3/2/2015

“I woke up in the morning and I didn’t want anything, didn’t do anything, 
couldn’t do it anyway,
 just lay there listening to the blood rush through me and it never made 
any sense, anything.
 And I can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t sit still or fix things and I wake up and I wake up and you’re still dead.” Richard Silken


I wrote of vultures once, I'd found in the sepulchral little category of "poems I had burnt a while ago" that I kept in my brain. I spoke of predatorial lashings against the dead prairie dogs of her and I, class of 2005- add ten more years and...
Contended May heat like the May-December romances in trope, I'd walk to bridges with notebook in sullied hand, a bit flushed, a bit healthy with the sun on my gold flakes shoulders If I had only known? Right? Haha.
The grammar rules of english: you (I) is a proper noun- but of course, i refuse to give myself that much pomp. To be full of such vanity is to be full of treacly purity- which does not apply so much now.
I had been given time to love you - until I didn't need you anymore, you said, then you'd leave- a sweetly sardonic little note, seeing as you hated the conjugal and impossible implications of "forever". I feel, now that you are gone, this is an imprisonment I am doomed to til atrophy...
You are dead. Your corpse rots in the sun of the soil in the coffin and it is still cold outside. Everytime I leave the house I ask myself what I seriously am expecting from March. The heat, the permenance of your being gone makes me sit down on the cold snow,
  My dullard heart sits with a bread knife wedged on a rib when I realize how utterly alone I am- so alone the vultures do not even circle.

Her husband failed
to give her this, this
embrace, this kiss.
Her lover, this other

woman, this one whom
she could explore, wrap
herself in, tongue, lick,
smell, was suddenly

revealed to her, at a party
of her husband’s, some
big do, some work related,
job promotion hogwash.

She almost dissolves in
this female warmth, this
female smell, this soft
flesh thing she has known,

yet misunderstood for so
long. Her husband’s ******
predatorial ways are over,
he can go find some other,

go to some girl at the office,
some **** he secretly (so he
thought) had bought. She
feels born again, as if erupted

from the womb a second
time, mouthed a fresh cry,
suckled at new ******* and
likewise the other hers, too.  

What would people say has
long since ceased to matter,
love’s intensity blows out
candles of such, puts far from

reach the narrow minded tongues,
the moralistic finger pointers.
They sleep together, eyes closed,
bodies wrapped about each the

other, dreams take on a new edge,
other shades and tones, nothing
of the old life, just this woman to
woman thing and loving moans.

"I'm lost." I say, tongue heavy. feet wet.
"you're lost?" a question. open eyes.
closed hands. "I'm lost." an answer.
"my name." I say, hands opening. a mistake. "myself."
the lines of my form are taken in to account. a burning sun on dry skin, a glistening eye in an empty face, a thought of longing in an empty mind.
"you're lost." a challenge.
arms spread. menace, teeth, bigger, badder, predatorial displays of power. a weaker person. wooden splinters in an aging bridge. volcanic ash. I can't speak, my name is taken. my face. stone under water, washing away.
"you're lost."
closed hands. "I'm lost." acceptance.

My favorite things in the world are of the earth and universe.
Tulips and sunsets, stars, and pearls.
Tiny ants in thier colonies, apes in the trees.
The birds in the skies, the bees in the hives. The people and thier lives.
I love the oceans.
The land.
The dirt, the rocks, the sand and sediments.
The mountains, the canyons,
The glorious fruits and harvest.
The beasts that wander the plain.
The raw emotions.
The feeling of rain.
Water falls and waves that crash.
Geysers and volcanoes that explode.
The plates that corrode.
Tadpoles, and toads.
But I love art, where we take apart things and make them new again.
But in my heart I know that destruction and reconstruction are not creations but reductions of the majesty that is the tapestry of our home.
Our strife stems from our preservation and elimination of life.
Why do we build and destroy?
Why do we seperate and divide.
Why do we unite and create.
Why do we love?
Why do we hate?
Why do we imagine great gods that manipulate our fates?
Why do we engineer great and terrible machines?
Why do we covet shiny things.
I simply can not rise above it, my
confusion of the complex curiosity of my life as I know it, our lives, life.
Buy I know that my favorite things are of the earth and universe.
I wish I could live in the woods again
Then maybe I would understand all of our problems and all of our plans.
Until then, I stress with unrest, how these men could mold and blend the societies to arm aristocracy against starving masses.
My life is, our lives, are doomed to consume and be consumed.
I am not sure how to accept the predatorial ecosystem of socioeconomic thriving and surviving.
I feel left out with doubt that things are exactly as they ought to be in our so called democracy, and the powers that govern the boundaries created by man.
I just feel so sad to be a part of this plan.
I wouldn't choose to view the world from my subjective perspective.
I would be free.
I would not take as much as I have.
I would plant seeds, and eat plants.
Build my hut from leaves.
Wait and see what nature brings.
Do a rain dance.
I Realize I am only at the mercy of gravity and the skies, the stars that collide.

