"primality" poems
My nerves
are
smoldering.
I am alert,
filled with primal fire.
Lightning courses
through my very
bones.
My gaze
crushes.
I want to
smash
and
burn
and
break
and
rip.
Rejoice in my primality.
but even now society,
civilization,
expectations
bind me in
chains.
Jan 31, 2012
Jan 31, 2012 at 11:34 PM UTC
I have all the pieces in front of me
all within plane sight
yet it's all hidden
from the conscious mind
I seek it out in the dead of night
when the DMT connects me with everything
and navigate primality
instinctually I sense it in the day
we have the sixth sense
and it's just waiting to be awakened
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 3:25 PM UTC
There is a certain stench people occupy
When they are severely wounded.
**** and **** and blood,
Perineum that has gone neglected,
Flesh literally being eaten alive;
The fumes of self abandonment,
All smell the same when someone is hurt,
And start to smell normal, after a while.
People make weird cries,
When everyone is asleep
To a God they never believed in
Or somebody, anybody.
A reverberation of an infant lost,
primality in the last hours
Reminds us we were always alone.
Pain unnecessary in nature
for the white Coats
don’t even know who they're helping.
A student’s peep in the door becomes
The equivalent of four months salary
Of a single black mother with a bad back
Three ******* children,
No belt around their waists,
Drinking herself to sleep every night,
anything to keep going,
Enough insanity to terrify satan himself.
Ignorance is bliss; but the truths such
Inhumanity unearth are asinine.
Now, or maybe always, being genuine
Has been ostracized; it is where generations are born.
Health experts turn their head to pure suffering
Because they have no health themselves.
Pure suffering is endorsed
By those who have never felt it,
Just because it is easier nowadays.
Nobody is sick, everybody is reacting
To the strength of your heart.
We wait, going through motions
For the next episode of a TV drama
That ***** on your life,
The glorification of the internal whirlwind
One can place upon their own psyche.
Those demons masquerading around with dopamine wands
And you wish to be like that.
Kindness can change hearts.
Now we need movies to show us
That having emotion is too extreme
To deal with.
Emotion is older than consciousness itself.
We have become afraid to love.
We have become afraid of ourselves.
We have become amnesic to the
Fact that we are indeed
God.
Dec 15, 2019
Dec 15, 2019 at 2:37 PM UTC
I long for Jesse and the knife, Nubi and the spinning top,
for Meg and her garden.
I long for primality,
for the cold concrete of the forsaken bridge.
All are memories burnt into my soul, yet never to be.
The mind is a cruel thing.
Jun 5, 2010
Jun 5, 2010 at 2:17 PM UTC
Lest we omit, from the pulse of our lives
The primality of a noiseless warmth,
Awake against a skin as sallow as the city
And its lifeless lines and cloisters.
Lest we see always with seamless clarity
The governance of chaos' chimes,
In unravelling the little knots of midday light
Tied about our youthful eyelashes.
Lest we lament our blindnesses,
In relentless pursuit of space and time,
Lest we forget those very intimacies
Which lace our shoes as the roots of trees.
And in the ache of prestige which loosens the cobbles
Lest we neglect the ache of being in the air;
Above the weeping of the bookish bends there is
The residue of the primal silence.
And so let us misremember the freedoms children know,
And ambling, intrepid as we came, like lovers' hands
Fall upon a truth discovered long since,
To realise it's our own.
Feb 28, 2019
Feb 28, 2019 at 10:04 AM UTC