"oxidizing" poems
And when I met that girl in San Francisco
Off a dusty little pier
with rotting wood
and squawking seals
And screaming bayside wind
She caught me off-tropics
and danced with the grace
of a palm tree
lines between the quaked
concrete
off telegraph avenue
On an obscuring Sunday morning
and no
she didn't go
to church or any silly thing
like a temple or synagogue
She said those were no places
for god
God was the trees
We smoked cigarettes and got off to each other's
carcinogenic practices
oxidizing a little faster in conjunction with hopeful
Formaldehyde
Deriding the formalities
of small talk and trivialities
She liked her guitars with nickel-wound strings
I with nylon
But I couldn't play songs
that sounded any good with them
while she could
and did.
and girl did it ever sound good
She'd laugh at the contests on the radio
while we drove on a half-moon
to half-moon
full and whole of ourselves
We'd stopped in the lobby of a cheap motel
And waltzed to background
muzak
wacked out of our minds
Sniffing in deep huffs of subliminal
divinity
Understanding
loving
that mind-numbing
monotony
muzak...
ppsh.
Who ever really listened to that?
And then she left
at the end of one fine winter day
in a cloudless sky I waved
watched her plane
skip off
towards the edge of a pale blue horizon
back south
to warmer climes
to wherever she truly stayed
The tugging on my heartstrings
chimed grotesque in
precise
D minor.
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 9:23 PM UTC
Pulling
stretching
An oxidizing elasticity
all the while
a morphing
of shape and size
a marble of muted grays
resurfacing itself
and the pages it touches
with a softness that cannot
be touched
only destroyed
back into a density
to take away
the mistakes
better left
unseen
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 3:23 PM UTC
dusty books, pages thin and frail
like my mothers bones
decaying and oxidizing - the words fade
when the ink deteriorates
but that doesn't mean they weren't there
you tied a string around my teeth
and ran south for the winter and with each
step you took, a tooth would pop out
a constant reminder that you are no longer
here, but i wonder when i will run out of teeth
or when you will run out of earth
i sat on a friday night indulging myself
in stories and delicately counting the paper cuts on my fingers
but the dainty cuts will never compare to that time we ate cake
until our stomachs became flour, milk, and eggs
and you told me you loved me
then left to **** yourself
drowning in exhaust must be a silent way to go
and that cake won't taste very good in hell
i would know
recall your earliest memory and
divide it by all the unrequited stares
and thats how much i wish you would
untie my teeth, or stop running
and count the number of goosebumps painted on the
back of my neck and that is the
equivalent to the number of ovens you
accidentally left on
but I'm begging you to understand how immense
the ocean is because thats a very long way
to suffocate and salty water
will burn your wounds
Mariana's trench is a dark place
and the letters you wrote me reproduce on the bottom
not even the ugliest scar can revive my flesh that was chained
to those messages
but the meteor craters lick my surface like chloric acid
and all i wanted to do was repeatedly brush my teeth with the ocean sand
and clean my eyes out with mermaid tears
because you left a sickly residue that
hibernates under my fingernails
so next time you open your trunk
and find a mountain of broken glass
just remember that i loved you
i lost my fingers for you
i sold my soul for yours
but it wasn't even close to enough
what else do you want?
should i drain my blood until i am a desert of a human
shall i cut off all my hair?
and even then ill have an eternal debt to you
but you just turn the other cheek
so the plywood under my elbows
applies pressure to my spine
condensed newspapers stuck in the follicles
of the rain drops
but you don't even care
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 12:11 PM UTC
The only faucet into which I pour out my inner thoughts
Has become silent
The handles are oxidizing and the pipes are frozen
Thousands of voices attack the metal walls in my mind
Bouncing
Echoing their thoughts until I swear up and down they're my own
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 4:49 PM UTC
and these waves
of longing
are burning me
into stumbled
desert trances
as I crawl, parched
upon
earth that
sears and spears
my limbs
my inner organs,
once wet
with the fire
of my blood
now only
ashen embers
the very salt
of the sum of
my wounds
lacerated open -
barely held by
a secret tourniquet
wrapped tight, ******* me
in reverse tempest
and I clamor within my being
move in jolts,
like a voodoo dance
zombie girl
stuck in the hell
of no-woman's land
a landscape of spires
piercing me hot
making the sharpened path
dangerous for strangers
As for me,
I can only succumb to
their scalding roast
if I want to somehow
get out alive,
my skin charred
from that branding of insults
my heart scarred
from countless lashes
that your serpent's tongue
has inflicted upon me
This.
is not the pleasure
of being tethered
tender flesh teased
until writhing
This.
is not the grind
of earthen fire
and sky mixed
with underwater lava,
swarming cloistered whispers
into my brain temperatures
This.
is not the conflagration of
love seeds developing
into a ripe field
of the succulence of lustfruit
This.
Is just an
attempt
to wear down
the goddess in me
And to that
I say
No.
I turn the other cheek
to your barbed wire lies.
In the frequencies of the
next universe over,
an echo bursts into flames
rapidly oxidizing,
licking into
nourishment
the rebirth
of my
own
divinity
Dec 18, 2016
Dec 18, 2016 at 6:33 PM UTC
~for she who will know~
the Mother of Muses came to me
on bended knee
come for to confess
a lie so grand it boggled
the heart
*we bring you nothing more
than what you already possess,
the jewels of rose gold are emplaced
in your dual ventricles,
the veins stained with blue green sapphires to
feed the right and left hemispheres,
where the emerald heat and the yellow gold,
raw melt the alpha word-finery awaiting,
the pinpointed pinprick of an eyed glimpse
to release the oxidizing words atmospheric
we are not needed, just proceeders,
*** stirrers? no. *** watchers? oh yes.
all contained within,
this then, the art of the human heart,
where the external stains rest awaiting,
completing, complimenting, coming
to fruition in a reforged new birthing
see how the child looks with adoration,
perceiving the art of the mothers heart,
the spilling of time at the precise moment
when the exchange is as long as an eye wink
and as short as an entire lifetime
We the Muses, not teachers, nor inspirers,
just peddlers, collecting thimbles of words,
polished with hued syllables of tarnish,
experienced watchers discerning the exacting,
the interactive interactions of the cells,
the DNA concoctions of singers and sinners,
priests and the unforgivable, trying to tie
what deserves untying, which is an everlasting
poem that needs, laughing, an original act
of the art of the heart, yours, permission to say
The End*
11:14pm
nyc
Sept. 18, 2019
Sep 18, 2019
Sep 18, 2019 at 11:22 PM UTC
The frequent phenomenon of this empty place,
Gathering energy it cannot replace,
Submerged in darkness, foreshadowing night,
Paroxysm shook, stirring up light,
Out from the chaos four beings stood,
Together infused, singular brotherhood,
Light blends them all mistaken into one,
Thirty-five times stronger, than the power of our sun,
Welcome to the dream; a death omen quartet,
Witness the rider, perceive his regret,
With a single companion, and a crown forged in death,
Perpetually doomed to a violent last breath,
Pioneering our concept of constellations,
Bent at the handle, insidious oscillations,
Corruption was constant, like a plagued medallion,
When he collared his confederate, a maniacal stallion,
Couriers of desecration, colonial devastation,
Oxidizing nations, burning depredation,
Lord and auxiliary, imperial arrogation,
And with a single voice, they declared themselves king,
Welcome to the dream; a death omen quartet,
Witness the rider, perceive his regret,
With a single companion, and a crown forged in death,
Perpetually doomed to a violent last breath.
Jul 24, 2010
Jul 24, 2010 at 7:50 AM UTC
I feel like a folded symbol,
inside the chipped-cherry boxcar
that is my damp, June mind.
A fetus seizing in the womb,
hooked up like a cheap monitor.
A foreign strandedness, wrapped
by a boa of dark country back roads
and sterile air skipping across grass.
If I stop, If I sleep
the sweat seeps from my pores
like a sterling grey squad,
oxidizing in the fog,
swimming around headspace,
guns melting with claymation cheeks,
howls into the night, darling deadbirds.
I am now happy and remember
only other happy memories.
Over a decade of depression
and now this.
I feel unfinished, unwanted
by the quickness of life.
I feel like a grain
caught in a gust so swift,
I may never adjust.
I, the empty-headed boy,
causing jet-black glass
to appear on sand,
to remove my footprints,
and incase them, phantoms.
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 10:49 PM UTC
Hiding in the bathroom
until my fear goes away;
fear of what
absent minds think of me
between their grubby socks,
bad hair and alcohol.
I could have been alone today,
counting the minutes
of self-enforced bed rest.
Maybe taken a little time
to organize my thoughts,
made battle plans of how to cope.
I've felt the air too long,
I think I'm oxidizing.
I str e a c h
my thoughts to transparency
so I can see right through them,
analyse the funny creature
behind it all.
I wish I knew where to sit,
place myself strategically.
Fake mingle,
mouth dry with vapid sentences.
I couldn't stand it though
so instead, I've locked myself in.
Old papers always
had conversations with me.
The leaves would talk forever,
if I let them.
I never had to turn left
at the end of the hall.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 2:00 AM UTC
A gliding entity between ecstasy, my eyes grew from seeds
to inversely unbounded trees, oxidizing, breathing into the collective
a collection eclectic; the ripening ages convene the gods' pallette
so mortal and clean. From the vantage of mauve mountains,
beholders pressed through the ravine. "The bewildered be wild"
She crooned on to me.
Deepening the night, scintillant ancestors dug
with Light, unearthing cherished retinal prints.
The vulpine maw imposed no sin, indigo glow
and a patina sheen, feral bliss had greased
the chain. Lineages span millennia as scions cast
the sacred Heron, spear of the World beyond
the eros plane.
So She crooned on to me
Her sybilline Dream.
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 7:28 PM UTC
lying on the ground
a cup of untouched mint tea
oxidizing from ochre to black
I put on a coat
stretch out on the balcony,
and wait for the mist
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 8:30 PM UTC
Liquid luminosity ejected upon the translucent
unoccupied remnants of what lingered
before it, slithering unto the restrained echoes
oxidizing its reach as all was ash in its grasp.
Dimness could be seen lingering aloft and saw
the violation it was perpetrating on the innocence
of obscurity below luminosity was eager to assert
even in a time of its slumber it transgresses outwards.
So the dimness that saw its brethren's plight did venture
in vapoured lingering and more came to the calling and
before long the moons gaze slowly became a figment
of it yearning, wanting to bleed the night into a florescent haze.
The stars were bathed in a void of silence and all that permeated
before was held to account, and so the moon shone upon a
blanket of unyielding fortitude to keep its time of obscurity
safe from the prying moon and it slumbered once again in peace.
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 9:56 AM UTC
when i asked my best friend to punch me in the face
i was serious.
i knew he never would
but i wanted him to
bless me with a fist,
put knuckles to my skin
and hit me like he meant it.
there’s some crimson catharsis
in watching veins split,
in oxidizing spit,
old penny drip through broken teeth.
metallic sweet,
bleeding
is healing.
im drunk, still drinking
and i want him to hurt me.
not because it’s him
or because i think i deserve it
i won’t remember in the morning
but right now, i need a feeling
i need connection loudly,
want to have every synapse shouting
YOU’RE HERE!!!!
YOU’RE HERE!!!!!!!!
YOU’RE HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!
___________________________________________________________
when i asked my best friend to punch me in the face
i meant it.
two rounds of king’s cup in,
our other friend’s head in the toilet
and cloudy chance surrounding harlem
he slipped on boxing gloves
curled leather around his thumbs,
put his dukes up
and connected with empty air.
“im on my mcgregor ****
tequila drip and ***** spit,
he was laughing.
i wished that i’d been hit.
a quick split lip to remember it
because come morning i wouldn't
recall him walking me to the train
as i zig-zagged in the rain
like it was my first day on brand new legs.
he held an umbrella over my head
his favorite coat was dripping wet, yet
he insisted i needed it more.
