test of the man,is he all that he can be,is there more there to see, than the fumbling numbings of those ****** comings and goings.
Sometimes
With the stars in my eyes and her sighs on my mind I can find that perfection,a precise intersection where two lives are crossed and nothing is lost but the moments we waste.
How it was then and how it is now, is no longer a question to which there's no answer,she answers me all ways and always she questions,she leans on my answers,I lean on her shoulder
and we get older.
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
(Heated, Fiery trials,) by meself.. The time will come When our beloved planet will feel the suns quench, No breakfast or lunch to soothe that sweaty emotion..All time and devotion unravelling childhood memories, Where winters freeze, and you are still left by yourself...Kept, Wept, and melt out, Drawn to a pad of papery apprentice.. Such a menace when others think they know you, to show you such devious inventions..Of evil intention , they live to watch you die. To watch you cry and spill out all inners, Where your platters not entered into win any prizes..Miracles are few these days, The dark has infiltraded, the glooms turned to haze....Soo many Live in materialism and dreameries Lodge, where their cabin of themself is god , for they forgot who they are...phantom masks, fast cars..How a coverup to hide scarred innocence, where childplay rememberance Hits all at once...Who we really are...The cold empty bars are now lovers best friends...What a sad combination...We only have today to do our made out wills, For the numbings soo skilled this time of Infestations...Tretchery is Now the new..ALL HOT DAYS TO COME , none cool, For the furnaces will feel the excite..Days and nights will be mans worst enemy...The moon climbs the cosmic wave to show us all whats to be bound...Speakerphone sounds can no longer show humanity the reality of themselves..When will they see all belonging is there...Will they find it? or forever be Wanderers?
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 4:52 PM UTC
i rather believe in angels
that men
who attribute themselves
a loss of free will
in order to just sell plastician’s extension
of what’s called life by the non-memorable
numberings in equal measure numbings
of what man isn’t given he chose neither devil’s tail
or angelic wings but the monkey’s ********
and guided the 100m metres beyond marathon
for a measure of a chatty shadow allowing sepia
as proof of grey...
flip the ****** coin will you!
flip it!
ah... you won’t flip it...
i’ll marathon myself ready as audience +1 for
the tragedy of aeschylus... sad cosine exhausted...
sad because the fattened actors in numerology
expanded the fate of acting with the actor’s once taken
for plasticians of doning masks to later
adorning man with a fake sexuality on stage
as a forging of forgetting the sexuality of the feminine:
woman cannot fake her sexuality
man can with homosexuality...
but woman cannot fake her sexuality should
our reproduction be usurped and lost...
but isn’t that double homosexuality of
man usurping woman from faking her ***
by acting and...
ah crap... the proof came with inter-racial ***
white girl met brown boy and sang about
a blue-eyed afghani girl in the verse of van morrisson
concerning the stranger who wasn’t a spaniard
but a scandinavian who wouldn’t return the love affair
of the stereotypical phrasing of a book material
to employ a little country in terms of how many metaphysical
spoons were sold counter to the number of soups slurred.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 10:18 PM UTC
(Heated, Fiery trials,) by meself.. The time will come When our beloved planet will feel the suns quench, No breakfast or lunch to soothe that sweaty emotion..All time and devotion unravelling childhood memories, Where winters freeze, and you are still left by yourself...Kept, Wept, and melt out, Drawn to a pad of papery apprentice.. Such a menace when others think they know you, to show you such devious inventions..Of evil intention , they live to watch you die. To watch you cry and spill out all inners, Where your platters not entered into win any prizes..Miracles are few these days, The dark has infiltraded, the glooms turned to haze....Soo many Live in materialism and dreameries Lodge, where their cabin of themself is god , for they forgot who they are...phantom masks, fast cars..How a coverup to hide scarred innocence, where childplay rememberance Hits all at once...Who we really are...The cold empty bars are now lovers best friends...What a sad combination...We only have today to do our made out wills, For the numbings soo skilled this time of Infestations...Tretchery is Now the new..ALL HOT DAYS TO COME , none cool, For the furnaces will feel the excite..Days and nights will be mans worst enemy...The moon climbs the cosmic wave to show us all whats to be bound...Speakerphone sounds can no longer show humanity the reality of themselves..When will they see all belonging is there...Will they find it? or forever be Wanderers?
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 12:11 PM UTC