"sensor" poems - Hello Poetry

"sensor" poems

I forgot how much I loved the Foreignness of a stranger's hands on me. My waist, my arm, my *** I felt every touch Like an infrared light sensor The heat from your hand Stayed and glowed on my arm, my breast, my thigh It's fine though, Nothing more. I have a boyfriend, And you have A Fiance and a Baby on the way

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Dec 5, 2015

Dec 5, 2015 at 6:24 PM UTC

A Fiance and a Baby on the way

I forgot how much I loved the Foreignness of a stranger's hands on me. My waist, my arm, my *** I felt every touch Like an infrared light sensor The heat from your hand Stayed and glowed on my arm, my breast, my thigh It's fine though, Nothing more. I have a boyfriend, And you have A Fiance and a Baby on the way

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Armageddon Auckland Thanks now stalking Yoda anything Motion sensor 6 phrases Glowing sabre Cute and small Tough as guts Gentle Wise, Nuts Anythings possible Just gotta believe Be positive Dream This is the Force Of Course ...

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Nov 4, 2014

Nov 4, 2014 at 12:19 AM UTC

joann-rolleston

Armageddon Auckland Thanks now stalking Yoda anything Motion sensor 6 phrases Glowing sabre Cute and small Tough as guts Gentle Wise, Nuts Anythings possible Just gotta believe Be positive Dream This is the Force Of Course ...

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in the river of good company ***I dedicate this poem to Mr. Harlon Rivers, one of the best poets (here) and from his good company, i could drink all day and never be quenched*** ~ Preface sometime, the heart wants it wants, denial, temporarily from your vocabulary, excised sometimes, beauty keelhauls you, gets you awestruck inspired, then arrogance overcomes the brilliance of common sense and you go ahead and mess with perfection despite every sensor flashing uh oh, duh, oh no, fool on the premises, lockdown needed! do believe this condition can be found in the medical books under I, for Inspiration, Incantation, or S for Stupidifacation my heart wants to write a poem, cause I was a witness, sitting twenty feet from the heavenly crime scene, and every intonation swept my brain into that secret place, when I heard KD Lang singing "The Valley"^ ~~~ in the river of good company simple sentiment but good god all I ever wanted and so oft lacked such was my fate, one I made, had plenty good words for boon companions, the occasional touch of a woman rippling waves cross my face, a love lapping slapping of concentric pebble rings, till like most good things gone good goes bad, it just happens to evaporate and you think someday, maybe, you will walk again in good company the brain says quit right here but the heart brooks no damning tantrum of sanity imposition, for those handful of deepest, not quite six feet under palpitations of insensible, cutting glimpses of that word I hate so, memories, of when you walked in good company men women no different - it is that heated aura tween bodies that confirms that you are once again a human being, just a being, temporarily enhanced, elevated, by good company so go ahead sweet talks ya, that devil id a/k/a desire, says - one more for the road can't hurt ya, write that poem - and perhaps one good man, glory hallelujah, a good woman, will read it and you can stop weeping you idiot, do it so you will be back, nuttier but nurtured, drinking from the river of good company, mouthing not even dare whispering, satisfied satiated, loving and loved ~ all reposts greatly and grateful appreciated! 4/2/17 9:24am

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Apr 2, 2017

Apr 2, 2017 at 9:27 AM UTC

in the river of good company

in the river of good company ***I dedicate this poem to Mr. Harlon Rivers, one of the best poets (here) and from his good company, i could drink all day and never be quenched*** ~ Preface sometime, the heart wants it wants, denial, temporarily from your vocabulary, excised sometimes, beauty keelhauls you, gets you awestruck inspired, then arrogance overcomes the brilliance of common sense and you go ahead and mess with perfection despite every sensor flashing uh oh, duh, oh no, fool on the premises, lockdown needed! do believe this condition can be found in the medical books under I, for Inspiration, Incantation, or S for Stupidifacation my heart wants to write a poem, cause I was a witness, sitting twenty feet from the heavenly crime scene, and every intonation swept my brain into that secret place, when I heard KD Lang singing "The Valley"^ ~~~ in the river of good company simple sentiment but good god all I ever wanted and so oft lacked such was my fate, one I made, had plenty good words for boon companions, the occasional touch of a woman rippling waves cross my face, a love lapping slapping of concentric pebble rings, till like most good things gone good goes bad, it just happens to evaporate and you think someday, maybe, you will walk again in good company the brain says quit right here but the heart brooks no damning tantrum of sanity imposition, for those handful of deepest, not quite six feet under palpitations of insensible, cutting glimpses of that word I hate so, memories, of when you walked in good company men women no different - it is that heated aura tween bodies that confirms that you are once again a human being, just a being, temporarily enhanced, elevated, by good company so go ahead sweet talks ya, that devil id a/k/a desire, says - one more for the road can't hurt ya, write that poem - and perhaps one good man, glory hallelujah, a good woman, will read it and you can stop weeping you idiot, do it so you will be back, nuttier but nurtured, drinking from the river of good company, mouthing not even dare whispering, satisfied satiated, loving and loved ~ all reposts greatly and grateful appreciated! 4/2/17 9:24am

