"paresthesia" poems
~
*black tie, bare feet,
a walk through dandelions,
following the scent of wine
and mirthful promise
phosphenes and paresthesia
—slow dazzle motif;
the bluebird of happiness
echoes in a shallow bay;
pieces of places to claim as theirs:
moth wings, flower petals,
and blades of grass
seduced by eventide,
unhurried mouth(s), lips searching
and soft, all words seem to have
a few extra vowels;
sudden ubiquity
to collisions and slippages,
cultivating suggestive shapes
from aleatory arrays
of objects and forms
in the surf they mingle and link,
emancipating adrenaline;
they love like they were
water for life*
~
Apr 17, 2023
Apr 17, 2023 at 5:11 PM UTC
It is not a mirage. This;
it is vital they share the same blue
veins under their pale veil. But they breathe different
airs. To live, is to learn how
to rejoice with paresthesia
causing liquor down your throat
and be in the stupor without feeling
stupid.
Stupors feel better
lucid
and this, this all feels better in sleep.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 2:17 PM UTC
They take it in turns
multiplying like germs,
ideas wreaking havoc between
my two ears.
If there be a vaccination to relieve
this situation,
let me know.
Ideas grow
and like dynamite they blow
the world apart.
But
between these two big ears is
another world of hope that's
filled with fears and the germs
accumulate, they never want to
cooperate
leaving me in such a state that
all I want to do
is sleep.
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 12:21 PM UTC
when sitting at your desk
you experience hypesthesia
from being to statuesque
it's called paresthesia
don't want to swear
by yelling out bollix
take it out with blare
or a string called grawlix
do you have that tickling
feeling on your niddick
don't know that christening
it's your nape to be specific
going into winter sun
that soft warm felicity
experienced by everyone
that is called apricity
Aug 26, 2019
Aug 26, 2019 at 1:05 PM UTC
from the top of my crown
his blues come traveling down
sweet paresthesia claiming my arms
grabbing my hands
he gives me this case of poetic blues
he strings my instrument
his rhythmical melody soothes
and tunes
my uncontrollable side
it is finally tamed
oh, the blues that flows down my thighs at the sound his name
is another debate
it went from I putting a spell on you
to you putting a spell of me
this has caused
a swap of fate
the waves of me swimming on top of you
or the calm of you floating on top of me
oh, the blues that flows down and travel to my feet
gives me the strength to stand in this cold dark world
with out this blessing I would have surely sunk
I dwell
I survive
I dance
Amen
to this case of poetic blue funk
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 2:06 AM UTC
Subterranean paresthesia
Has begun to pry (again)
The roots of which
Come out of this ground
As an isolated tree
Withered and dry
Surrounded by useless waters
And grawlix signs
Hanging from ropes
Like guns in the sky
Aug 15, 2020
Aug 15, 2020 at 11:53 AM UTC
Right sat not felling himself
sitting in his paresthesia
Left came in
and asked what up right man
Right said, I think right, so here I am
But not feeling to good myself
Left with a smile on his face
well right today I am good
and with that left, stage right
at That RIGHT fell on his back
then die'd.
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 2:31 PM UTC