"particulates" poems
The Rain falls warm.
It's humid and the shirt
sticks to my w3tb@ck.
How much has fallen
into my collective bucket
during the pass hour
Of heavy monsoon rain?
I gulp chunks
to replace water
in this futile work cycle.
Adiabatic landscaping
in a stifling heat,
within some complex
feed-forward loop.
The cigarette burns
beneath a protective dome,
my cupped hand.
Particulates drift away into
the hazy mist, embedding
itself in breath,
and choking congested,
fluid-filled lungs.
I watch a tiny display
showing small spiking memes
feeding forward to what?
Will it be an apocalyptic
firing storm or a recognition
gestalt, inhibitory spikes
triggering attenuation.
I drink again the rain.
Can I supervise Win-Lose
games? Am I learning
some wrong algorithm
while drunk on heavy water,
in Futile cycles?
With my open hand
I take Virgil's lead
into our Gradient descent,
urging him on, afraid
our alpha steps are too
small, and the time too
short. There is a constant
fear of being trapped
in some eternal,
local minimal.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 11:34 AM UTC
The definition of evolution
is survival of the fittest,
or those that fit best
in their environment,
even if its air
is hydrogen
they breathe it and
strain polluted water
for particulates.
The atmosphere's
clogged with smog
and greenhouse gases
I have not evolved
to breathe yet.
Flames melt my
soul for consciousness.
The world is a
popularity contest,
and I just don't fit in.
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 8:49 PM UTC
Apart, our Souls, they linger lost. My hearts demise, is what you cost. No sunshine, no colour, only lonely frost. That litters this Soul... aside Ive been tossed.
#TwinFlame
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 5:25 PM UTC
Pale skin drained of blood and life,
Dark hair covered in snow flakes of dead skin,
Voluptuous curves forcing your walk into a limp,
You intoxicate me with your tarnished beauty,
A dusty copper coin aged green,
Lost in a cabinet of old tattered books and decaying heaps of trash,
Crushed paper clotting the corners of the window,
Blocking the sunshine,
Yet through the dust and grime you brought forth infrared light given off from the warmth of your heart,
The creamy red fluid running through your veins,
Ugly or not, you were beautiful,
You were my shining star,
My chase,
But I left that tattered rotting room for one moment,
To open the blinds,
To let the light shine in upon your crusty copper,
But no light came through the window,
In a panic I dusted and dusted,
Trying to free the amorphous glass of the gray particulates,
Someone had switched off the light,
I knew at that moment god was against me,
Turning off the sun in a rage,
Protecting his pure daughter from my tendrils of depression and cold romance,
For when I came back,
Looking for the coin,
It was gone,
Claimed by the man with the candle stick,
Using artificial light to seek her heart,
He was gone in a flash,
Tumbling down the stairs to his steed,
As he raced off into the Marsh...
I tossed myself out the window,
Breaking glass and bone as I slammed into the ground stories below,
Struggling to get up,
Love pushing me,
Yet with everything I had,
Every little last cell and emotion,
His steed was too fast,
The chase was over.
Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 2:06 PM UTC
Nightmares.
Edge of a bridge.
Very distraught.
About to jump.
Life is valueless.
Screaming.
Sirens.
People encircled to talk me out of it.
Or to watch.
I laugh wildly.
An officer is earnestly appealing me to come back over the railing.
Lucifer manifests beside me.
*"You won't do it.
This is a cry for help and you've always been quite the attention seeker.
So go on, jump.
Mean it you coward, you fool.
Make the world a better place.
Waste the knowledge I've bestowed upon you.
You are merely a pupil to my eye.
I shall know your soul."*
One foot teetering forward,
Gust of wind knocks me back into the railing.
An angel appears to my right.
Glance left
Satan particulates into a thousand specks of nothing.
And dissipates in the breeze.
The officer is shouting indistinctly somewhere in the background.
**"Be not tricked by that devil,
for his only power over you is fear.
Know the light and his evil shall not penetrate your sphere.
Lest ye be swayed, then truly the end is nigh"**
I come to my senses.
The officer lends me his hand and helps me back over the railing.
The crowd erupts in applause.
I finally know my life purpose,
I'm overjoyed and overcome with happiness.