“let me know when you make it home”
but it sounded more
like a warning.
time square’s so empty at 2 in the morning.
down 42nd street with keys between knuckles
but i refused to look over my shoulder,
sometimes adrenaline
is adrenaline
is adrenaline.
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 7:28 PM UTC
Birch: paper moon bark shakes lightly in a twilight breeze. sheds like antlers, Gaia’s horns. whispers shimmer, overlooking crumbling banks and silver tarns
Choke Cherry: wheel-turned silver bark, popcorn spotted. red rotted hearts they try to hide with arching height and pucker punch. too proud they sharpen sunshine lances that in time will fell them
Dogwood: gothic outline cryptic, cracked and ancient even young. rigid fingers yet outstretched lifting jade-pooled, budded gems. a flower or a piece of skin, raising pale veined, dimpled petals
Maple: tissue paper mast, thousand layers spongy under the high crown. breeding dust motes under the rusty flakes. sweet budding lips in spring that wait for fawn-spotted, sugared kisses
Oak: knotted roots, the mealy earth that beneath a ponderous trunk. acorns ground to flour, crescent slivers cracked. oxidizing leaves shield the undergrowth’s small creatures
Pine: needles spring mattress below solemn peaks. silent cathedrals, pillars marking lost spring houses, crumbling cisterns. warm winter guardians of bronzed turkeys, heavy in sheltered branches
For more information, walk. Touch the pebbled hides and trembling skin. Examine the stained glass roof laid in patches. They sigh and speak, shout across oceans. Be informed it is not the wind.
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 2:29 PM UTC
Beautiful form,
Color of cement,
Rough texture,
Heavy weight.
Thin brush,
Melted white wax,
Pattern applied,
10 minute wait.
Wide brush,
Turquoise and white glazes,
Alternating in bands,
Around the tall vase
Sitting on a plank,
Drying in the breeze,
Sunning itself,
Just another in a line-up.
Dark place,
Intense heat,
Wax burns,
Glaze melts and fuses.
Brief glimpse of sun,
Put out in the trash,
Newspapers below ignite,
Lid closed down tight.
Flames suffocate themselves,
Reducing environment,
No longer oxidizing,
Affects the final look.
Carbon floats, turning
What was covered by wax into shiny black,
Adding lines of black to the white glaze,
Covering the vessel with burnt debris.
Exposed to the sun once more,
Cooled in the breeze,
Rinsed with water,
Scrubbed clean.
Admired by the crowds,
White vase with black cracks,
Copper bands with hints of turquoise,
Interspersed with black vertical leaves.
Each one different,
Results never predictable,
Never to be reproduced,
Variables too complex.
Raku-fired pottery, treasured for its unpredictable color variation
Why can’t nature’s palette of skin color,
be likewise prized,
instead of despised?
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 6:52 AM UTC
And here.
Among wights.
Missing all tickets unsold.
Calling all who lived and felt.
It is colder.
And the wounds are raising.
And again with revenue as to portray.
"It is gone." She says.
And I dream.
Of that razor to steal my heart.
And who steals my blood daily.
Though not as to compost.
Poisoning flowers.
Oxidizing.
And fermenting her soil.
Soon again.
I will drink.
My ears warm.
The morn brings leashed air.
A chuckle at present.
Of the last.
Of past words misunderstood.
Once of four.
And once of five.
And yeah, we speak in high tones.
In vague terms.
Of times arrived.
Departing flights forgotten.
Many moments undersold.
Still I taste.
A forced kiss.
Too loved to unleash.
And so I wonder who said, "Who?"
Oh bother.
Speech of idiots.
Words ******
I deny all salves.
All soothing.
All encompassing.
Sweet chestnut colored love.
Curves to hold and suffer subsurface.
Sans scars.
Food tomorrow.
After today, food tomorrow.
I recall her taste.
As recalled, I remember.
The violence.
And pride.
After the meal.
The tears and the urination.
After theft.
I swam.
With those who denied.
And those who gave.
Who took?
She sat.
And I swam.
And they spoke.
The water.
I emerge on new skin.
Skin of those before.
Of dreams wondered.
Dreams failed.
I pursued and entered.
A feast.
A drink.
Soft pelts.
A bed and works of excuse.
Drowned in water.
Drowned in love.
My sweet ancient temple.
The skies of false truth.
And the ******* of an angel.
The miss of one married.
Scarred.
Loud speeches.
Parades across the globe.
And hopes of love.
Goodnight sweet muse.
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 9:10 AM UTC
Your promises are oxidizing
And they are almost as honest as your eyes
My grin is slight
weak at the knees
that buckle and bulge
as if to mutter a dismal Plea
and beyond the creaking window
where foliage cankers
and boughs ***** buds like helpless infants
There Is You.
You that drapes Nirvana with seeds
seeds that rip and skewer and vacate like parasites
with their weeds that sprout with haste
And thou is a plague that ravages without pity
With Your Roots that reek of desperate wails
And although I am conquered
And still somewhat small
I will trudge through your vapid regrets
With celerity
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC
Each yearned for what was untainted
upon themselves, but touched was a reaction
that blistered upon each as hand prints of
Efforts
Feelings
Emotions
Were scarring on each selves. they yeaned
For the simplest of touch, not scaring
The others outer coils. but white where
Black beckoned
White hand prints on onyx harder to hide
As bittin upon a cross to remember the
Passion that burnt inside.
Evil,
Good,
Blurred
Lines of what was a boundary. But lines are
Meant to be crossed for it is only a marker
Of what was before not love.
Feathers oxidizing, faint corruption
In white tinted red, as a heartless netherworld
A heart did beat faintly instead of hate.
Love,
Emotions,
Conquering
The legacy of what was below,
The shimmer of overhead.
The yearned for the aroma of each,
Holocaust flames engulfed,
Aqua upon wings submerged self.
And in the throws of wrongful passion,
One was drowned upon flame extinguished
One was but fleeting feathers outlined of what
Burnt in both, ash of white, a flicker of flame,
Merging,
Unity,
Connecting
Upon two parts, and out of two was one that was neither
Pure or dark. a seed of both in death reborn, the era
Of humanity did start with a love never meant to start.
Creation from light and dark,
Neither one but still both apart, ever at odds,
Human nature, the side of feathers or of the smouldering part.
Jul 25, 2015
Jul 25, 2015 at 11:48 AM UTC
"Why do you like him so much?" they all ask
"What's so great about him?"
Well let me put this into perspective
What’s so great about cigarettes?
The exhausting vapor oxidizing your lungs
Painting rough shades of grey filling all of the empty voids
What's so great about alcohol?
The acerbic liquid that turns one night into a celebration
But the next morning into a distressing *****
Leaving you sick to your stomach, feeling vacant
So what's so great about him?
He is the IV in my veins
His eyes possess a power that draw me to him
An addicting extenuation of unrequited love
He makes me feel like candlelight
A lighter without gas
A bottle with nothing in it
Astounding disappointments falling on top of each other
Constant agony but this love is too strong to feel anything less
I couldn't imagine feeling anything less
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 10:14 AM UTC
And here.
Among wights.
Missing all tickets not sold.
Calling all who lived and felt.
It is colder and the wounds are raising.
And again with revenue not as to portray.
"It is gone." She says.
And I dream.
Of that razor which left with my heart.
And who steals my blood daily.
Though not is in compost.
Poisoning flowers.
Oxidizing.
And fermenting the soil.
Soon again.
I will drink.
My ears warm.
The morn bring air leashed.
A chuckle at present.
Of the last.
Of past words misunderstood.
Once of four.
And once of five.
And yeah, we speak in high tones.
In vague terms.
Of times arrived.
Departing flights forgotten.
Many moments undersold.
Still I taste.
A forced kiss.
Too loved to unleash.
And so I wonder who said, "Who?"
Oh bother.
Speech of idiots.
