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"obliterating" poems
I gaze into my crystal ball, discern amidst the haze A world so far removed from that of now, it would amaze, Where catapulting incidents collide like billiard ***** And sense defies belief as renaissance makes the calls. Blueprints fresh from Internet supply the suitcase blast Where the terrorist’s, simultaneously, ignite in cities cast From Moscow to New York, Beijing to Berlin Gay Paree to London town then way out east again, Budapest, Jerusalem Calcutta burning all And Tokyo is levelled in a ghastly nuclear pall. Kneejerk reaction triggers contrails in the blue Crisscrossing all the continents obliterating through An overkill so vicious that in seconds it is past And the living cling in horror, bearing witness… aghast. Restraints are erased as the opportunists dash Flotillas from the Spratleys sprint to occupy and cash In on the minerals, oil and potential food supplies Of uncontaminated nations found beneath Pacific skies. Hindi, Jew and Muslim settle scores bereft with years Of resentment accrued in a flood of blood and tears. A sudden realisation of immensity of loss Curtails the destruction in retrenchment across The habitable outposts, the dearth of supply And the daunting prospects of a nuclear winter sky. Global collapse of all electronic gear No power, no phones, and no cars now…for years. Electromagnetic impulse put paid to all that And the day is as dark as the cold night is black. And here all we sit, in the here and the now On the verge of catastrophes’ teetering tower, With a fools pudgy finger just inches above The nuclear button…and all that we love. ……You fear the insanity, sense the insane Knowing that people like this are holding the reign? Knowing that volatility strikes Like the shot of a gun and the ****** of a knife. I don’t have the answers to hand But someone out there, knows how…and can. The sands of time are running thin URGENTLY needed a LEADER...to WIN! M. Planet Earth 6 March 2019
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Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 12:46 AM UTC
The Tomorrow that Must Not Happen!
I gaze into my crystal ball, discern amidst the haze A world so far removed from that of now, it would amaze, Where catapulting incidents collide like billiard ***** And sense defies belief as renaissance makes the calls. Blueprints fresh from Internet supply the suitcase blast Where the terrorist’s, simultaneously, ignite in cities cast From Moscow to New York, Beijing to Berlin Gay Paree to London town then way out east again, Budapest, Jerusalem Calcutta burning all And Tokyo is levelled in a ghastly nuclear pall. Kneejerk reaction triggers contrails in the blue Crisscrossing all the continents obliterating through An overkill so vicious that in seconds it is past And the living cling in horror, bearing witness… aghast. Restraints are erased as the opportunists dash Flotillas from the Spratleys sprint to occupy and cash In on the minerals, oil and potential food supplies Of uncontaminated nations found beneath Pacific skies. Hindi, Jew and Muslim settle scores bereft with years Of resentment accrued in a flood of blood and tears. A sudden realisation of immensity of loss Curtails the destruction in retrenchment across The habitable outposts, the dearth of supply And the daunting prospects of a nuclear winter sky. Global collapse of all electronic gear No power, no phones, and no cars now…for years. Electromagnetic impulse put paid to all that And the day is as dark as the cold night is black. And here all we sit, in the here and the now On the verge of catastrophes’ teetering tower, With a fools pudgy finger just inches above The nuclear button…and all that we love. ……You fear the insanity, sense the insane Knowing that people like this are holding the reign? Knowing that volatility strikes Like the shot of a gun and the ****** of a knife. I don’t have the answers to hand But someone out there, knows how…and can. The sands of time are running thin URGENTLY needed a LEADER...to WIN! M. Planet Earth 6 March 2019
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43
people **** people with nothing but fingers and hair and their very heavy breath. their breath like a crow beak before crucifixes of straw. like a tightening banishment of a lung. remember when we would blow it onto our car window and create that consistent mirth of fog to begin in? the bodies riddled with bullets that flank the highway are no such thing. the schoolchildren lying face down in the corner of the closet are no such thing. they are just winter coats with schoolchildren to fill them for the time being. no amputation of what’s mine will aid them into the grave. no mass communication grief. so why would you call it a mass grave when in truth it was just a pit i dug to fill with crowds of people who died under the pretense that they had previously done so, that nothing was new under the sun. and when people **** people like people do with their instruments as ways of extending themselves into the world and into the marrow of our body obliterating organs of people with their stretching of the muscular rib, shoulder. one eye closes firmly. it’s nothing but a hand gun as if to say a hand eats the gun and makes it whole. as if to say the reinforced metal door exit plan for people who are being killed by other people clicked shut and locked 15,000 years ago and i can’t quit slamming what’s left of me into it. your kid is very dead. but then again so is mine. suppose they killed each other. suppose they both made the mistake of dragging their small, stupid bodies through the trajectory of another body in the first place. in the chip aisle of a gas station maybe. in theaters this christmas. in the midst of a good song that began playing on the lobby radio just a minute before, oh yeah before, things really got going. i saw people killing people on television the other day with their whole bodies, devouring themselves like surgical gloves slick with oiled consumption and bleeding out and i could do nothing. some kids died just because and they told me so and i was told nothing could ever help them because they were just people and they were dying. “breaking news” ended up just being people again. in those moments, i was eating breakfast. our houses were very quiet and needed me in all of them, grandfather clock over CNN, clarifying what has already been committed and committed again. the cipher was others lost blood.