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I wear no sunglasses that Shield my eyes from the realities of this world that put a Valencia filter over the things that I see or a sensor over the things that I hear. I do not push the news stations through a small strainer only allowing the ”easy to handle” stories to reach my cup for me to consume. I know that red is this world's favorite acrylic, black it's favorite oil paint, and blue it's favorite watercolor. the painting of our world has red splattered across every building and seeping out of every wrist, black in every sidewalk crack, every alleyway, and across every, screaming, mouth, and blue welling in every eye. I know this, but I have ripped the tape from my mouth, bandaged my wrists, and wiped my eyes I have become comfortable. opening my mouth Like pulling the trigger of a gun Aimed at anyone trying to Paint those colors back into my life shooting their thoughts down making pastel bullet holes so the light can shine in. I have become too comfortable. I only come to this realization when I hear gunshots coming from a hand who does not know what it is holding when I hear seemingly Innocent Voices say “Well, why does it even matter, if you've given a ******* before, what's the hesitation to doing it again?” “ Because I said no.” “ But you've already done it, before.” I've told you, I do not wear filtered glasses. but sometimes I forget that people are programmed with black paint on their brushes ready to cover over your mouth again. I remember that as soon as I learned to rip the tape from my mouth I realize that I can't just watch them bring the tape closer until they push it over my lips I have to scream, as soon as I see it, Because that is what my mouth is for. And I have to fight to keep it of, because that is what my hands and wrists are for. And I have to look- not like the prey trying to stay out of sight, but like a warrior with eyes like swords and a mouth... like a gun.

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Oct 14, 2017

Oct 14, 2017 at 11:16 PM UTC

Red, Black, & Blue

I wear no sunglasses that Shield my eyes from the realities of this world that put a Valencia filter over the things that I see or a sensor over the things that I hear. I do not push the news stations through a small strainer only allowing the ”easy to handle” stories to reach my cup for me to consume. I know that red is this world's favorite acrylic, black it's favorite oil paint, and blue it's favorite watercolor. the painting of our world has red splattered across every building and seeping out of every wrist, black in every sidewalk crack, every alleyway, and across every, screaming, mouth, and blue welling in every eye. I know this, but I have ripped the tape from my mouth, bandaged my wrists, and wiped my eyes I have become comfortable. opening my mouth Like pulling the trigger of a gun Aimed at anyone trying to Paint those colors back into my life shooting their thoughts down making pastel bullet holes so the light can shine in. I have become too comfortable. I only come to this realization when I hear gunshots coming from a hand who does not know what it is holding when I hear seemingly Innocent Voices say “Well, why does it even matter, if you've given a ******* before, what's the hesitation to doing it again?” “ Because I said no.” “ But you've already done it, before.” I've told you, I do not wear filtered glasses. but sometimes I forget that people are programmed with black paint on their brushes ready to cover over your mouth again. I remember that as soon as I learned to rip the tape from my mouth I realize that I can't just watch them bring the tape closer until they push it over my lips I have to scream, as soon as I see it, Because that is what my mouth is for. And I have to fight to keep it of, because that is what my hands and wrists are for. And I have to look- not like the prey trying to stay out of sight, but like a warrior with eyes like swords and a mouth... like a gun.

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There's a light on my front porch that comes on when I open the door at night. I step outside to light a cigarette and stand there under the bulb watching the bushes move with the wind and the scurrying of little lizards. But if I stand really still, the light goes off and for a few moments, I can disappear. I can still hear the crickets and a few cars in the distance, but it's disembodied sound. It's quiet. Dark. Far removed from the reality illuminated by the sun during the day and the sensor light on the front porch at night. I focus all my energy on keeping my movements small, controlled. The slight rise and fall of my chest as I breathe. The modest shuffle of my feet as I shift my weight from one side to the other. My thoughts are completely occupied with making sure I stay invisible. Reality exists only in the glow of that wretched porch light. But eventually, I feel the heat between my fingers, jolting me back to an existence where I have worries greater than making sure I stay absolutely still.

