"numerals" poems
The smile of iceboxes annihilates me.
Such blue currents in the veins of my loved one!
I hear her great heart purr.
From her lips ampersands and percent signs
Exit like kisses.
It is Monday in her mind: morals
Launder and present themselves.
What am I to make of these contradictions?
I wear white cuffs, I bow.
Is this love then, this red material
Issuing from the steele needle that flies so blindingly?
It will make little dresses and coats,
It will cover a dynasty.
How her body opens and shuts --
A Swiss watch, jeweled in the hinges!
O heart, such disorganization!
The stars are flashing like terrible numerals.
ABC, her eyelids say.
11k
First forget what time it is
for an hour
do it regularly every day
then forget what day of the week it is
do this regularly for a week
then forget what country you are in
and practice doing it in company
for a week
then do them together
for a week
with as few breaks as possible
follow these by forgetting how to add
or to subtract
it makes no difference
you can change them around
after a week
both will help you later
to forget how to count
forget how to count
starting with your own age
starting with how to count backward
starting with even numbers
starting with Roman numerals
starting with fractions of Roman numerals
starting with the old calendar
going on to the old alphabet
going on to the alphabet
until everything is continuous again
go on to forgetting elements
starting with water
proceeding to earth
rising in fire
forget fire
8.5k
You talk about eggshells
I hear the crunch as I get closer to you
Thought it was glass breaking but it was too soft beneath my shoe
I can't stay out of your perimeter forever
When the diameter grows bigger and bigger
Pushing me farther away
I can still see soft silhouette
Your skin is so frail
Pale white made of the eggshells at your feet
You reach down time and again
When you're pierced by words
Cutting off oxygen
Penetrated by the carbon dioxide truth
You're not young anymore
Age is ageless numerals
You're not old
How many birds flew away from this pile of youth?
Each one once packaged like a gift
Leaving behind stacks of birth to sift through
You gathered them
Scattered them evenly around you
Put your appearance and self worth into them and
Waited for the crushing blow
Marching toward you from all sides
Your insecurities will swallow you and
The stomping will leave you angry and hollow
We are all hippy chickens
Making wishbones out of peace signs
Hoping for unity
Not realizing it's meant to be broken
A lopsided libra unbalanced
The powers that be
Expect you to follow obediently
Stand in line
You can't take just give
'Short people ain't got no reason to live'
Newman must have know
How difficult it is to create new men
One by one we attempt
To tip the scale in our favor
But the bigger Man
Can push it down with a finger
Like a toppling Pisa tower
A slow motion fall to the ground
A single direction agenda
The momentum gained
With each inch leaning
So stop clowning around
Sweep up your eggshells and
Go buy a dozen more grade A's and
Break them all at once
We don't have much time
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 3:43 PM UTC
I am secluded
by the steps of a brutal mind
Written in black and white
numerals on ***** chalkboards
Was I sleeping passed my childhood lesson?
Please, wake my tired, bloodshot eyes !!
They are weary from
illuminated nightmares
and X rated dreams
The sting of the wooden rule of measure
punished my hands
The welted numbers tattooed
on my swollen palms
Ten Hail Marys are not enough to stop this atrocity
The towering stoic women,
dressed in black habits
I do not dare look away
but I did
Time was broken
when the rulers cracked the desk
Ear deafening sounds
with my frozen tears stuck in pause
I looked up to the heavens
to seek answers from my god
Not one whisper back,
I was screaming vulgarties in silence
Lowering my head to my desk,
I closed my eyes
and counted the numerals
on the ***** chalkboard
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 9:03 AM UTC
scrabble tile - no vowels
exact change only
spider solitaire - tetris
distraction
furtive glances
quiet moments alone
lie to friends
weep with no tears
lonliness
gritted teeth with cavities
must mend myself
procrastinate
cars go fast
constant peripheral hearing
night sweats
vivid imagery, pretty colours, sublimity
consideration, politeness, restraint
roman numerals, 24 hour clock
crumpled notes, lacing on a glass
temporary sensations
four walls, three sides, two's company
shocking weather we are having isn't it?
Aug 4, 2012
Aug 4, 2012 at 3:24 PM UTC
A desperate desperado shivering as the sun sets,
casts it's silky shadows upon the hollows below.
Beneath the cascading denizens of light,
a puff of smoke waltzes across the December sky,
a patient without his insurance with nothing left but
callous empty third-person reassurance,
"everything will be better" as she said.
But better is always easy when your hand isn't writing the letter.
Save your proverbs for an open ear,
this one is half deaf and full of itself,
despite your intent,
your lack of action perpetuates malcontent.
After all we're all just passing moments
gone and forgotten, evicted,
convicted of being a gutless mime,
going through the motions,
minus a true notion.
A confused calculator short circuiting under an oil leak
spitting out numbers, complicating already complicated complexities
subtracting numerals adding funerals
dividing families multiplying tragedies
It's just a numbers game, and we can't participate
we're just the studio audience, recorded live without any life.