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Dec 9, 2019
Dec 9, 2019 at 12:24 AM UTC
clarification
people **** people with nothing but fingers and hair and their very heavy breath. their breath like a crow beak before crucifixes of straw. like a tightening banishment of a lung. remember when we would blow it onto our car window and create that consistent mirth of fog to begin in? the bodies riddled with bullets that flank the highway are no such thing. the schoolchildren lying face down in the corner of the closet are no such thing. they are just winter coats with schoolchildren to fill them for the time being. no amputation of what’s mine will aid them into the grave. no mass communication grief. so why would you call it a mass grave when in truth it was just a pit i dug to fill with crowds of people who died under the pretense that they had previously done so, that nothing was new under the sun. and when people **** people like people do with their instruments as ways of extending themselves into the world and into the marrow of our body obliterating organs of people with their stretching of the muscular rib, shoulder. one eye closes firmly. it’s nothing but a hand gun as if to say a hand eats the gun and makes it whole. as if to say the reinforced metal door exit plan for people who are being killed by other people clicked shut and locked 15,000 years ago and i can’t quit slamming what’s left of me into it. your kid is very dead. but then again so is mine. suppose they killed each other. suppose they both made the mistake of dragging their small, stupid bodies through the trajectory of another body in the first place. in the chip aisle of a gas station maybe. in theaters this christmas. in the midst of a good song that began playing on the lobby radio just a minute before, oh yeah before, things really got going. i saw people killing people on television the other day with their whole bodies, devouring themselves like surgical gloves slick with oiled consumption and bleeding out and i could do nothing. some kids died just because and they told me so and i was told nothing could ever help them because they were just people and they were dying. “breaking news” ended up just being people again. in those moments, i was eating breakfast. our houses were very quiet and needed me in all of them, grandfather clock over CNN, clarifying what has already been committed and committed again. the cipher was others lost blood.
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53
The intolerable cold wind had sprung out, obliterating anything on its passage. The hours Spent outside felt more extenuated as you walked on. It wouldnt be long until you'd feel your own audable behaviror freeez - but vanish.
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May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 3:15 AM UTC
December Front
this constant invitation into stark mystery is a story i flounder to find words for. ~ a glance, more than eyes looking. beholden entrancement, upon feedback's looping. ~ i am a crippled logician, wrought with wonder in the thrashing static jungle, of no conclusion. ~ this is a flash this here, the flesh a blinding binding light, obliterating, without solution, a living, i tremble in. ~ i am stumped i am little so small hung here in the sky. ~ a suspended channel of ideation, filling, with empty utterance. ~ i am confounded i am large too grand to get ahold of. ~ breathing multitudinous, full, with contradiction. ~ a grandiose enigmatic flux, miniscule and massive.