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Sep 8, 2012

Sep 8, 2012 at 11:30 PM UTC

There's a light on my front porch that comes on when I open the door at night. I step outside to light a cigarette and stand there under the bulb watching the bushes move with the wind and the scurrying of little lizards. But if I stand really still, the light goes off and for a few moments, I can disappear. I can still hear the crickets and a few cars in the distance, but it's disembodied sound. It's quiet. Dark. Far removed from the reality illuminated by the sun during the day and the sensor light on the front porch at night. I focus all my energy on keeping my movements small, controlled. The slight rise and fall of my chest as I breathe. The modest shuffle of my feet as I shift my weight from one side to the other. My thoughts are completely occupied with making sure I stay invisible. Reality exists only in the glow of that wretched porch light. But eventually, I feel the heat between my fingers, jolting me back to an existence where I have worries greater than making sure I stay absolutely still.

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In the distance a Bright Blue eye blinks with greed at the enticing tickle, of a seemingly fickle, wisp of eclectic lightning. Torn out of actuality, the sky's emboldened hue, makes way for this wistful energy of new. As the bolt of light, not really caring, rips the sky of Blue, like a Blood-red Herring, dives viciously, however not maliciously, into-- Transition now your mind to a darkness not unkind. Where silence is a splendor and your entire being is a sensor. Where gravity takes rest and gasping lungs aren't always best; a blanket of muffled harmonies vibrating soundlessly inside your bones, flesh and arteries-- FLASH* ... Like a birth, like a death-- like the pause between your breaths-- for a moment, just for an echo of a glimpse of a moment, the flash of silver blue, that out of darkness quickly grew, pierced-- with exacting delicacy-- the bottom of this darkened sea, then disappeared instantly... Flash-flash {{Glow}} Flash-flash {{Glow}} {{...Glow-glow...}} fa d e... ... Where the bolt did land-- on the sea-floor sand-- a beating rock, electric blue from the shock.. {{...Glow-glow...}} fa d e... {{...Glow-glow...}} fa d e... And in that instant, new life was made... While on the surface nothingness reigned... {{...Glow-glow...}} fa d e... {{...Glow-glow...}} fa d e... It's a cosmic dance, disguised as chance-- Or lucky breaks that breed romance-- And to move along its endless song, without blind views of right or wrong, Is to truly feel with unbiased zeal The uniting pulse of the Universe.

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Apr 30, 2010

Apr 30, 2010 at 1:16 AM UTC

Lightning Under A Blue Sea

In the distance a Bright Blue eye blinks with greed at the enticing tickle, of a seemingly fickle, wisp of eclectic lightning. Torn out of actuality, the sky's emboldened hue, makes way for this wistful energy of new. As the bolt of light, not really caring, rips the sky of Blue, like a Blood-red Herring, dives viciously, however not maliciously, into-- Transition now your mind to a darkness not unkind. Where silence is a splendor and your entire being is a sensor. Where gravity takes rest and gasping lungs aren't always best; a blanket of muffled harmonies vibrating soundlessly inside your bones, flesh and arteries-- FLASH* ... Like a birth, like a death-- like the pause between your breaths-- for a moment, just for an echo of a glimpse of a moment, the flash of silver blue, that out of darkness quickly grew, pierced-- with exacting delicacy-- the bottom of this darkened sea, then disappeared instantly... Flash-flash {{Glow}} Flash-flash {{Glow}} {{...Glow-glow...}} fa d e... ... Where the bolt did land-- on the sea-floor sand-- a beating rock, electric blue from the shock.. {{...Glow-glow...}} fa d e... {{...Glow-glow...}} fa d e... And in that instant, new life was made... While on the surface nothingness reigned... {{...Glow-glow...}} fa d e... {{...Glow-glow...}} fa d e... It's a cosmic dance, disguised as chance-- Or lucky breaks that breed romance-- And to move along its endless song, without blind views of right or wrong, Is to truly feel with unbiased zeal The uniting pulse of the Universe.

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I was wrong about the rain Robins are calling for it Fragrance of honeysuckle and pine have joined the ozone-- Priest in swirling raiments dangling sensor on a chain waving it in air before the altar clink clink clink Releasing smoke that bends the mind before the monstrance of the sun with storm surrounding Clouds sift through the rays and rain Bowing thrice-- clink clink clink He waves it in the air before the altar releasing smoke into the high and holy Inchoate murmurs follow incense hands down into the nave

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Jun 22, 2017

Jun 22, 2017 at 8:41 PM UTC

elizabeth-balise

I was wrong about the rain Robins are calling for it Fragrance of honeysuckle and pine have joined the ozone-- Priest in swirling raiments dangling sensor on a chain waving it in air before the altar clink clink clink Releasing smoke that bends the mind before the monstrance of the sun with storm surrounding Clouds sift through the rays and rain Bowing thrice-- clink clink clink He waves it in the air before the altar releasing smoke into the high and holy Inchoate murmurs follow incense hands down into the nave

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The landscape streaks by, a slow shift from city streets to mountain passes. There is a whole world for my eye to scry, answers are hidden in grassy knoll not university classes. You have to be stable like a tree, a stalwart sensor of your surrounding Find an equilibrium with the world and let your soul free. You'd be careful not to pry, whether among-st the sky or grasses the world has ways to make you cry but with time all pain passes.