Flashing signs tell us when to laugh and when to cry,
pre-determined automated messages contrived to convince.
And I'm stuck spinning in the corner,
with my hands on my head.
Senselessly blurting out: Why?!
But don't mind me, I'm just another lost soul
trapped with my head in the sky.
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 11:59 AM UTC
Time will tick by on a watch,
attached to a skinny wrist,
the hands rotate casting small shadows over roman numerals,
silhouetted behind bonsai tress with eyes that squint tight in this end of summer light.
Phones serve no purpose until they ring,
and in hospitals life support machines beep beep electronically
as people are feed through tubes that gurgle
and words get stuck in their throats as life constricts and
in these ***** municipal corridors death stalks dressed in a stained uniform.
Men in ties crunch numbers and say, ”There is no way to say this Mrs Smith, it would just be cheaper if your husband died.”
We can turn off the switch and you can take him home in the back of your car.
You don’t have a car?
That’s ok, a bus stops just outside.”
Leaves are falling early this season turning the floor brown.
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 8:14 AM UTC
The grandfather clock in the hallway punctuates the darkest moments of my life
Not the plastic passing of time but the deep resounding timbre that you only find in proper clocks
Proper clocks with keys and not batteries, with brass faces and ornate hands.
With roman numerals and not numbers, chains and weights and wheels and chimes.
A sooundtrack lost in the hysteria of day that, but as darkness falls
it becomes the very essence of a sleepless night
.
.
Tick
.
.
Tock
.
.
May 18, 2010
May 18, 2010 at 4:36 PM UTC
A net sum of years,
and romanticized numerals,
Built up by birthdays,
to be torn apart by funerals.
Frayed ends of friendships,
pulled until they popped.
A holy mess
in the wake of a difference,
Between what said
and what was thought.
Aug 25, 2019
Aug 25, 2019 at 2:55 PM UTC
Cold white numerals
from the Teutonic-honest dash:
9.5°C
Not so cold, I guess
but not the weather to press the button
for the windows to drop
I do while accelerating
too fast for the road,
the fresh air has volume
that angry-loves my tired,
house-cat skin
The wub-wub-wub pulse in my ears
has a cause I control
for once
as the next curve beckons
Feb 19, 2021
Feb 19, 2021 at 9:19 AM UTC
My dreams are full
Of skull-fucking
And butt-fucking
And ******* all night long.
******* girls I loved
And girls I came to hate.
They are full of that driving hunger
like being tickled
By the queen wasp's stinger
Until the syringe went to deep
And the want became a need
And
the *******
became
A plague,
so that I couldn’t dream
Of anything else,
but sticking my ****
into some pink *****
And driving it all the way into
Her
until
I could see it in her eyes,
forcing the smell of her
reddened, limping *****
out of her ears
like a bloated body
excreting excess venom.
I wake up
to a hard-on,
fatigued,
limping,
famished,
humiliated.
Every night I pull the power cord out of the digital radio beside my bed, the one with the lime-green numerals, and I wrap the cord around my neck until I can hear the muffled hammering of my heartbeat
inside my skull.
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 9:48 PM UTC
Your worth cannot be measured
by the circumference of your waist
or the width of your delicate hips
And though his lips will plant onto yours
and others may call you revolting
it shall never measure your worth
And when it comes to valentines day
and the only roses you received
were the ones your mother sent you
It cannot measure your worth
Because your worth cannot be measured
you shall repeat it again
your worth will not be measured
by numerals,words, or objects
not ever
your worth cannot be measured
but you are enough, unbelievably enough
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 2:34 AM UTC
545
’Tis One by One—the Father counts—
And then a Tract between
Set Cypherless—to teach the Eye
The Value of its Ten—
Until the peevish Student
Acquire the Quick of Skill—
Then Numerals are dowered back—
Adorning all the Rule—
’Tis mostly Slate and Pencil—
And Darkness on the School
Distracts the Children’s fingers—
Still the Eternal Rule
Regards least Cypherer alike
With Leader of the Band—
And every separate Urchin’s Sum—
Is fashioned for his hand—
1k
When walking through a gravesite, you forget that several feet under lies the body of a person you may or may not know.
I have a surname and plot number...
This could have been my family.
Maybe it is.
Maybe it was.
I don't feel worthy enough to sit in the grass before the tombstones.
To place my hands on the stones... they're so cold.
I've read the inscriptions.
Never forgotten by wife and son.
Faithful unto death, may he rest in peace.
A soldier of the great war.
Known unto God
Known unto God
Known unto God.
I have a surname and a plot number written in roman numerals, somebody tell me where I can find the plot under the number 30.
I ran through the gravesite only to find 29.
And I ran out of time.
So tell me where I can find him.
After all... an unknown family wrapped in a common surname is all I really know.
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 8:49 PM UTC
Slice slice slice
All over my arm.
Slash slash slash
All over my thighs
Cut cut cut
All over my hips
Making Roman numerals all over my skin
Hoping it will silence the voices within
Letting the blood run down and around
Hoping agony will drown and run aground.