My range of vision is spiked with the most vivid palette of colors.
With an about-face I am struck by a bus.
Floating somewhere above my body, watching myself
I question the nature of existence
and awake before I'm offered a reply
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 11:40 PM UTC
So many words between us—
The caustic breech of abatement, ruin
Runs atonal, in recitals of indifference,
How even the ****** birds now sound
Discordant and rain crushes as it falls,
Ballistic.
The pinprick stars are merely eyes
Undraped to the worn soul's veil
And gorgon time roils setting our feet
In the crust of wishes and delusions
Kept.
The bullet riddled skies in absence
Of colour are but particulates of lime
To the moonless night. Words have no
Eyes, they can only finger.
O the sorrows of the untouched—
The cruelty of the sightless and bent blind,
Drab vermillion stars felled like forced tears.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 10:57 AM UTC
new summer, spoken then lived.
new letter, spelled in crayola crème.
you were the love of
my life.
plucked my heart like
squishy fruit.
we once turned the night
into paintings and poems,
particulates of
a golden time gone by.
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 6:51 AM UTC
function here in waves,
playful rose of fractal dance between the ashen
i-am-nesses fused --
what else can say existence
like you are like me?
that atoms mine are yours
coinciding kinds
in kind collide in braving symbols wide.
no interference holds amid the swing
from dark to light,
eternal constancy
of varied essence striking
joy on joy a smitten fullness-
breath of overcoming desperation's wrath
regrown particulates of god undead
of final unities no longer dark,
no longer merely one among
.
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 11:20 PM UTC
This morning
I woke up
and
told Melissa we wouldn’t
make it past three months.
We're at month two,
and I can feel it.
Either I’d drop her, or she’d
drop me, but either way
“we don’t have staying power,
and there’s no point
in either of us
pretending like we’re grown ups
who can just power through things
out of sheer complacency”.
I wasn’t looking at her.
Just up
at the spackle and a spinning fan.
It’s so hot in here,
that we sleep on top of the covers
sweating little puddles of skin
into the comforter.
Nightly,
we mash those deposits of dried salt
deep into the mattress
with our sloughing bodies
to get stuck
and form
tiny caves of skin and boredom in the springs.
She rolled away from me
swirling off a cloud
of stale, watermelon shampoo
And reached
With a tightly domed deltoid
towards the blue milk crate
where her purse sat.
She rummaged in there,
her back muscles working
like a landslide of flesh.
She finally dropped the purse,
after an effort of five minutes,
and I heard the successful flick
of a lighter.
She started
puffing and chugging down smoke
As she laid on her side.
My eyes watered
in the bluish smog,
and as the fan turned
raining down peices of our own skin
in a dusty, undetectable cloud of particulates
I could just see her,
out of the corner of my eye,
Shifting the weight of her body
from her deltoid
to her trapezius.
Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 11:39 PM UTC
I long for a means coalesce like particulates in suspension and not coagulate.
Into a monstrous scab.
I hate to make cheloid tissue of this deadly grouping.
Id **** to be whole by finding a pairing.
The obstruction to human progression,
The roadblock of progress,
We are merely all platelets in this wound.
These free thinkers are the only.
Thing. Holding in all of the blood of the truth in man's march.
The moon was the beginning the end is the sun.
To a fusion of the atom,
And the birth of our flux.
To the birth of our achievement,
When we let loose the wound.
When the inside has healed and we aren’t bandaging the fumes,
Of a gaseous existence to penetrate everyone’s lungs,
With the stillness of thinking and the spirit of calm.
Currently.
We wait in the basement.
Sitting for our,
Plan.
To strike.
We will strike the match that flames the fumes of human resistance and build a castle of knowledge, hope, science, and destroy the sinkholes for progress.
The things that deplete our resources,
And the fire in our eyes will stab into every bastilles walls.
Of evil.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 1:51 AM UTC
Sometimes
I feel old and faded
derelict and degraded
overly saturated corrugated cardboard left all alone...out in
the rain too long
or dry and brittle curling up ..creating
a bowl-like middle
adding to the strain like it really matters that that then gathers more dust...more lint
And those
now earth-bound vagabonds
whose time came
and then went
drifters
passing through
as they always do when they ... the fallin
the no longer needed the no longer wanted disavowed
no longer allowed
to hang around
And so apropos
The way leaves go
wherever the wind may choose to blow them to
always a few ...who find shelter
out of ....the vagaries
of the wind and in
that shallow bowl
I formed
Then like it or not
they may stay ...