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Apr 26, 2016

Apr 26, 2016 at 12:10 PM UTC

eliza-fairchild

The landscape streaks by, a slow shift from city streets to mountain passes. There is a whole world for my eye to scry, answers are hidden in grassy knoll not university classes. You have to be stable like a tree, a stalwart sensor of your surrounding Find an equilibrium with the world and let your soul free. You'd be careful not to pry, whether among-st the sky or grasses the world has ways to make you cry but with time all pain passes.

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Deployment confirmed, Flight Leader at ready Mission parameters locked in the pipe Target subsystem structures, hold the course steady The last thing I want is a wipe Miles of shrapnel, anti-drone hail My brave flight cut down by a half Magnetics engaged, we land on her tail Free at last from hot metal and chaff There can be no defense for this aft rail dispenser Plasma torches will have out her heart A soft spot at last on the tactical sensor One final call and this party can start "Flight Leader here, subsystem disabled" "Prophet tactical, fire at will" A surge of blue plasma, the deadly beam arc We andrones must die with our **** No graves will be dug for this 'drone flight destroyed Disabling that aft rail smoke-caster But our sacrifice bought what the Prophet predicted Elegiac ion disaster

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Jan 3, 2015

Jan 3, 2015 at 3:19 AM UTC

Androne Flight Away

Deployment confirmed, Flight Leader at ready Mission parameters locked in the pipe Target subsystem structures, hold the course steady The last thing I want is a wipe Miles of shrapnel, anti-drone hail My brave flight cut down by a half Magnetics engaged, we land on her tail Free at last from hot metal and chaff There can be no defense for this aft rail dispenser Plasma torches will have out her heart A soft spot at last on the tactical sensor One final call and this party can start "Flight Leader here, subsystem disabled" "Prophet tactical, fire at will" A surge of blue plasma, the deadly beam arc We andrones must die with our **** No graves will be dug for this 'drone flight destroyed Disabling that aft rail smoke-caster But our sacrifice bought what the Prophet predicted Elegiac ion disaster

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You, yew and ewe. New, knew and gnu. Two, too and to. Do, dew and doo. Your, you’re, ewer and yore. Sower, sewer and even sore. Pin, pen Win, wen. Tin, ten. Bin, been. For, four, and fore. Poor, pour and pore. Bear, bare and bayer. There, their and they’re. Sure, sewer, shore and shower. Censor, censure, sensor, censer. Din, den. Kin, ken. Win, wen. Yin, yen. Shoulda, coulda and woulda, Wanna, hafta and hadda. Pitchers painted of pitchers Ree-lutters instead of realtors. Pertecting you with protection. Prescribing you a perscription. A different kind of differnse, For instance, gimme a frinstance. Pin, pen Win, wen. Tin, ten. Bin, been. Din, den. Kin, ken. Win, wen. Yin, yen.

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Mar 28, 2016

Mar 28, 2016 at 10:42 PM UTC

You, yew and ewe. New, knew and gnu. Two, too and to. Do, dew and doo. Your, you’re, ewer and yore. Sower, sewer and even sore. Pin, pen Win, wen. Tin, ten. Bin, been. For, four, and fore. Poor, pour and pore. Bear, bare and bayer. There, their and they’re. Sure, sewer, shore and shower. Censor, censure, sensor, censer. Din, den. Kin, ken. Win, wen. Yin, yen. Shoulda, coulda and woulda, Wanna, hafta and hadda. Pitchers painted of pitchers Ree-lutters instead of realtors. Pertecting you with protection. Prescribing you a perscription. A different kind of differnse, For instance, gimme a frinstance. Pin, pen Win, wen. Tin, ten. Bin, been. Din, den. Kin, ken. Win, wen. Yin, yen.