Words ******
And I deny all salves.
All soothing.
All encompassing.
Sweet chestnut colored love.
Curves to hold and suffer subsurface.
Sans scars.
Food tomorrow.
After today, food tomorrow.
I recall her taste.
As recalled I remember.
The violence.
And pride.
After the meal.
The tears and the urination.
After the theft.
I swam.
With those who denied.
And those who gave.
Who took?
She sat.
And I swam
And they spoke.
The water.
I emerge on new skin.
Skin of those before.
Of dreams wondered.
Dreams failed.
I pursued and entered.
A feast.
A drink.
Soft pelts.
A bed and works of excuse.
Drowned in water.
Drowned in love.
Temporal.
My sweet ancient temple.
The sky's of false truth.
And the ******* of an angel.
The miss of one married.
Scarred.
Loud speeches.
Parades across the globe.
And hopes of love.
Goodnight sweet prince.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 6:12 PM UTC
Who wouldn't want a Lexus?
Not the one with four wheels, silly
The brazen, sweet-talking girl from Philly
You could own a hundred thousand or a Milly
It wouldn't make a difference
We all should get a glimmer of romantic inference
Once a in a day
It keeps some of the stress away
Little do you know
That the influence you bestow
Can really implement change in a heart
Watch as these oxidizing effects tear itself apart
I'm waiting for your misery to depart
Like a New York City train
She spends her weeknights crying over something so trivial
Pour her self-doubts down the drain
Where it belongs
In the sewer
Because the only man that truly deserves her
Would still be with her when her last option is staying in the sewer
Somebody get with Lexus
And make her feel the elation we've always wanted her to feel
Genuine.
Sep 21, 2017
Sep 21, 2017 at 8:54 PM UTC
She told him
That she had a timer
That her story would be short lived
"I don't have enough pages for you to read"
He said that was fine
Some of the best stories are always short lived and end in cliffhangers
A signed contract
Two agreements
Willing participants
It's been fifty six days
He's watched the ink
Encircling her wrists
Oxidizing
Black flaking off
Skin growing more sallow
Edges looking as if they've curled in
Brittle
Brown with age
She told him
He wouldn't have enough pages to read
Less is more
He silently thought
The book closes
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 9:44 AM UTC
i imagine breaking each other's noses. i imagine the bone-crunch, cartilage on cartilage like a car crash, the feeling of the skin giving way. i imagine a nosebleed so thick, so clotted and deep-red, oxidizing in real time, warm milk on my face. i imagine a day without nausea. marked by stomach acid, snot pooling above my lip, the face in the mirror gagging into the sink. i draw anything and hate it. i go for rides and just get tired. i try to write and i feel nothing.
bits and pieces of the last few years manifest themselves in dreams: the feeling of handcuffs and hard car seats like playground swings; a six-by-six room with words etched into the wall; being sandwiched between linoleum and fluorescent beams. i revisit myself; she never cried, just dug her nails into the palms of her hands and bore the weight, i admire her stoicism. i admire the way she held her shoulders.
it's 2017 again. i clean blood off the walls in suburbia while a kitchen knife exposes a trachea somewhere in west virginia; i should've known back then that i was cursed. she skyped me with blood dripping down from her chin to her chest. i wonder if the scar's still there.
Oct 14, 2020
Oct 14, 2020 at 9:28 PM UTC
Mean music, blues, is what they called
the noises,
morphing to music, in mir
act all-outs miraclue-lesss time of magi Ai ai ai
ical memes, mere memories of
mmm
the sound,
the music is in the pattern,
commas make no noise, breathe,
see, slow and steady, wins the race, been
there
done that, is a game sons of god once played,
or
perhaps, they were grandsons, in the summer of 1969.
Been there done that went way back,
that night by Lake Mohave,
when I built the carbon
oxidizing pyramid,
that burned the lesson this deep,
so now, some fifty years after
everwhen that was, when I was there
and you were not. That
is all you know,
you were not there. But here you are.
Mar 3, 2020
Mar 3, 2020 at 1:45 PM UTC