"polymer" poems
I’ll do you like your
Eyes
Ask me to,
As relentlessly
As your
Smile’d
Wish, come every our
Encounter.
I’ll do you, like the –
Plastic, porcelain, and
Polymer
Scenery –
Holography and
Hidden drawers,
Once a sin and
Twice a cross.
I’ll do you, as
I’m, and a first,
If only an
“Object.”
I know it, but you don’t.
You love it, but I won’t,
Because you’d only burn,
Come knowing I’m, “taken.”
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 8:48 PM UTC
a virtual network is the perfect place
for an alien intelligence to infiltrate;
passing as any number of avatars &
spreading an anti-human philosophy
in the war between robots & aliens
w/ humanity no longer a factor, the
robots freely the pummel the aliens
w/ devastating laser precision; the
aliens retaliating w/ hot magnets to
heat the polymer machines to the
melting point; the aliens unaware of
the earth's default nuclear arsenal;
triggered to explode as a last resort;
mankind & machine joined as one &
as the aliens land their ground forces
a slight tremor becomes a supernova
& the entire alien fleet is blown out
of spacetime w/ such fiery havoc, the
never seen & long extinct mankind
becomes legendary for its viciousness
hav·oc/ˈhavək/noun
noun: havoc
1. widespread destruction. "the hurricane ripped through Florida,
causing havoc"
synonyms: devastation, destruction, damage,
desolation, ruination, ruin; disaster, catastrophe
"the hurricane caused havoc"
great confusion or disorder.
"schoolchildren wreaking havoc in the classroom"
synonyms: disorder, chaos, disruption,
mayhem, bedlam, pandemonium, turmoil,
tumult, uproar; commotion, furor, a three-ring circus; informal:
hullabaloo
"hyperactive children create havoc"
verb: archaic: havoc; 3rd person present: havocs;
past tense: havocked; past participle:
havocked; gerund or present participle:
havocking [ ]. ( )
1. lay waste to; devastate.
late Middle English: from Anglo-Norman
French havok, alteration of Old French
havot, of unknown origin; the word was
originally used in the phrase ‘cry havoc’;
(Old French crier havot ) ‘to give an army the order - havoc,’
the signal for plundering
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 8:04 PM UTC
The mannequin faceless,
Clothed in gold
With hands pandering svelte,
Remains an admired inanimate,
Albeit, atop whispers to a girl,
A 4-foot flower 3-feet my right,
Fretting and stumped;
Extrinsic a label – “undesirable.”
The mannequin faceless,
Her and hollow –
A towering nose above, stands
Opaque ivory, scarred come
Synonymous eyes with a symmetrical
Soul, assumed plastic perfection
And more importantly,
Soon to be sale.
The mannequin faceless
Convinced her new friend,
Her lesser, lopsided,
And natural not-so counterpart
To consume,
“Eat me, “eat me,” “eat it all,”
And then, “binge some more.”
The mannequin faceless
SCREAMS,
“BUY!” Amongst the other torments –
Born both fingers that can’t move and
The thumbs that shuffle, “One’s,”
To the girl that was never,
“Good enough;” so shared the
Tabloid’s mouth.
The mannequin faceless demands
And DEMANDS nothing less than to
Buy, starve, suffer and sacrifice
So that every “broken body,”
May embody polymer, and for a price,
A not so fair trade whilst
Considering old man gold,
The curator of conundrum
And the plastic he’s created.
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 8:59 AM UTC
I held the height of human industry aloft in my left hand,
A polymer all of your children's great-grandchildren won't outlive.
And some old stranger glared at me, so I yelled at her "I litter!"
Her scowl grew, the old biddy knew I was a liar, and a kidder
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 8:34 PM UTC
I open the blinds and see the world - in return, what
does the world see? It sees me, and all my splendid, split
personalities, living these amazing times, of amazing
pleasures, in which we tweet tweets, and post posts re
ego-trips and copyrighted links, videos and things; and,
as stray dogs, we ramble randomly, and all the time,
living in our infinite worlds, of infinite lanes, till infinity;
yet we suffer so much pain.
Our Shih Tzus take us on extended walks, firmly leashed
to our Koss plugs, as we drone cool tunes on multihued
iPods, iPhones buzzing ringtones of tittering babies,
stolid kings and hyperactive frogs, which would all make
my eighty-six year old dad want to gag; we fly
ultralight megaplanes at the sonic sound of speed,
through virtual and real space, connecting dots at low-
cost prices, while we belt-up, gear-up, gulp Gaga and
gorge heat-inducted meals of deer, horse and over-
promoted crap; and then, wow surprisingly, we are all
so unsatisfied.
We consciously all move-in together, and **** on end,
like statistical sheep, pre-married, unloving, and broken
up, and justify it all, to ourselves, with our fully
stretched spandex morality, over low-carb brunches
@Starbucks, two 14” screens of separation; we paint
pornographic images of virgins, all called Mary, in the
name of art, and, white-clad, **** babes and alter-boys,
and penetrate each other, first with our fingers, deeply,
then superficially, without even wondering, for a
zeptosecond, why we can’t stand one another any
longer.
We crank-up dependencies, like high street mainliners,
shamming and slaughtering for neurotoxic fixes of
smileys and Crystal on billion-dollar Kogo yachts, while
we all just pedal on, dispassionately, down and over
interior canals, to the core of our hocked, abbrev lives,
chronically connected and severely distracted, in
aromatic polymer bubbles, heedlessly cruising through
comic-strip farms of mock vegetables, surely to nowhere
and towards no one; and quite frankly, the world laughs
at all this, and sobs, and so do I.
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 4:08 PM UTC
you hold me on wires by my spine like i'm a puppet and you're the puppeteer,
the wires dancing out of orbit as similar as power lines wrestling a storm or
electrons that are never at a certain point at any time. your misaccuracy
reminds me of a pinpoint on a map because it never touches the destination
on point, and i absorb the attention you provide like polymer gel ***** with
water, but you are the most unstable puppeteer i've ever known, smiling
through smoke and blindfolding me covering me in black and blue camoflauge
throwing me in the fire, drowning me in the deep depths of the ocean,
and laughing as i sink in denial and crave the inevitable let down
- kra
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 4:10 AM UTC
*7 billion of us
that’s a lot of mouths
and tummies to fill*
You’re a farmer in Drought Land
(How did I get here? you ask yourself;
How do you farm dry land? we ask you)
and the weeds grow and your crops die
You need water, water, Hard Rain, plenty of Solid Rain
and the chemical engineer
Velasco of Mexico, he got just that for you
It’s powder, baby –
looks like sugar, honey;
10g of Hard Rain absorbs a Liter of Water
and it’ll stay there on your land for a year at the least
*7 billion of us
that’s a lot of mouths
and tummies to fill*
it doesn’t evaporate and only the roots can drink it
It’s Hard Rain going to come, baby -
that’s the promise -
it’s Hard Rain on your Dry Land;
it’s absorbent material -
this polymer, yeah baby, it’s called
potassium polyacrylate
and it’s coming to a dry land near you
it’ll lie on your land, and it’ll feed your crops
and you can sell your veggies to me
and that’ll feed me and my family
we’re just too many mouths to feed, you know,
all the 7 billion of us, baby,
on Planet Earth, on Blue Blue Earth
and maybe I’ll buy some Hard Rain myself too
for my own little Eden in my backyard
Oh, it’s Hard Rain, Hard Rain gonna fall on us all, baby
It’s Hard Rain going to come, baby -
that’s the promise
it’s Hard Rain on your Dry Land
*7 billion of us
that’s a lot of mouths
and tummies to fill*
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 10:36 PM UTC
I know that today is just another day.
But to me it's the most important day of my life so far.
I know, I know.
I'm being over dramatic.
But really.
How many times will I turn 16?
Sweet,
Sweet,
Sweet sixteen.
I wished for a day full of love and fun.
And what did I get?
Rejection from my friends...
Awesome.
I just want to feel something other than loneliness.
I don't think that will happen though.
I want to be loved,
And hugged,
And sang to,
And kissed,
And held,
Like how I was forever,
And he was my always.
The perfect match.
On the perfect day.
But no.
That's over.
I just want to be loved...
I just want to have today to make my wishes come true...
Just today... That would be nice..