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Did I ever disclose The exact moment I really found myself Thinking about you seriously In the way that the guarded part Of my heart wouldn't allow me to? I sat in a crowded room in a new hotel Quick glances at social media before The conference started, before the hush When I scrolled past your face on the screen Well, more specifically, the top of your head Looking down, focused intently On fixing a multi thousand dollar projector Eager to take on new tasks, very handy, ready to help And forgetting to sensor my own thoughts I envisioned you fixing a broken hot water heater In a starter home for us two Laughing as you mended trivial things that I broke Due to my knack for unintentionally destroying Whatever comes in contact with my hands But I saw you there with me, in the not-so-distant future I saw us together, happy, very much in love, And I thought "Wow, I could marry that man, I want to" Then I caught myself My guarded heart kicked my wandering mind In the seat of its pants as I teared up and reminded myself Not to get too attached, not to be too trusting Not to dream of it, for it won't happen anyway The part of me that has learned that it is better To be closed and prudent Rather than to open my heart up With the possibility of it shattering But as I've spent more time with you Seen your exposed heart and held your hand Shared mine, showed mine, let you hold mine I've realized that if I don't open up to the chance Of having you hurt me I would never get to experience the sweetness Of truly loving you with my whole heart *Perhaps you have been fixing the thing That needed fixed most of all*

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Jan 23, 2017

Jan 23, 2017 at 3:11 PM UTC

Did I ever disclose The exact moment I really found myself Thinking about you seriously In the way that the guarded part Of my heart wouldn't allow me to? I sat in a crowded room in a new hotel Quick glances at social media before The conference started, before the hush When I scrolled past your face on the screen Well, more specifically, the top of your head Looking down, focused intently On fixing a multi thousand dollar projector Eager to take on new tasks, very handy, ready to help And forgetting to sensor my own thoughts I envisioned you fixing a broken hot water heater In a starter home for us two Laughing as you mended trivial things that I broke Due to my knack for unintentionally destroying Whatever comes in contact with my hands But I saw you there with me, in the not-so-distant future I saw us together, happy, very much in love, And I thought "Wow, I could marry that man, I want to" Then I caught myself My guarded heart kicked my wandering mind In the seat of its pants as I teared up and reminded myself Not to get too attached, not to be too trusting Not to dream of it, for it won't happen anyway The part of me that has learned that it is better To be closed and prudent Rather than to open my heart up With the possibility of it shattering But as I've spent more time with you Seen your exposed heart and held your hand Shared mine, showed mine, let you hold mine I've realized that if I don't open up to the chance Of having you hurt me I would never get to experience the sweetness Of truly loving you with my whole heart *Perhaps you have been fixing the thing That needed fixed most of all*

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That journey from Morgue was hardly an hour and a half But my travail took me through thirty years, Holding his cradle tight, lest to wake him up from that eternal sleep As he was laid in that ambulance all dressed up for his final journey, He looked the smart, tall "Chettan ", unlike the child I tended a month back Forlorn in some early childhood shores, courtesy the Alzheimer's A bump ahead on the road shook the ambulance and me from my thoughts In a reflex, my hands went to hold him from falling from the cradle An eerie chill went through my spine, he was ice cold- the body was in Morgue for long Water soaks through his new shirt, ice melts in the outside heat “Chettan” who stood so tall for you to always looked up to… Who came with abundance in his back pack every Friday With his Murphy radio playing melodies deep in to the nights With his cloak work precisions for breakfast to dinner times With his grins and growls that moved the moods of “Chechi ” Have you ever tried to feel a body from the morgue? An ice cold, motion less, sensor less body That moment and the eerie chill is a revelation Death is so penetratingly cold That you wish you don’t have senses to feel it anymore Ambulance halted at the large assemblage of mourners I stepped out, a furious movie flash back playing in that ‘space within my heart’ He laid there- ice cold; waiting to be escorted, to the pyre; With that space within his heart gone to a void, unwittingly - all rights reserved

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Aug 21, 2017

Aug 21, 2017 at 5:03 PM UTC

With him, in his journey...

That journey from Morgue was hardly an hour and a half But my travail took me through thirty years, Holding his cradle tight, lest to wake him up from that eternal sleep As he was laid in that ambulance all dressed up for his final journey, He looked the smart, tall "Chettan ", unlike the child I tended a month back Forlorn in some early childhood shores, courtesy the Alzheimer's A bump ahead on the road shook the ambulance and me from my thoughts In a reflex, my hands went to hold him from falling from the cradle An eerie chill went through my spine, he was ice cold- the body was in Morgue for long Water soaks through his new shirt, ice melts in the outside heat “Chettan” who stood so tall for you to always looked up to… Who came with abundance in his back pack every Friday With his Murphy radio playing melodies deep in to the nights With his cloak work precisions for breakfast to dinner times With his grins and growls that moved the moods of “Chechi ” Have you ever tried to feel a body from the morgue? An ice cold, motion less, sensor less body That moment and the eerie chill is a revelation Death is so penetratingly cold That you wish you don’t have senses to feel it anymore Ambulance halted at the large assemblage of mourners I stepped out, a furious movie flash back playing in that ‘space within my heart’ He laid there- ice cold; waiting to be escorted, to the pyre; With that space within his heart gone to a void, unwittingly - all rights reserved

