"recombined" poems
about aboutness thematizing themes
flowers need not say, marching into war--
enraptured gaze their petals open far
to seek horizons conjured from a dream.
they grow to measure limits of all selves,
become the symbol-meaning recombined
--plucked to toss an emblem for the mind--
humming under captured sun, ecliptic quell
paper cups of burning blood becoming sky
bolster or efface the heart before its fate,
poetic flare leaves hunger unappeased--
the ruthless earth imbibes its digest dry
as interspiral helicals of age
assume finality's supernal ease
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 8:45 PM UTC
Meaningless
pushed and pulled
through arbitrary dimensions
Emulating differences in the same,
the Fatal Contradiction
Redefining the sane!
Recombined
fused with idle spinning.
Forging the distorted lie,
these lines in between
with apparent coherency
and ingenious discrepancies
blurring the boundaries
of this new systematic hell!
Put in perspective
these inconsequential banalities
and childish banter
all but shape the future
reiterating the errors of yesterday
Skewed
Conceptualized
Vizualized
Realized
Quantized
... Denied!
how long was it before i fell?
does it even matter?
when even these parallel thoughts repel...
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 7:39 AM UTC
I wake up as She
and she's auditioning soon;
vying for a part no one can play
but everyone auditions for anyway.
And so we all sit in those
steel foldable chairs that never
get folded back into their original
form, because the bodies always
keep them warm.
The original selves
long for something else to be;
troubled souls in search for
broken homes; like the hidden
shadows of the known unknown.
I am her lips as they
part, close together
like the jaws of a shark,
reciting lines back to the director
crooked and parallel, aligned
waves of soft sounds; they reach
the peaks of receptacle body language
only to suddenly fall back down
barely scathing the director's emotions.
The director sees that there is talent
that lies within the woman;
I am her, and I was
a father of three darling daughters
not too long ago...
But I stand before the director
as her, and there are others
patiently waiting,
like the anchored piranhas
of the binary forest,
the Stygian vultures
of the neon desert;
and they vouch for
each other's safety
until they have landed
the Oscar award winning
scene; the all white cast
beams like the headlights
of an oncoming car.
Their hands free of guilt
washing the darkness away
from my rising star, my ship
no longer corroded brown
but assimilated, organized,
gentrified;
a man redesigned,
retrofitted and recombined
standing before the petrified
live audience as Her
in an ocean blue
dress;
a blood capsule
ready to burst with
finite increments
of happiness.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 2:37 AM UTC
you hear my song
as the wind blows
it sings tunes
of generations past
times before record,
that were necessary
for now.
my song whistles
through
corridors of rock
races with the geese
drifts through a monarchs form
provides space for the hummer
its wings buzz
moving faster than my mind.
DONG DONG DONG
the bell welcomes my song
it touches me with
vibrations
I am tuned to.
which radiate down and out
along the locs
through to the soil
nourishing my
mind,
her smile.
the pitch of my song
depends on the medium
in the dawn and dusk
low and warm
at noon
charged to sing
inspirational seeds
so they can sprout, and
be left alone.
to send her children
into the wind
and then turn to dirt.
this is my song
wind song
bits of me release themselves
are carried off with the wind.
commune with bits of you
and ancestors,
circle the sphere
wisp through bamboo,
I breath again.
I taste you.
I breath the molecules,
out again.
they start their path
with the wind
again.
recombined, except argon.
the one wholly breathed
since the beginning
the wind will circle it
around until the end.
these bits of consciousness
will touch every lung
that needs it
connecting everything that is it.
I hear my song...
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 12:19 PM UTC