This place with its walls like a polymer that only heat destroys.
And there is no heat here.
There is no love to create heat and **** those oppressing walls.
Just knock them down.
Forever and always fitting together like the hands of a mother and her new born baby.
Made perfectly, to bond instantly.
Sweet sixteen isn't sweet at all...
It's bitter.
Like the bitter bite of this everlasting cold,
In this place with no heat to beat the walls.
Down.
I'd like to know what everyone thinks of me today.
Just for today so that I can know who to stay away from so I don't get hurt.
Again.
The old one said mean things about me.
I once heard that when girls get bad comments about things like their hair,
Or an outfit,
They will NEVER wear it again without thinking only about that one comment.
He said "that girl" like I was a disease he'd found on the handle of his car.
He said "yeah the one with her hair always messed up."
She said to him "It's naturally curly and I like it."
I can't believe that he would say that.
I can't believe that he is the boy who was always and I was forever.
There is this other boy now.
He wants to go to far with me.
I want to ask him,
Do you even know me?
Do you even know my middle name?
I miss being loved.
I miss no drama.
I miss especially,,,
Oregon.
Even if i don't get anything i want out of today,
I really, truly love Oregon.
No doubts about it.
But it's my sweet sixteen,
And i just want one thing.
To be loved.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 2:32 AM UTC
You used to be a daydream.
Now, you're the one that wakes me up at midnight-
foggy and unremembered.
I wish I could ignite it.
Watch your blue sweatshirt turn to ash and
watch that smirk from a moment in the rain that you waited all your life for shrivel up into nothing.
I wish this Hi-Polymer eraser could erase memories.
The white rubber, mister magic,
never met you.
Never. Never. Never.
Never hating you.
Never letting you learn my name.
Never figuring out that you weren't as bad as I always thought.
Never yes or sure or maybe or a nod of my thick head.
Never take your hand or lean into you or feel your embrace for the first time-
Pulled away in the pool and ran away down the street.
Never cared enough to break someone's heart.
Never let your saliva twist around inside my raw and bleeding mouth.
Never let you give me presents or given you my own.
Never given you myself.
Never said yes to Prom or let myself kiss you four times or stay until three in the suicidal morning.
Never let you come back under the blazing sun or bore your way into my core.
Never given you my every piece of me to set in place of your missing, sad pieces.
Because you thought you were whole enough without me.
But I can't take those pieces back.
Maybe I can try and erase them...
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 6:59 PM UTC
My fingertips sweep across these subtle indentations
Tracing her serial number
A traumatic and numbing truth
copy written and branded on a tiny scar
just below her microscopic transistor
voice box
The shallow intake of oxygen into
recycled plastic lungs recycling air
either for realism or function
felt just as alluring
when they whispered into my ear
Her hardwired ducts always produced
tears that hurt just as much
even if it was programmable and on command
Losing the warm caress of her polymer skin
was just as painful
even though underneath was only cellular service
and not cellular growth
I swore to my friends that she wasn't like
any other I've ever loved
but as I push the lifeless shell of this
all too perfect woman into the muck caked
dumpster
I think to myself
Maybe I would have had better luck with
a name brand
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 9:49 AM UTC
I fell in love with a blackboard
and the beauty etched upon it's surface.
(A shallow love, indeed: to only love what is written and to never understand.)
But my hands can never touch it, never,
for it's texture makes me sick.
I fell in love with a train,
and all of that thrill and wind and speed.
(A dangerous love, please: to only love a fleeting feeling, the never calm.)
But that scent is so appalling, crawling
upon my knees to escape it's grasp.
I fell in love with a princess,
and her eyes, stance, and *******
(A quick love, sick: Her hands seemed to bandage my heart so nimbly.)
But my ears are bleeding, always pleading,
at the sound of her treacherous voice.
I fell in love with a peasant,
his smile, his heart, and his arms.
(A beating love, fleeting: His face tear stained with stress.)
But he had no time for me, no dime
in his pocket could feed me.
I was alone. Never quite in love enough.
The polymer casing on my blood seemed to break.
The walls had yet to rise with the celibate gathering.
Take away a lifetime and give away a second.
May 1, 2010
May 1, 2010 at 9:28 AM UTC
coated in confidence,
my cuticles grace over
my keypads with
an unruly air of
sophistication.
the tips of my fingers
are a canvas
to be removed
in a week’s time.
i am a modern day
michelangelo,
whose sistine chapel lives
on in the form of
hand gestures and
improvised mannerisms.
there is definitely
something to be
said regarding the
prestige of polymer.
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 1:42 PM UTC
The specialized microbes
mass reproducing female
chromosomes inhabiting
the porous android to bring
it to erratic animated life;
the astrogeneticist having
to fight off grasping arms &
long flailing synthetic legs
b/c although the polymer
torso & limbs were sturdy,
the goal of the experiment:
to produce a single unified
mind, had not occurred; the
faux female a fully sensate
out of control maniac now
driven by the multiplying
billions of microbial minds;
the thing becoming more
feminine by the moment as
female chromosomes flood
the perfectly replicated
organs; the astrogeneticist,
thinking he may never escape
its clutches alive, stripped
off his pressure suit & gave
the ***** monster the only
it could possibly comprehend;
an aroused male counterpart
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 11:31 PM UTC
on the stoop, I glue my tuckus to a plank of mundane as the Chevys cruise in the turquoise Tannebaum
of Twilight, churning shadows into velvet. I surrender when the fog’s kiss, lifts the Veil and I ponder It.
I choose where my dyslexia is a coin and barter for less dementia. serving silent things in the tapestry
of untapped maladies, masquerading as polymer gods in a hedgerow of impossible odds.
I fumble for my keys like the rest of you darlings… but my hands are made of dented chrome and dendrites unmanned by sanity in favor of an alcove of dauntless Awe.
I’m barging into a rumination, as we speak.
taking the hill of a landscape as a Sharkfin-
gloating in Existential Soup.
My egga roll, something less discreet
than Yellow Journalism
in a Lava Lamp
as Lovers
do.
Feb 1, 2020
Feb 1, 2020 at 10:29 PM UTC
voluminous birdie,
color in the forgotten gray of my hand-me-down ventricles.
sing to me like mom after my wisdom teeth,
and sweetie after my knees forget how to meaningfully breathe.
your flight cannot guarantee a destination filled with rhythmic syllables of your brown-eyed reverie,
but the wind itself fuels thoughts of days colored rainbow when my eyelids grey the trees like losing jackets in the snow-covered weeks.
you cannot fill an upside-down jar.
you cannot crack a polymer designed to turn its back to the lukewarm winds.
you cannot convince the grounded child to climb mountains in light of fatter wallets and brighter pale ales.
for the only mechanism of my flight is a unreachable cove-
an unquestioned, unbreakable, unconditional love.
---
fly North,
fly North,
fly North
--
it is too cold here for your feathers to shine.
--
--
-
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 11:33 PM UTC
For Gwendolyn Brooks
And with that 2023
has slid into we
Bound in leather
or some new polymer
Alloys coaxed together
Like Master and server
We Olde Tymers
We Neu! Rhymers
Fashion updaters
Swift haters
What weird magic
this that binds tragic
sado to majestic maso
a Quanto entanglo
In rusty romp we fumble
as dream walls crumble
A Sun begs for mercy
A Flower forgives
Strange entanglements
Mixing emerging flavors
Jan 2, 2023
Jan 2, 2023 at 2:01 PM UTC
I know the quietest way
to crack an egg.
The softest way to close
a door. How to pour
the water into a tilted
glass so it doesn't splash
back. A bird chirps at
just under sixty decibels.
A light bulb sings at
fifteen. I dream
of polymer chains snapping
clean, recyclables humming
to each other at night
while they biodegrade
at a rate negligible
to the human timescale.
Twenty decibels: the chiral
calcite spiral of the snail
when it falls to the sand,
when it dies,
when a girl apologizes
for asking a question.
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 4:44 PM UTC
some days, I wish I could peel off the plastic
the polymer god of our modern world
some days, I wish I could digest my food
or strip off polyester suit and tie
some days, I wish I could turn off the screen
constantly feeding me the thoughts I need
our consumer world moves like elastic
bouncing from product to product, and sold!
I don’t ever object; that would be rude!
rule number 1: producers never lie
I trust the market, none can be so keen
and I trust the contracts I’ve never read
the things that make the world fit comfortably
they shape the world without a knick or kink
“to ignore the trends, or buy the wrong thing
is heresy! capital terrorism!”
still all in all I can’t help but question
“progress: something one must never impede”
progress to what? life lived acceptably?
“spend! or else the economy will shrink!”
they’re egotists that forbid questioning
so they can feed off their corporatism
and valued above all is ambition
But it's always the others they make bleed
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 4:45 AM UTC
sometimes the flesh
assumes
a yearning
to sprout out
in directions
untested
i’ve seen my own chin
do this
on occasions
gone meristematic
elongate like a
Hungarian salami
pull at it a bit too fast
and risk snapping it off
like a *** of Silly Putty
better yet
slice it
into poker chips
all rubberoid
like the 10th grade fetal pig
impregnated in polymer
enjoy its silky layers
have respect for this power
don’t **** it
with the dissecting needle
or epilate it with hot wax
it will only grow back
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 6:49 PM UTC
The golden egg
congeals
on a car after our
mischievous
midnight's vandalism
It leaves a trail of pubescent
nonsense
yellow stains marking our
English
classroom past
We find childhood artwork
pinned
as a patchwork of our
Hester
scarlet badges
Down the historical spinal
cord
mini trophies become our
reactionary
silver astrocytes
who make scar and transgression
fasciculate
into fuchsia bundles in our
new
Hope homes
A Technicolor Dreamscab
preventing
the regenerative return of our
plastic
polymer Messiah
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 11:17 PM UTC
He names the vice
I name the price
With this we find
I refrain
Comfort for me
Replace these words with love
and we discover happiness
And you
and I become
Beautiful charred emotion
Pulled from that molten shore of an early earth
This will never end because I want more
If we had a brain we could regret
If we had a heart we would heal
Nay the spring slash summer pulls us internal
Nay it's you
You
So curious
And so evocative
Of man of
Woman
Of a soul
Still a flea
A voice here could want to sing
There in this polymer quietness
Bite my tongue, tear it out
Blink an eye
Unearthed that knowledge
I'm running out of time
And you run
And I'm still running for my life
I was fifteen
I was twenty four
I was eight and almost thirty
Me now eternal
And I'm still running for my life
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 1:57 PM UTC
Atop a clear plastic
mountain box
random syncs
side with me
lying in bed
And we peers
through the murky
clear polymer
haze to see
reflections of us
Artefacts stored
in coffee cans
used empty
translucent existences
and by observing
transform our
historical objects
to Art permanence
May 21, 2017
May 21, 2017 at 11:02 AM UTC
ah canna mind
the Spring in bloom
the buzzin o' hospital lights
the midwife's panicked rushin'
ti bring air inta ma lungs
or ma polymer palace in beige
ah canna mind
ma mither's greetin', when light
wis still entwined wi her form, before
colour drained fae her perceptions
or the shade o' the devil whit took it
ah canna mind the ald grey hoose
on a cracked black road in the schemes
or the wid paneled livin' room
an' stickin' ti dark leather
dreams planted neatly doon the side.
Apr 22, 2024
Apr 22, 2024 at 2:55 PM UTC
You know what you want, get it. Make sure it responds to your needs - remote-control it, sub-routine it and on-demand it - wring it out.
But once you have it - something changes, doesn’t it? It loses some luster - it isn’t PERFECT, **** it. It wears out or becomes obsolete and the lust is reborn, refocused.
Do you want me? I think you want me - you seem to want to possess me - but do you actually want ME?
What if my DNA could be used to create a perfect, cloned replica - right down to the pheromones - a perfect doppelganger.
Only this - me-two - would be a commandable pleasure doll shipped, Amazon Prime - and perhaps made with a rich, warm polymer skin that wouldn’t age - wouldn’t that be even better? I think it would be better.
But forget about me - with THAT kind of technology. Think about the licensing fee Rudy Pankow could get, or gasp Chase Stokes! - *** dancing around the room
yelling out “Mom!!, MomMMMMMM!!, I KNOW what I want for Christmas!!”
Oct 28, 2020
Oct 28, 2020 at 6:56 AM UTC