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I thought I lost the best part of me When you walked out so easily Now I realize that you leaving Saved the deepest part of my sanity You tortured my mind and made me sick I'm ****** in the head from all your **** I wasn't wrong to love you No, I was wrong to stay But I know in my heart that You'll regret it one day Cause you broke me down And destroyed my heart I gave you my all Now I want out! You left so long ago but Left this curse on me I'm finding escape In **** I don't believe But What else can I do When I never ******* sleep The years of these blades And the gallons of poison In no way compare To the place you have me in Conditioned my mind To sensor my thoughts Just to avoid The brutal nights when we fought And I was never enough It was always the same Even when you ****** up I was always to blame Cause you broke me down And destroyed my heart I gave you my all Now I want out! You left so long ago but Left this curse on me I'm finding escape In **** I don't believe But What else can I do When I never ******* sleep All those nights spent alone When I needed you most Should have been enough To convince me to go But no, I stayed with you Did whatever you'd say I became your slave Your personal outlet every ******* dayy Ugh **** YOU! For all that you did to me **** YOU! For the haunting memories They're burning my heart And plaguing my mind You cannot escape what you cannot unwind You said you loved me ***** you don't know how to love You only play your childish games And run away when life gets rough Ugh Cause you broke me down And destroyed my heart I gave you my all Now I want out! You left so long ago but Left this curse on me I'm finding escape In **** I don't believe But What else can I do When I never ******* sleep

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Sep 19, 2017

Sep 19, 2017 at 5:02 AM UTC

My Toxic Wasteland (song)

I thought I lost the best part of me When you walked out so easily Now I realize that you leaving Saved the deepest part of my sanity You tortured my mind and made me sick I'm ****** in the head from all your **** I wasn't wrong to love you No, I was wrong to stay But I know in my heart that You'll regret it one day Cause you broke me down And destroyed my heart I gave you my all Now I want out! You left so long ago but Left this curse on me I'm finding escape In **** I don't believe But What else can I do When I never ******* sleep The years of these blades And the gallons of poison In no way compare To the place you have me in Conditioned my mind To sensor my thoughts Just to avoid The brutal nights when we fought And I was never enough It was always the same Even when you ****** up I was always to blame Cause you broke me down And destroyed my heart I gave you my all Now I want out! You left so long ago but Left this curse on me I'm finding escape In **** I don't believe But What else can I do When I never ******* sleep All those nights spent alone When I needed you most Should have been enough To convince me to go But no, I stayed with you Did whatever you'd say I became your slave Your personal outlet every ******* dayy Ugh **** YOU! For all that you did to me **** YOU! For the haunting memories They're burning my heart And plaguing my mind You cannot escape what you cannot unwind You said you loved me ***** you don't know how to love You only play your childish games And run away when life gets rough Ugh Cause you broke me down And destroyed my heart I gave you my all Now I want out! You left so long ago but Left this curse on me I'm finding escape In **** I don't believe But What else can I do When I never ******* sleep

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"Look into the camera," and bring your eyes nowhere else, not behind to where the lady stands, holding an eight-year-old's hand. "Place your forefinger on the sensor," and don't dare move it closer to your wet eyes, for the man with the ten-year-old might see you shudder. The arrow always points forward, so take your steps fast and sure. Ignore the shouts, shove away the feels, smile and wave your way to DEPARTURE.

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May 15, 2017

May 15, 2017 at 4:48 PM UTC

The Back Window-Wall at the Passport Checkpoint

"Look into the camera," and bring your eyes nowhere else, not behind to where the lady stands, holding an eight-year-old's hand. "Place your forefinger on the sensor," and don't dare move it closer to your wet eyes, for the man with the ten-year-old might see you shudder. The arrow always points forward, so take your steps fast and sure. Ignore the shouts, shove away the feels, smile and wave your way to DEPARTURE.