My skin will mend
My bleeding will stop
But scars will remain
Penned onto my heart.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 6:34 PM UTC
Y.
That perfect letter.
Wishbone.
Fork in the road.
Emptied glass awaiting a refill.
If you look close enough, tiny prints of sparrows in sand.
The half of the chromosome couple half of us don't have.
A question we ask, again and again.
Second to last- almost there- in the alphabet.
Coupled with a L, and you can describe
the way in which what is done is done.
Modest X. Kiss kiss. Legs closed.
Y or N? Yes, of course.
It's a peace sign,
upside down.
Y- a Greek letter- joined the Latin alphabet after
the Romans conquered Greece
in the first of all centuries we've counted by their numerals.
Y is a double agent- a vowel, a consonant,
or both?
Before Y was given to us, we couldn't talk of someone smiling happily
or know to help someone in need quite desperately.
Before Y we couldn't ask for the answers we wanted.
I don't think we could have been happy.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 12:26 PM UTC
on a scale of one to one-hundred,
no, one to one-thousand,
your lips tasted like cinnamon
Brought heavy feelings below my waist
til I thought I just might explode
Call orange the new numerals
and red the better alphabet
say A B C then 1 2 3
sickly sticky and sweet
Doughy flesh that melts in summer heat
How many moments does it take
to burn pasta on the stove ?
Enough for me to get up and watch you go
Run
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 10:46 AM UTC
this message is brought
by those who fought
for lover's lane is now a vacant lot
I heard that at it's birth
lover's lane encompassed the earth
like a grand equator
the ultimate curator
of all things love
but then a dark mass came from above
it was a ball of cynism
and under the haze of malaise
created a schism
then like ripples in a pond
the schism ripped at the bond
that held lover's lane together
maybe it was cynism that allowed the darkness to see
that lover's lane was only real,
because of ideals held within you and me
the darkness knew it's route
was to first take root in the minds of the people
then gives it's followers the suit
and make the corporation it's steeple
the suits were faithful to their creed
called the gospel of greed
yet there was still a need
that they had to feed
happiness
that money could not buy
and believe me they would try
and try, and try
and try
deep down their apathy
was agony
happiness the supreme ideal
but all they wanted was to feel
anything
they went to their vices
such as cellular devices
that created a virtual reality
that could make them virtually happy
for once they could virtually say
they were virtually ok
virtually
not in reality
the reality was they were desperately trying to forget
they were sardines trapped in the net
the net was growing too
misery likes company
but really loves a corporation
but what were we to do?
it had spread across the nations
lover's lane was shrinking
all we were thinking
was could love ever thrive agian?
could it even survive? when...
the darkness was so thorough
containing lover's lane to merely a borough
we tried to make them see
all that love can be
we tried with all forms of art
wrote, and spoke from the heart
but the suits were indifferent
they just didn't care
I realized then and there
that I'd be just one of the few numerals
at loves eminent funeral
wearing a suit
and after a tear, I'd start my commute
to be the corporation's next recruit
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 9:45 PM UTC
Internal pain is translucent,
once unleashed by Pandora,
curiosity and desire spawning universes,
chaos math at their matrix,
the numerals law and criminal.
Their cores, just and unjust,
and so here we are on the precipice of truth,
debating realities.
Swear no fealty to a single lord,
choice defines us, but is not ours,
so we stand looking upon vast skies,
their stars gazing back at us, distant atoms,
nothing, knowing everything,
in our appetites we feed our reason,
and the decay of time becomes meaningless,
until simply being,
becomes being, simply.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 2:12 AM UTC
Father, it's been quite a while.
I can see the long hand of the clock
stroke your face,
and although there are no
numerals, the monotonous
tick of the second hand beats against your brow.
Father, you are nothing but an exoskeleton
of your former self.
The soul trapped between your
crisscrossed face lines
is not your soul.
The hands that wrinkle
like underwater mountain ranges
are not your hands.
I don't believe it's you, father.
You were once a great rumbling earthquake
with enough force to shake
laughter and happiness into the concrete
bones of whomever.
That was then and here you are now-
a quiver, a ripple,
nothing but a humming aftershock.
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 10:58 AM UTC
I am a fatalistic dame
*** and death, it’s all the same.
Returning, bloodied, from the war
to ***** me on the kitchen floor.
Slick with sweat, my mounted ride
locked and spaceless, held inside.
To have and hold. Oh! Glory be!
And vanquished are mine enemy.
In tattered furs, my Roman king
fresh from battle, seeking sin.
Age and time, the ticking numerals -
why else do we **** after funerals?
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 1:31 PM UTC
I solitude II lovers III crowd IV everyone
standing alone, caught in bitter fever of III's halls
I me myself and I tell myself it's only some hours more until he and I become II
IV likes to stare, but I am no compass, the direction I am taking is toward Aurora Borealis and mountains
the II in the III convince I of my clear ****** method
when IV knows I do not experiment
I II III IV who can show me the exit?
-cj
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC