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"ossification" poems
we are monsters from the boutique to the embroidered throw pillows the pen dashed around the neck stage 5 bone cut sawing ossification to the hollow core we are monsters hooting in tunnels lined with bats coming out to feast creation to scrape the streets shimmy the walls bust the coffin and succckk we are monsters who can't enter under the doorframe fearful of being burned by the sun silver stake rat poison holy water sickle and windmill ash we are monsters sewed stapled dead meat skin hair plugs ceramic teeth tested and tasted by rats we are monsters jumping high over white fences frenzied explosion running through corn angrily bled in a field shot and hunted like embarrassing waterfowl in the jaws of mammalia we are monsters of flaming brilliance flashing in your inbox read us and gnaw braised roasted grilled limbs watch as we watch you be scared and stab I promise we don't die.
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Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 2:32 PM UTC
march of the writers
On wicked things My confidence is spent My passions pent Do not relent But spew as they vent Desire classified As what you eyed What we spied Others despised Told lies To restrain the vain To maintain Their golden veins Morality impugn Tricks imbued The trickster With new power New class and classification For the ossification Of our nation And bends our wills To theirs And decrees shame For what is natural Fear of what is original Yes they call it sin But I call it life
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May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 12:00 PM UTC
Life Is Sin Or Sin is Life
Allure to me with your bonescent, sweat stench brought me closer. Bone structure kept you here. In my radius you stayed. So nearly an artist, fickle. Dearly departed, I miss you. Brittle. And I just kept saying no; I couldn't handle you. You must've miss understood the tone; outspoken through the mandible. Now I was out of my mind, Insane at best. Out of the body experience from inside the mind of the cranium. Actually you were caught in cult of her anatomy. First born in the ossification of you. The next time he spoke, awoken a sentiment. The exoskeleton protected what was hiding inside. And we decayed decayed. His skeleton exposed; he grew on me like bones of a child. And I've known his scent still sticks to my shell. Under my skin and underground, in the catacombs. But only bones sent me here. Just to snap back to reality
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Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 9:50 PM UTC
Bonescent
***It's there in black and white The greater good demands sacrifice I fall as I fail to penetrate with the sword of truth Black clouds mask raw wounds worn as shadowed badges And the proof of fragmented love How can it be anything else? A life in platitudes for a moment of freedom A moment of honesty A moment greater than those before and those to follow Incarnadine pages depict the ****** of innocence Turned ****** of crows Set to peck out eyes that see only the good In a smile that reflects the heart You yearned to believe existed Sacrificed, and still... I would grow bone through flesh to block your pain***
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Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 12:22 PM UTC
Ossification
Poetry is... A happy day, all holidays And March Twenty First It is a smile of a passerby At a crosswalk in Times Square After 911 When everything tastes like soot Someone sees you In the city's ossification of the soul With all that is unjust And with every separation That fear wounds us The fickle eyes we humans Worship by At least someone sees you In this amoebic herd Risking to get across the traffic Precariously held by red When green is safe Is good / is Go / It's a day And a healthy sign of life Here on March Twenty First, Poetry is A bright sun, A Holiday. Poetry quenches our Withins The soul's Deep thirst.
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Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 2:28 PM UTC
March Twenty First (World Poetry Day)
Lawrence Hall [email protected] https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/ poeticdrivel.blogspot.com A Faraday Cage of the Mind The dwarfs are for the dwarfs -C. S. Lewis, The Last Battle They wire themselves into a Faraday cage As they make ossification great again Raising their hands not in salutes but in fists Their voices not in hymns but in foul hate They wire themselves into a Faraday cage Hug to themselves a past that never was And circulate deception among themselves In closed incestuous loops of rumors and chants They wire themselves into a Faraday cage So that a genuine thought will never penetrate
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Jun 10, 2021
Jun 10, 2021 at 9:20 AM UTC
A Faraday Cage of the Mind