Seattles finally in heat
Warm dry air wafts up encompassing my skin as
I stride out the library's predicted to be heavy doors that are, unexpectedly light
Just like today
The ants precede out from the woodworks
to soak in their habitat's golden hues ricochet
the earth's existing melodies and harmonic undertones
on the faces of the creatures in our purposely lopsided
Double sphere planet
White incisors shine unthreatening
Why is it they convey predatorial death in addition to undiluted joy?
So much is this way
Making perfect nonsense, just felt and done
I don't think we could help it if we wanted to

YOU are so tasteful.

so majestically bitter and slick like thick honey. ferocious peach preserves with ghost pepper infused inside. your tears salt the ocean. your verbal ***** coat a lilac scent on my tongue.

YOU are so delightfully enigmatic.

you write your letters with your own ****** ink with a scandalous smile, agonizing and anticipating the ****** of a sentence you don't dare finish. i stare with a trembling gaze at your fingertips dipped in crimson hue. your lazy eyes stagger my weight onto my right side—the weaker one.

YOU are as enlightened as a nova.

"it's a crabapple world out there," you said to me one night. doves flew in and out of your heavy-lidded eyes with hemlock threaded in their feathers. you call yourself golden wheat because you are beautiful and rare, but easily reaped when harvest season comes. when they come with scythes and pitchforks.

"revenge," you said, "for my mischievous antics."

YOU are so arcane.

there are no secrets in between the hairs on your head, a dense forest with predatorial dangers underneath. my own hairs sought those secrets as hands crept up your neck and into the golden wheat field on your head. i ache for your tell-tales. my wounds fester with the hunger to be satisfied by your apprise.

YOU are mine and wild.

for no particular reason, the atmosphere stretches thin. two heartbeats irrythmic and syncopated with the lapping of a tiger's tongue in tainted jungle water.

my hands aflame with your gasoline blood hold tight to your maverick ways. unorthodox and unkempt you are. fallible and illogical. cathartic and despotic. as much as you are all this, i ask to love it all.

Apathy in form
  Gaze at the sleek, predatorial
             physique, splendid in a sense
    forward gliding on
the currents laboring to
          provide an example of excellence
  in the embodiment of antithesis
to the goal of.. sentiments in a sense,
     or perhaps passions mapped out?

I’m not in doubt, more that in plural demeanor
   so any seeded proposal is
any other unfaith-ed exhibition
        suppose it could all end a little bit better
    if we didn’t resume our idolization of
          particulars, like all the functionel
that produces synchronic intricacies
  lathering in messy pictures full
of every meaning to all and ever could
         depict, in that glancing, know talk
  that abrupticates the framework
        of the ‘how ya doin’?’ formalities we
  ever so often sell as the scripture to
the boredism we addict ourselves

Quarantine at The Palace,
Andrew's been grounded.
Meghan and Harry sent to
the colony and no one's seen
hide nor hair of the Corgi's.

Meanwhile, Julian Assange
remains under lock and key
because pinch face refused
to interfere in what she said
was a diplomatic problem.

It is now a humanitarian
issue Ma'am, but just so you
know, ******* is political
when it becomes predatorial,
especially after it goes viral!

How to drink in class without getting caught.
By bringing a metal water bottle filled to the brim with *****.
I learned that goofing off in class is more important than actually doing work.
So I, fall behind
piles of homework on my desk.
Feeling all this stress.
Which is ironic because alcohol is supposed to reduce stress, right.
A smile fixes everything

2. I learned to keep my head held down
Hidden at all times
Because the judgemental predatorial vultures who lurk the schoolyard 24/7 are always looking for a moment to strike.
So smile
You don’t have to mean it just fake it
Just do it so they never know how you feel and never have anything to say about you
A smile fixes everything

3. I learned that I did not fit in because I grew up too fast
When I was born mommy and daddy were fighting
When I was four daddy was thrown out the door
When I was twelve mommy told me daddy was stupid
When I was thirteen daddy told me the same thing
So whose son was I supposed to be?
I came home to comfort my mother's stress because living alone can be a huge mess...
I sat in silence with my thoughts
I didn’t tell my parents how I feel because I was too afraid of what they’d say.
And I knew deep down there was nothing they could do to take it away.
Instead I packed my bags and prepared for a vacation across the city every other weekend to my dad's house. Or “stupids” house as mommy liked to call it
A smile fixes everything

4. I learned how my heart began to feel
And I was terrified that these feelings were real

4. Sadness
4. Abandoned
4. Outcasted
4. Confused
I’m sorry when I get emotional I lose count
7. Angry
63. Stressed
91. Anxious
3627…  Alone
A smile fixes everything. But not a broken heart


5. I learned to be ashamed of who I am.
Every day at school I was called a new name, and when my parents split up I was totally to blame.
Because my parents had so much going for them and then, they had me.
I was their fate.
I started gaining all this weight
I found out  that I wasn't straight
Never wanting to leave home, becoming used to being alone
Because reality, became too scary.
I was never really good at English class until today
When I started to adopt my word of the day.
Suicide
This word soon became my word of the week and even my word of the Month.
I had shuffled desperately through my dictionary and could not find another word, to replace it with.
Hope… that was a word from when I was a kid.
But it seems that my vocabulary isn’t familiar with that word anymore.
That page ripped out by hands laced in hateful intention
By the same people, who always gave me such negative attention.
After all these years, I started reflecting on my life, and remembering what I had done over and over again whenever things got hard.
I smiled.
And in that very moment, I learned that a smile does NOT fix everything.
And sometimes a tear can change a life.

-Adam Purchase