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I started wearing a heart rate monitor All the time I got it originally to figure out my threshold on the bike I haven’t gotten around to doing that yet When I first put it on I guess it hadn’t made proper contact I looked down at the watch It blipped a tiny radiating pulse like a submarine Doppler Searching for a beat My friend pulled my shirt up licked the sensor and stuck it back to the place just beneath my breast I laughed There it was Now when I walk I look at my wrist obsessively **** Tracy waiting for a secret message I am thirty now And I worry, nightly; I will be too old too soon To be a mother I worry that I am a child I interpreted an ultrasound For a deaf person A communication with the beyond The doctor searched for the right spot Made contact And I heard the muffled, galloping sound Of someone trying to survive underwater I opened and closed my fist to show her the rhythm of a pulse I have no god And I don’t want one But what I do want is a sign That I am alright Tonight I sit on top of a closed toilet and watch water fill the bath The best part of the day A reentry to the womb Right before I get in I remember myself I unhook the monitor from my ribs And get in Submerged, I listen for the galloping But hear only neighbors Shifting furniture downstairs When I’m done I can’t help the compulsion To put it back on And when I do I get the message

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Apr 25, 2014

Apr 25, 2014 at 2:27 PM UTC

LIFE UNDERWATER

I started wearing a heart rate monitor All the time I got it originally to figure out my threshold on the bike I haven’t gotten around to doing that yet When I first put it on I guess it hadn’t made proper contact I looked down at the watch It blipped a tiny radiating pulse like a submarine Doppler Searching for a beat My friend pulled my shirt up licked the sensor and stuck it back to the place just beneath my breast I laughed There it was Now when I walk I look at my wrist obsessively **** Tracy waiting for a secret message I am thirty now And I worry, nightly; I will be too old too soon To be a mother I worry that I am a child I interpreted an ultrasound For a deaf person A communication with the beyond The doctor searched for the right spot Made contact And I heard the muffled, galloping sound Of someone trying to survive underwater I opened and closed my fist to show her the rhythm of a pulse I have no god And I don’t want one But what I do want is a sign That I am alright Tonight I sit on top of a closed toilet and watch water fill the bath The best part of the day A reentry to the womb Right before I get in I remember myself I unhook the monitor from my ribs And get in Submerged, I listen for the galloping But hear only neighbors Shifting furniture downstairs When I’m done I can’t help the compulsion To put it back on And when I do I get the message

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Dubious: charge The deluxe program in. Obtuse angled and oblong animals. Mecca sexúal, discoverer pulling back the curtain tails in mimicry and peacockiness as the horizon shimmers itself out. Do not eschew unwieldy ostentation towards benign mid-weight colors in the sequel to Blahnik. Offers in the hesitant, peak winds of Southern-Hemispherical Antarctic weather barometer losses. The ice is like a hive of nameless blue lily pad vessels, each a different magical shade of the water's blue. She like the uncommon baroque grandeur in an hour of time, herself- Summons the immense symmetry of her elaborate lavender macramès sheath and entomb her skin, exploding across her body like milk-white daffodils draped upon a morning bow. Linseed and anise encompasses burnt sweet grass on the breadth of pine in a gentle pillow, anchored only by the veins of her red fruit nectar stitched at the grooves in her cool and unpunctuated lips. While anxiety numbing tufts of gentle satins wisp all the worry and turmoil away, pleasing every nerve, sensor, instinct, and exercise of glib humanity intertwined amid the pulse of our uncensored adultness. She glides amid the arcs of ebullient-molecules ribboned in winter synonyms, summoned up in her sensual and illustrious sublime, and the story of how like a horizon muted by organzas falling beneath her into that relationship she carries with her water God into something profound, immense, and totally ******* exquisite, yet beyond all imagining, she is always doing what has been the coolest **** ever to me. That becomes more magnificently indescribable like our amorous fire, incentivizing the luminous beauty of new stars to rush above us, and yet under us too, amidst the simple and perfected automany she so awesomely imbues. Until the minutes are silenced in our heads and the days are warm with you. For Sarah

