"paralell" poems
There lies a secret, unseen, unfolded and powerful
paralell dimension, burrowed in our brain.
An entirely different path of thinking,
which can be explored by applying cerain measures.
Different paths, infinity, infinity. Gates.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 8:19 AM UTC
Paralell universe
Ransom note
Bluegrass makes me cry when its slow
I think about Pittsburgh and your apartment
The corner bar
Down the street where we leaned on the stone
Terribly drunk
Love sick
I touched your cheek
Your soft hair twisted in my fingers
The day you packed your case
Slamming it on the bed
Your face red and full of tears
And I couldn't drink enough
And I couldn't stop the train wreck
I turned to stone there sitting on the edge
Of |our| bed
I ****** everything with a pulse to get your taste off my tongue
But it lingered on the sheets and |your| pillow
The sheets once blessed by your silken hips
Love can **** but I think cheap ***** will beat her to it
Feb 15, 2012
Feb 15, 2012 at 1:22 AM UTC
A basketball game is like a well conducted, beautifully written symphony. The tip off, a conductor raises his/her hands to motion the beginning of sound. As fingers reach for the orange ball and slam it in a favored direction, music takes flight and volume rises, the crowd roars as a basket is taken by the home team. Rapid pace movement of the squeaking shoes are multiple violin’s strings and bows at work, consistently changing and controlling the tune. The blare of the brass section, the scream of the fans come together in perfect unison, adding texture to the piece. The slam against the backboard, the bass drum sounds off, the dribble of the ball, a high hat’s tap-ity, tap, tap. Music is created in every pass, jump, shot, foul, score, and aspect of this game…from the smallest move to the loudest upset, from the softest flute to the biggest percussion instrument…music is present here and now
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 9:28 PM UTC
I had a dream about dinosaurs falling from the sky onto the skatepark from a paralell dimension...
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 7:53 AM UTC
Two boots I know
And a street
Sidewalks damp
Glowing cigarette
A coat against the wind
My old friend
Doors only locked
My heart a bull
My mind the tool
A final pull
The pinwheel flick
cigarette
In series
In paralell
By streetlamp
I stand listening
My heart a bull
My mind the tool
My soul I know
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 8:56 PM UTC
You come at me at night, invading my mind as I sleep,
Like the riptides of the ocean. You drag me down into
the Netherworld of the sea,
You waiting there, knife in hand plunging in my helpless
body,Again and Again, The Agony of pain in my breast
as you slash your way through my mind. my blood mingling
with the saltwater...
The God of the sea, releasing my battered and bruised Soul
to the surface, Panic leaving me unable to swim paralell to
the shore of this nightmare, can't swim out of your riptide.
My mind Screaming, Screaming me awake, Tears running
down my face, tasting salt on my tongue, Is it from the sea?
The taste so real, Is this Nightmare really over? will it ever
Really be over?
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 1:44 AM UTC
Time slows down as per my humble request
Pure water drips from a foreign planet's geyser
Onto thirsty lips
Three moons rise
At that rare moment when a sun sits paralell
Peaceful dawn
Feet on greener lawns
My broken mind breaks the silence
When I tell you I love you more than a mountain loves to peak
More than flames love to destroy
More than a body loves an R E M state
We sit and mourn the darker days for a second or two
For their bright shards meant something too
Went to just as many funerals as weddings
I've seen families reunite on the same days a genocide makes headlines
For every breakdown, the next day was a resolution
For every ellipsis you read on my face
Another day I won't shut up
. . .
I'll stay here a while
I'll stay for another century
Not coming back to Earth
When the only thing waiting is a nuclear cavalry
And touch screens leaking dopamine
I know perfection is a myth
But when you tell its story
I believe
And sleep in a hammock hanging between the letters of your
"World'__'peace, one day."
Quote turned to decibels turned to hope
I taste it when we kiss
You reach out a hand when I drift
But I'm coming back
Even when coming apart
I'm always coming back.
Oct 19, 2019
Oct 19, 2019 at 10:51 AM UTC
I've seen the same roads,
those that lead nowhere
or cut into an end here,
reaching the edge of a mountain,
or to the lip of the sea,
or fading off into dust
and growing darker into
grainy asphalt—
that somehow hurts.
The roads straighten and curve,
and stretch and narrow,
and bend and break,
and crack just as it is filled
in between the seems.
They intertwine,
and meet in the middle,
and lead off somewhere,
like the t-boning of a barelling car,
going 40 on a 25.
The saddest roads are always short,
yet seeming endless in a moment
of brief contact.
The same speed,
the same view, and the same
edge by the sea, passing like
two stray boats at night.
The loneliest roads are parallel;
equal in distance, that can never touch. Side by side in meeting,
and always apart when leaving.
The loneliest roads taper off,
and stare at emptiness.
Paralell roads never meet,
and will always stay the same.
The loneliest roads between us
are just a few feet apart—
always infinite miles away.
Apr 19, 2020
Apr 19, 2020 at 11:43 AM UTC