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Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 5:21 PM UTC
stark mystery
Black hole swallows all that is beautiful Black hole furiously obliterating every light Black hole seeking to destroy all it touches Black hole will always be alone For black hole is just that Black hole.... What is more powerful and mysterious destructive
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Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 1:40 AM UTC
Black Hole
Why are people intentionally cruel and malignant? Are they too blind to mistake their Achilles’s heel for their forte? Or do they intentionally enjoy obliterating anything that comes their way? Indubitably, reeling into their self-destruction and collapse as the roof caves. Repelling any benevolence into their lives, They will close all doors with their narrow minds. Atrociousness will prevail and set forth unfathomable tongues of rhyme. Seeking insatiable supremacy governing in disguise. Clearly oblivious to the detrimental exploits they expose, They will lead a life that is solely self-imposed. Cultivating an environment of animosity is not astute you see, People will always revolt and eventually be set free. Unless you morally evolve and realize you have wronged, You will embark on a journey that will negatively consume your soul. It begins with your physical state, depleting with every irrational action you make. Ultimately, deteriorating your body into an anemic vegetable state. Reeking of insecurities through the infusion of wretchedness and despair, your life will begin to turn inside out transforming into an eternal torment of misery and hell. However, it's never too late to change your tyrannical direction. It's only compassion, empathy, and altruistic love that will be your salvation. By: Michael M. De La Fuente
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Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 12:12 AM UTC
Cause and Effect
it is just enough, too many in depth lessons. pain always asks for something, fear has run out of options, joy wears light dresses loneliness refuses dinner, despair sits at a crossroad. these are just contours of events obliterating "the vital impetus" as in a probabilistic game or in the second law of thermodynamics blissful equilibrium is just a special retreat some form of inner spacial homogeneity this is just a moment before dinner is served on a peaceful evening by a lake catching the last rays of the singing sun
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Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 5:15 PM UTC
non rhyming peacefulness
*On the top of rationality Remains an abyss to insanity That I persist to climb Until I reach my prime Until I grasp all the rains in my veins Until I rein the reins As I contemplate all the plains Of grayish fate, thru trees of clocks Leaves of wish and apples of Eve Thru rocks weightless as chants And thru ants and doves verging chess Hazy mortals with gloves of hate Lazy and crazy mortals, In such rare lands of bliss, Obliterating the glow... **So, I knead the canvas with my bare hands And threw myself into the abyss.***
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Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
The Alps of Demise
patterns reflect patterns reflect history repeating itself I see problems in humanity because humanity corrupts seriously, we can't have a movement for "better" without making it worse listen, slavery, right? whites hated blacks deemed them lesser deemed them nobodies, nonexistent that's putting it generic so what do we have now? an era of white-haters! so many "minorities" standing up and saying "I hate the whites" we have done a 360 and it kills me it was supposed to be about blacks being seen as equals being seen as people instead of blacks and now, yeah, I'm going there gays I love gays, man but y'all are killing me too this is what I see gays oppressed, dismissed, told they're sinners unholy, bad, gross, wrong, backwards, ugh they were beaten, bloodied, bruised, murdered, silenced so the gays stand up what do I hear? "I hate Christians" "I hate straights" "I hate everyone who is not gay" people hating on macklemore because he tried to stand up for THE PEOPLE! they say "a straight white man cannot represent the gay community" I'm sorry WHAT???? we act like no one has gone through HARDSHIP we act like if you're white, straight, and a male, you're golden free happy perfect wake up. what no  one discusses is that the issue is right vs wrong right vs wrong right vs wrong I'm not a straight white male but I know right vs wrong I'm not an Irish Jew but I know right vs wrong I'm not a Haitian Creole Indian goddess but I know right vs wrong you don't have to BE the oppression to SPEAK on the oppression you have to know right vs wrong I say macklemore knows I know you know let's speak up what is wrong is discrimination what is right is taking a stand to end it so please blacks, gays, minorities, whites, humans, majorities, stop obliterating good or else you'll be confined to the chains of oppression and silence until the day you die and so on amen I'm a human being tell me what I cannot speak on
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Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 5:06 AM UTC
Politically Never Correct
patterns reflect patterns reflect history repeating itself I see problems in humanity because humanity corrupts seriously, we can't have a movement for "better" without making it worse listen, slavery, right? whites hated blacks deemed them lesser deemed them nobodies, nonexistent that's putting it generic so what do we have now? an era of white-haters! so many "minorities" standing up and saying "I hate the whites" we have done a 360 and it kills me it was supposed to be about blacks being seen as equals being seen as people instead of blacks and now, yeah, I'm going there gays I love gays, man but y'all are killing me too this is what I see gays oppressed, dismissed, told they're sinners unholy, bad, gross, wrong, backwards, ugh they were beaten, bloodied, bruised, murdered, silenced so the gays stand up what do I hear? "I hate Christians" "I hate straights" "I hate everyone who is not gay" people hating on macklemore because he tried to stand up for THE PEOPLE! they say "a straight white man cannot represent the gay community" I'm sorry WHAT???? we act like no one has gone through HARDSHIP we act like if you're white, straight, and a male, you're golden free happy perfect wake up. what no  one discusses is that the issue is right vs wrong right vs wrong right vs wrong I'm not a straight white male but I know right vs wrong I'm not an Irish Jew but I know right vs wrong I'm not a Haitian Creole Indian goddess but I know right vs wrong you don't have to BE the oppression to SPEAK on the oppression you have to know right vs wrong I say macklemore knows I know you know let's speak up what is wrong is discrimination what is right is taking a stand to end it so please blacks, gays, minorities, whites, humans, majorities, stop obliterating good or else you'll be confined to the chains of oppression and silence until the day you die and so on amen I'm a human being tell me what I cannot speak on
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67
I dream in synesthesia… Every synapse a new white breath of creation, A universe spinning free from entropy’s oblivion I dream in synesthesia… And see a warming freedom that no body can measure, A movement of thought erupting from nothing I dream in synesthesia… And taste life obliterating reality’s edge, As it bursts into the expanse of forever A beginning no body can destroy… I dream in synesthesia… And feel the grace of infinity giving way to split atoms As femtoseconds expand to light years speckled with dust and gravity I dream in synesthesia… The sweet smell of passion pouring forth Riding vehement pulses of fiery red light I dream in synesthesia… And hear the heartbeat on my skin, As creation goes forth and breaths white once again… I dream in synesthesia…
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Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 1:14 PM UTC
I Dream in Synesthesia
I’m the worst **** in the world No one is worse than me. For my next bride, I shall marry the Queen of She Ba (Academy presents her majesty. Nominee gushes. Audience applauds exhaustively.) She will manhandle me, Liquor on her breath, Feathers framing ****** Inflamed blossoms drenching submissions She told me to delete The photographs, Even though there were many Caught her beauty in amazing graces. She hated me For putting up so little struggle, Obliterating her splendor Indifferently. I wanted to prove Deserving of her love. she dilly-dallied, distracted. I cried pitifully, “Where’s my girlfriend?” Chain of events to nothingness My desolate existence One deficit after another Honed to fragile cutting-edge. I wanted her to pleasure me With subtle painful tinge. She brilliantly found fault Every conceivable way to blame. She accused, “you fiddle in noodle factory.” She was the true artist, Dissatisfied with the sound Of my heart beating. You want to play hardball with the big boys? You better show up with bulging intelligent creativity. You complain about Every infinitesimal gargantuan thing. Nothing makes you happy. I will always love you no Matter how impossible. Looking back, You were an impossible chance.
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Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 10:28 AM UTC
Striving For Perfection ***** Up Everything
The destination of a questing flame, The concealed invincible core. No longer able to hold back the emotions, that once the flood has subsided, herald a new future . Your concealed invincible core fidelity arrives, bearing trust, that once accepted, will not end. Obliterating sadness, magnifying love. Fidelity has arrived. Take his trust. It will erase the confusion, you know what you feel. Let it obliterate your sadness, magnify love, and pleasure. The wheel of doubt and accusations, stops right here. You can erase the confusion, you know what you feel. Fostering love, when you need it more than everything. The wheel of doubt and accusations, stops right here. you are destined to rise up to the zenith. Let me foster love, when you need it more than anything Don't hold back your emotions. You are destined to rise up to the zenith, the questing flame of love, has arrived at your core.
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Aug 12, 2012
Aug 12, 2012 at 8:57 AM UTC
Fidelity
Pondering if I can be forgiven and free Knowing I deserve to be drowned in the sea Searching for something to assuage the pain Hoping out of this something beautiful I gain. Mistrusting of people around me everywhere People only curse; not love, not care Bewildered why I must go through life alone With paralyzing silence and no friend to phone. Yearning to break free of my destructive addictions Rebuking Satan's false and furtive jurisdictions I embrace the crucifixion and fall to my knee Beholding my King who died to set me free. Then kneeling at the cross, the sky breaks with dawn My tears and my pain are surprisingly gone As the Son bursts forth in glorious light Obliterating the dark and malevolent night.
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Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 7:20 PM UTC
Hopeful Struggle
If showers are man-made rain, then you are a man-made hurricane, obliterating everything in its path while people take photographs and storm-chasing is a sport that people will die for and storms are named after people.
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May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
man-made rain
****** against the cliff caught in a vortex   whirlpool of relentless force pulling me down, down, down Sound...deafening Obliterating all sense of direction I succomb to the waves ****** out, pulled in. Riptide determined to pull me under spared by the mercy of an upper current that carries me weightless out and over the break Impelled by Grace greater than the Power at hand My body finds the sand. I lie upon the beach, all fight left behind. The Ocean claims my strength No question who has won** Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels. All Rights Reserved.
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Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 12:26 AM UTC
Waves
Millions of years of existence Earth carries layers of history Abundant and bountiful They thrived during their peak Happiness and coexistence Turned to rambunctious ambitions Valiant hearts turned violent Severing the ties of humanity Colored the layers of history in red Tyrants and traitors marred the existence Of the beautiful fabric of mankind Stained fate, never to recover Sometimes nature turned foe Obliterating life from this Earth History is the silent custodian Testimony to the many facets of humanity We bring our downfall Mired in controversies and revenge Saga of shameful acts and own dereliction Sifting through the layers of history It’s not for the faint-hearted to endure The rough tales of disasters and annihilation Millions of years and many more thereafter At the crossroads of humanity History is waiting to add many more layers To the annals of its testimony
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Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 8:17 AM UTC
Existence and History
Surprise shadowing    the Sun's unknowing pain; Capturing wonderment     indicates reassurance                                                                                                                                         The unknowable Star                                                                         kissing the Earth                                                                      birthing her descendants,                                                                          singing longingly;                                                                       magnifying her Beauty                                                                                                                                                                        Alas,                                                                                                                                       Obliterating affliction                                                                                                                            Prohibiting pain                                                                                                                                     with maniacal ciphering                                                                                                                           of experimental earnestness
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Jul 13, 2012
Jul 13, 2012 at 11:01 PM UTC
Stitching wishes mysteriously
Surprise shadowing    the Sun's unknowing pain; Capturing wonderment     indicates reassurance                                                                                                                                         The unknowable Star                                                                         kissing the Earth                                                                      birthing her descendants,                                                                          singing longingly;                                                                       magnifying her Beauty                                                                                                                                                                        Alas,                                                                                                                                       Obliterating affliction                                                                                                                            Prohibiting pain                                                                                                                                     with maniacal ciphering                                                                                                                           of experimental earnestness
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14
Call me stricken by her my favorite color. I want to fill my ears with static to give my thoughts some room to move and my eyes monochromatic with an artistic side to prove She writes like shes giving Noah Webster a ******* her labyrinthine constructions of consonants and vowels, leading in circles obliterating disbelief, and I AM the words. She tastes like *** and nostalgia nauseating my pages, wearing thin over keystrokes, repetition, the mother of decrepitude so my muse decimates my thoughts one in ten one in ten one in ten CRACK
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Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 2:06 PM UTC
Myriad - A Compendium of Inspiration
Anxiety is a loaded gun. Once provoked, you **** the gun. Your emotions crescendo as you pace the floor with your finger on the trigger. You anticipate the moment you have the chance to pull it. As pressure builds the tension rises, building and gathering. POP! A flash of light as your anger is released. Your stress has reached its ****** That split second can influence the rest of your life. The trigger has been pulled. You feel a sense of exhilaration. Energy is finally released. The ammo hurdles out at untamable speeds, obliterating everything in its path. The damage is done, and can’t be taken back. Hurting yourself is the least of your worries as you start to see the pain you've inflicted on others. The recoil leaves you tender and vulnerable, Open to the repercussions. Even after all has calmed the smoke will linger on as a horrific memory of an unforgettable scene of mayhem. As you try to fix the wounds of others you notice yours start to weaken and worsen. How could you let such a doltish petty thing effect the life of you and the lives of others?
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Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 12:42 PM UTC
Anxiety is a Loaded Gun
caked on makeup, lyrical lash lines, clear thoughts for the first time; trying so hard to type out the right words to make the world stop spinning ten times too fast in the wrong direction. can't you see it's making me ill, the way you casually can't decide and lean on calves of glass and card towers of achromatizing dust? I am a kaleidoscope of many other ashes to ashes to dust; cut across from rib to rib and leeching out the clear air you breathe. I am perennial, the one to clean you up when you fail to break the mold and fall back on type- casted stereotypes of who everyone else thinks you should be. still, I am the one who doubts and falters, often has the idea that we are erased and quick forgotten the moment our idiosyncrasies peter out and dust replaces bones we came to know. I am shrill, and I talk too loud at all the wrong times; I can never clear the plates I stain with blood and pile high with subtype after subtype derivatives of things I should do and glean vivification from carefully, anxiously. you have this lean skin and enviable, insouciant lilt to your walk towards me at ten o'clock when I can't see straight anymore, can barely type the last letters of my poems. your eyes are clear and you're free of that indestructible and obliterating dust that clogs my lungs and makes me feel so ill so often. shallow peaks of your shoulder blades, time at a standstill when I merge into highways of veins and clean breaks from responsibility, softly tracing jawbones that clear my head for just a moment; hands that tremble to fasten the world back onto my hollow aches and faltering nervous system. I dust off your window sill and think maybe you're the type that complements an irrational daydreaming messy busy type- writer kind of lover. you know, the kind that hates to pay the bill on time because that's another deadline to miss, who lets dust fly around because vacuums interrupt abstract art and lean cuisine, who likes cats and very, very often misplaces her phone somewhere on your clear floor nothing like the type she has, like the type I have, like the way I lean toward your infrastructure to hold me still; darling, you brighten my mornings of habitual stardust and glass not quite clear.
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Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 6:21 AM UTC
shimmer
caked on makeup, lyrical lash lines, clear thoughts for the first time; trying so hard to type out the right words to make the world stop spinning ten times too fast in the wrong direction. can't you see it's making me ill, the way you casually can't decide and lean on calves of glass and card towers of achromatizing dust? I am a kaleidoscope of many other ashes to ashes to dust; cut across from rib to rib and leeching out the clear air you breathe. I am perennial, the one to clean you up when you fail to break the mold and fall back on type- casted stereotypes of who everyone else thinks you should be. still, I am the one who doubts and falters, often has the idea that we are erased and quick forgotten the moment our idiosyncrasies peter out and dust replaces bones we came to know. I am shrill, and I talk too loud at all the wrong times; I can never clear the plates I stain with blood and pile high with subtype after subtype derivatives of things I should do and glean vivification from carefully, anxiously. you have this lean skin and enviable, insouciant lilt to your walk towards me at ten o'clock when I can't see straight anymore, can barely type the last letters of my poems. your eyes are clear and you're free of that indestructible and obliterating dust that clogs my lungs and makes me feel so ill so often. shallow peaks of your shoulder blades, time at a standstill when I merge into highways of veins and clean breaks from responsibility, softly tracing jawbones that clear my head for just a moment; hands that tremble to fasten the world back onto my hollow aches and faltering nervous system. I dust off your window sill and think maybe you're the type that complements an irrational daydreaming messy busy type- writer kind of lover. you know, the kind that hates to pay the bill on time because that's another deadline to miss, who lets dust fly around because vacuums interrupt abstract art and lean cuisine, who likes cats and very, very often misplaces her phone somewhere on your clear floor nothing like the type she has, like the type I have, like the way I lean toward your infrastructure to hold me still; darling, you brighten my mornings of habitual stardust and glass not quite clear.
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39
*Let us send mosquitoes into exile, To the obliterating cold of Antarctica, In hope that the stars will take refuge In this corrupted Archipelago, till then We shall tire this full moon, lay our lovers down, And burn the shadows As a campfire of our love.* © 2015 J.S.P.
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Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 9:03 PM UTC
Campfire