"patellas" poems
one cannot get down on one's knees
it is apparent that they are unbending
both patellas have gone into a freeze
the discomfort in them is never ending
one's knee joints oft tend to lock tight
it is apparent that they are unbending
their rigidity is becoming a real blight
scrubbing floors is a most painful affair
one's knee joints oft tend to lock tight
these days one's knees are in need of care
arthritis has set in for a rather long stay
scrubbing floors is a most painful affair
one would like the stiffness to go away
there isn't much flexibility in one's legs
arthritis has set in for a rather long stay
oh to have more spring in the knee pegs
there isn't much flexibility in one's legs
one cannot get down on one's knees
both patellas have gone into a freeze
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 4:42 AM UTC
i. no absolute rest
"yes, time
never did stop
for anyone."
but I add...
ii. no absolute motion
"even time itself
is an
illusion."
because
yours and mine
...dissent.
iii. backwards
maybe yesterday,
we could still
work things out.
--softer,
than lightly (3.0 x 10^8 m/s)
iv. implausibility
our foreheads wear
the cracks of our heart.
you lost your zeal,
I lost my saviour,
we lost each other,
but left
with osmium-clad
backpacks,
and collapsed
patellas.
E = mc^2.
v. our end
fact:
tomorrow
is inevitable.
fact:
screeching alarms
and lopsided bed-hair,
and chugging caramel lattes,
with precisely two tablespoons
of raw sugar--
fact:
forget among the clamour,
the shadow of your figure--
fact:
you are an
unearthed blackhole,
under the facade
of a supernova.
(your mass = 2.5(+) x greater than the sun)
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 11:01 AM UTC
When i look at the moon i realize i am a jumble of atoms.
Mostly H and O.
and my bones are betraying me.
crumbling with every step i take
my tendons tearing
patellas separating
and i love frivolously
and violently
and wishfully
I love like i am breaking
because i am.
I am a jumble of atoms
and sometimes when i walk
down a dark alley way
and I can almost make out Orion's belt
when the light pollution isn't bad and
the skies are clear,
(which is rare)
I realize i'm not going to be here
in 100 years.
maybe not even 50.
and my heart beat quickens and my bones crumble
and my tendons tear
I am a wisp of time
a dust mote
a drop of water
a passing feeling
of remembrance
when you enter a town you've never been in
and know where to find the bookstore.
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 1:10 AM UTC
These capsules of marrow and red blood cells
are useless against you
The protectors of my heart have deteriorated
What pathetic ribs I have
They shatter beneath the unsteady beat
When our eyes meet
And my heart plunders into the bowels below my feet
My knee caps collapse
At the sound of your voice
A sad excuse; my patellas
My neurons refuse to function
In your presence
Every nerve ending ceases to exist
My brain doesn't register the actions
or the words
That escape my mouth
Blabbering
Lastly
The ***** that fails me
Overwhelms me
and controls me
Aortas and ventricles seeping crimson emotion
Constantly pumping false happiness
through my capillaries
My veins returning depression
My body makes me sick
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 4:18 AM UTC
You started out chasing butterflies with strawberry baskets in hand,
So insignificant in their own right.
Barefoot splashing in the tides of winding creeks,
Taking shortcuts to steppingstones.
Your dreams were as big as the clouds you never even took the time to gaze upon.
With eyes sparkling in the midday sun,
A child-like ferocity held deep within your core shown through your every step...
The signs always pointed you down the right paths,
Safe and sound from the world asunder.
Sunlight framed your face in a perfect eclipse,
While you called for your nature's shames to grace your flesh.
The untrodden breath should have screamed "Aposematism" in your favor– instead it whispered luxury.
You had Pine needles jutting from your vellum heels as I watched you wander away;
Precariously denying the flush of red they had while they hung their heads to let you pass...
Irresolute on how to perceive dead ends:
You, gnarled and bleached by the lap of oak
You scrambled over boulders and crevices
Only to find collapse was nothing but your suitor in black,
Caressing your lechery in a labyrinth thicket.
Peach scraped patellas and a taste for champagne,
You should have seen right through that lush disguise.
...From day one you where laced in the notations of prima donna,
With your sticks and stones and ivory bones;
The only song left to resound drip memories of your
Hand-crushed wings.
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 3:59 PM UTC