Hidden away
catching more
of those infinitesimal
all but invisible particulates
as they pass our way
so you might say
we form a bond
a compilation
a strange mutation
Imbibing
longer and longer
those times
of total saturation
the very manifestation
what one may describe as a little tribe...that by the weight of fate
and our bonded state we hunker down
here to stay
upon
this piece of ground
And together we start each doing their part
to speed us on
Upon our way
to our future of decay and yes ..its true
I once felt so..
overly saturated
cursing
the corrugated
the very way
that I was created
bemoaning how
I had faded
But in the end
I did not die alone
I did not die
we ...
did not totally decay nor did we fade away we found life
and meaning when
this little tribe found that we were bound
This little mound
To be
Exactly what
all these lost derelicts
These young seeds.......needs
to create life
And to give
Color to reason
And a new season
To live ....life.
And in a way ...to
Find salvation in decay.
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 1:43 AM UTC
impetuous ******* braying at blooming roses
chosen one flowing stream like into view
truth adjectively curtailed
so as to prove useless theory
researching hypnotherapy in lue of information
unpresented speeches sit dusty, shelved
lacking interested parties
showboating cowboy quoting comic books
gazes into starless night skies
pollution fills the space
particulates dance, unencumbered
free to display each nuance of wind movement
air currents placate emaciated youths
as the soft breezes are the only comfort in this new world
globalized idealism creating pop-culture idolatry
faceless masses praying to the media outlets
begging for entertainment and indoctrination
as the pain of thinking for oneself hurts too badly
corroded pineal glands beg for rebirth
injecting the need for fresh green vegetables into the minds
of the McDonaldized populace
showing glimpses of traditional values
based on equality and love
a low rumble creeps up from the bowels
buildings tremble and windows rattle
howls of insane laughter pour over the people
like the biblical flood
love?
equality?
fools notions or the games of little children
twice dubbed voice over auto tuned and through a megaphone shouts out
deafening the society it rules
we killed the hippies with ****
ruined the idealists with animal rights
and stopped the liberals
with cash payments
we have won
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC
angry jagged animal teeth
the underbite of earth's crust
harboring harmful chemicals &
illegal immigrants
rising
at this first ray,
a cunt's hair of celestial inferno
one could say
constantly calling
on this
splay legged abomination
meeting & greeting
every need & accomadation
of greater grazers
they set them selves ablaze
for pity wage
& trade peanuts for raisins.
holy hell.
the nature of things;
of which way's witch ways
is a
falling
flipping
flying state
of ***** nirvana.
this is common phenomena.
I could cry. hysterically.
black helicopters
polka dotted the
blinding white
pilot light
that was the sky
littered with little
particulates of sickness.
I want nothing more
but to run to this jesus light
rewind to the darkness
in the daynight
& bottle those clouds,
consume & be alive.
but why.
I run to nothing
& nowhere
cause that's only
place it's all alright.
let it slide past
mindfulness
by the time anyone finds out
another evening beseeches quiet
& we'll abide
to avoid running for our lives
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 10:27 PM UTC
Indecision
grips my thoughts
pushing me from room
to roam around
pace the living room
until a path is worn into the rug
flecked with dirt,
particulates of current and past occupants.
Is the scratch on the wall from me,
or did I never notice it until now?
My roommate broke a cabinet in the first few months
and one of the blinds falls whenever
anything
brushes against it.
The couch is sunken in on one side,
and hurts to sleep on,
it gets too hot under my flowered duvet
but too cold
as the glass sliding door
does not condone a well-insulated system
more of an open
with heat escaping in and out
positive and negative transferred through a window
to a parking lot, and a mellow wall.
What a view...
Staring out into the night,
fingers poised
teeth clenching
lip biting
I thought I was over this. I'm supposed to be over this.
Why am I not over this?
Because now I am crying.
Because now I drink in tears,
and spill myself,
crumbling past the defense I was building,
reinforced with concrete and friends,
distractions,
I am higher,
above the world,
on the rooftops.
Trade places with me?
The days will rewind,
like a vcr
until it pops up,
except it will stick,
because it will not let go.
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 2:40 AM UTC
slight crack allows seepage
slowly undermining the structural integrity
allowing erosion free reign
trickle with enough particulates to encourage life
on its own
runs down the face
exposed –
supports tumble, clattering
bits too boulders
torrential force pushes away remaining derbies
sending wave after wave
pyroclastic flow –
distant thunder rolls in without a cloud one
explosions from afar
trembling from within
excitement for what is to come –
the abandonment of emotional baggage
open to a fault
disintegrating damaged walls
new bridges through conversation
released while behind bars –
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 2:47 PM UTC
Sometimes, the sad stuff nestles
And offers a familiar strangle hold
But you offer me a stranger’s hold
And like a snow globe unsettled
The sad stuff scatters
Blood vessels open wide and wild and bold
And we go deeply upside down
All the particulates of our particulars
Dance around in carnal discussions
Of morality and philosophy and borders
Spoken in petite four letter words
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 12:13 AM UTC
.
So many words between us—
The caustic breech of abatement, ruin
Runs atonal, in recitals of indifference,
How even the ****** birds now sound
Discordant and rain crushes as it falls,
Ballistic.
The pinprick stars are merely eyes
Undraped to the worn soul's veil
And gorgon time roils setting our feet
In the crust of wishes and delusions
Kept.
The bullet riddled skies in absence
Of colour are but particulates of lime
To the moonless night. Words have no
Eyes, they can only finger.
O the sorrows of the untouched—
The cruelty of the sightless and bent blind,
Drab vermillion stars felled like forced tears.
.
Jan 10, 2022
Jan 10, 2022 at 5:07 PM UTC
So many words between us—
The caustic breech of abatement, ruin
Runs atonal, in recitals of indifference,
How even the ****** birds now sound
Discordant and rain crushes as it falls,
Ballistic.
The pinprick stars are merely eyes
Undraped to the worn soul's veil
And gorgon time roils setting our feet
In the crust of wishes and delusions
Kept.
The bullet riddled skies in absence
Of colour are but particulates of lime
To the moonless night. Words have no
Eyes, they can only finger.
O the sorrows of the untouched—
The cruelty of the sightless and bent blind,
Drab vermillion stars felled like forced tears.
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 8:35 PM UTC
So many words between us—
The caustic breech of abatement, ruin
Runs atonal, in recitals of indifference,
How even the ****** birds now sound
Discordant and rain crushes as it falls,
Ballistic.
The pinprick stars are merely eyes
Undraped to the worn soul's veil
And gorgon time roils setting our feet
In the crust of wishes and delusions
Kept.
The bullet riddled skies in absence
Of colour are but particulates of lime
To the moonless night. Words have no
Eyes, they can only finger.
O the sorrows of the untouched—
The cruelty of the sightless and bent blind,
Drab vermillion stars felled like forced tears.
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 12:23 PM UTC
Piano keys are dreams that illude me.
The sounds are so sensual, clacks that mock the gentle twinge of a note.
Like guitar strings plucked just so, sound as the weeping of stars.
Light that seems to melt away from its whole leaving a void.
I feel as though the world has become so much easier to hear.
The silence from indoors is a perpetual energy that feeds us.
Keeps us safe.
Yet the ecstasy of light on a dark night seems to call to us.
The blur of a grey black in the night sky that meshes so well with street lights.
The winter calls clarity to our eyes,
and the world seems to stand still while snowflakes move past our frozen bodies.
And each flake catches the bouncing particulates of a glimmer, making the air crisp.
Like the sound of ivory tickling the soft ridges of oxygen in our ears.
Commingling with the illusion of light behind our eyes.
And the foot prints in the snow,
foot prints searching for the morning glances of a sunrise from dew drops that are months away. They seem so lost.
As lost as unwritten notes to a beautiful mind.
As lost as a concerto performed in an empty hall.
-P.S.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 10:16 AM UTC
———
“called alveoli, where blood and air are separated by such thin membranes that oxygen and carbon dioxide can pass into and out of the bloodstream, respectively. Between them, the lungs have somewhere in the neighborhood of six hundred million alveoli.
Severe COVID-19 causes many of them to either collapse or fill with fluid. The virus attacks the cells lining the alveoli; our overactive immune systems, in trying to fight the virus, may be damaging them as well.
The result is that not enough oxygen gets into the blood.”
§§§
we forget to marvel at the finery of our bodies,
the microscopic interactions, the minute particulates intersecting,
the multiplicity of languages of each limb, each system, multilingual,
the beauty of all this communicative combinatory,
that enables the gossamer threads
that make the ordinary a repetitive miracle, understanding both the
wonder of our instinctual, our five senses, and their finite limitations
we tendency focus on the visible,
the skin, our excretions,,
accepting even normative, please go away, periodic pain,
but the exceptional,
that states loudly,
what you cannot see can ****
we ignore until the last minute
hopeful that the clues that are maybe contained,
re the tearing of the fabric of six hundred million
sacs you were unaware you possessed,
can be rewoven, the palpitations your fear be calmed,
the chest muscles quaking, the gasping for molecules
of oxygen can be ventilated, just like the truth that too,
needs a good and a proper airing, without the artifices tubular
now that you are fully conscious of the unseen beauty upon
which each depends, and the masks we wear proudly lest others
we infect, greater irony that we mustn’t pollute our atmosphere,
perhaps, will it make you question the supposed certainties
we sarcastically,
say we know for sure
and respect the uncertainties by which we live and breathe,
the poetry of the body internal,
every second an exercise in risk taking, the miracle of each moment
a blessed privilege, not being conscious that our physical subsistence
is a near thing, depending on thinnest membranes unseen,
not fooling ourselves that we are each a human god,
an Oz, great and powerful,
who hides behind a curtain.
§§§§
May 2, 2020
May 2, 2020 at 5:49 PM UTC
I’ve learned that
nothing
truly touches.
“Likes repel,”
explains the unbreachable
absence between electrons.
Perhaps this is why
I feel distance
in our embrace.
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 2:08 PM UTC
Weird yellow lines mark
the grey sparkling floor.
Lighter grey garage doors
roll open to export more
manufactured goods.
Plastic particulates
plaster the yellow painted
blocking fences that
keeps fumbling fools
from stumbling through.
Yellow metal monstrosities
powered by small black batteries
chase their own blue lights
seeming super sentient
with an electric consciousness.
They beep hard backing up
and plowing forward
with packed boxes of
clear plastic cups
coming from the factory floor.
Smokers come and go
in and out of
the glass double door
in a blur of blue hats
lunch lady hairnets
earplugs and safety glasses
ending the day
exhausted and underpaid.
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 8:35 AM UTC
Oh, love!
Love, fly
fly FLY with me!
FLY with me to and from the
bright glow moonie moon!
Let's laugh, shine and play! amongst the
luminous spheres of plasma holding
themselves together with their own gravity!
That's love, love, that's us, love!
Let's do a celestial swing!
Let's see what we can bring!
Let's see what love can bring
to our galactic orbital ion ring and
we don't need a diamond ring, we' got
suspended particulates flying around us
at a million lightyears per second and
we're just photons photons!
We're light dancing!
Let's see the cool breeze chancing
Let's taste the sunshine prancing on
planets we've never been to before!
Glowing dots
connect the dots and it's an
intricate lace let's interlace our fingers
let's brush our fingers fingertips paintbrush
paintbrush painting tactile tickle brushstrokes
brushstrokes oh, heart, love, kiss me! kiss me!
My heart is filled
with melodic lines dancing in counterpoint and
each tone is a universe coming to fruition
and returning to the soil for nutrition and
it nurtures and it nurtures and it's new,
it's always new! it's always now! and
I wanna sing!
I wanna sing forever!
I wanna sing forever evermore
and I wanna sing forever everNow!
always all ways
all ways always
I Love You!
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 1:08 PM UTC
In their stuttering
whisper, crumbs
engender sparks...what
mouths could not manage.
Grist for relative mills,
measures broken against
blind eyes--square foot
afterthoughts.
Crumbled particulates of the
only feast.
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 12:00 PM UTC