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Dec 15, 2016

Dec 15, 2016 at 7:32 AM UTC

Dubious: charge The deluxe program in. Obtuse angled and oblong animals. Mecca sexúal, discoverer pulling back the curtain tails in mimicry and peacockiness as the horizon shimmers itself out. Do not eschew unwieldy ostentation towards benign mid-weight colors in the sequel to Blahnik. Offers in the hesitant, peak winds of Southern-Hemispherical Antarctic weather barometer losses. The ice is like a hive of nameless blue lily pad vessels, each a different magical shade of the water's blue. She like the uncommon baroque grandeur in an hour of time, herself- Summons the immense symmetry of her elaborate lavender macramès sheath and entomb her skin, exploding across her body like milk-white daffodils draped upon a morning bow. Linseed and anise encompasses burnt sweet grass on the breadth of pine in a gentle pillow, anchored only by the veins of her red fruit nectar stitched at the grooves in her cool and unpunctuated lips. While anxiety numbing tufts of gentle satins wisp all the worry and turmoil away, pleasing every nerve, sensor, instinct, and exercise of glib humanity intertwined amid the pulse of our uncensored adultness. She glides amid the arcs of ebullient-molecules ribboned in winter synonyms, summoned up in her sensual and illustrious sublime, and the story of how like a horizon muted by organzas falling beneath her into that relationship she carries with her water God into something profound, immense, and totally ******* exquisite, yet beyond all imagining, she is always doing what has been the coolest **** ever to me. That becomes more magnificently indescribable like our amorous fire, incentivizing the luminous beauty of new stars to rush above us, and yet under us too, amidst the simple and perfected automany she so awesomely imbues. Until the minutes are silenced in our heads and the days are warm with you. For Sarah

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Manotello, olto tello, molto bene, alta. Never known before we go before we go, we will sensor. Acradabdakhrabra lies near since we ended up in here. Indios Bravas for you, people, cause we’re crying as Salvador died.

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Jan 28, 2014

Jan 28, 2014 at 2:45 PM UTC

On the death of Salvador Dali

Manotello, olto tello, molto bene, alta. Never known before we go before we go, we will sensor. Acradabdakhrabra lies near since we ended up in here. Indios Bravas for you, people, cause we’re crying as Salvador died.

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whose own body have i been beyond myself to live? some grey some black tiny little box of tick tock, little snap little whir and crank over the engorged aperture of girlflesh parted on spits of young wanting-to-be beautiful; snap snap whir tick tock film, film over light over film over electric sensor hot at mouths gush twaining snip snap (1.8 60) too bright too light not enough chiaroscuro when you're "lick(ing) her ****

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Aug 27, 2014

Aug 27, 2014 at 4:55 AM UTC

patrick-wakefield-1

whose own body have i been beyond myself to live? some grey some black tiny little box of tick tock, little snap little whir and crank over the engorged aperture of girlflesh parted on spits of young wanting-to-be beautiful; snap snap whir tick tock film, film over light over film over electric sensor hot at mouths gush twaining snip snap (1.8 60) too bright too light not enough chiaroscuro when you're "lick(ing) her ****

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My words come out all slurred, blurred, and censored. My heart has a faulty bad juju sensor. My nerves are practicing voodoo, got me all wrapped up in hoodoo. Always asking 'how do you do?' As if you'd ask me too. My world is red, my world is blue. My vision is all kinds of skewed. Skewer me, skewer you. Skewered life 'cause it leaves us ******* Who needs to hear another boohoo? I'll kiss my own **** boo boos. Satan's calling me like 'yoohoo' I'll ignore him like you do me, all passionless and angry. I'm a dead fish in a dead sea just practicing my moaning, for when I'm see-through and lonely. Haunting the world as it's revolving, and it's kind of revolting- knowing life goes on, as you're decomposing. I'm shedding, I'm molting; these feelings of chicken skin and insects. It was really salmonella and pests, and I guess, what the point I'm really trying to get to is nothing, oh and **** you.

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Jun 24, 2016

Jun 24, 2016 at 2:50 AM UTC

maybe I'm bitter, maybe I'm drunk. (let's say I'm both.)

My words come out all slurred, blurred, and censored. My heart has a faulty bad juju sensor. My nerves are practicing voodoo, got me all wrapped up in hoodoo. Always asking 'how do you do?' As if you'd ask me too. My world is red, my world is blue. My vision is all kinds of skewed. Skewer me, skewer you. Skewered life 'cause it leaves us ******* Who needs to hear another boohoo? I'll kiss my own **** boo boos. Satan's calling me like 'yoohoo' I'll ignore him like you do me, all passionless and angry. I'm a dead fish in a dead sea just practicing my moaning, for when I'm see-through and lonely. Haunting the world as it's revolving, and it's kind of revolting- knowing life goes on, as you're decomposing. I'm shedding, I'm molting; these feelings of chicken skin and insects. It was really salmonella and pests, and I guess, what the point I'm really trying to get to is nothing, oh and **** you.

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I’ve never stopped a heart- The poem should end here. It doesn’t. The sound of the levees breaking was quiet, I thought it would be bigger- The poem should end here. It doesn’t. I was expecting shrieking sirens, stirring dogs, and motion sensor porch lights chasing rabbits from driveway to driveway, I was expecting to shatter mirrors and lower temperatures with my very existence- The poem should be over. We should all be in our beds by now, (but we've got six more miles until our exit.) I've been keeping up; brushing my hair and vacuuming the stairs like it matters. I've walked through this damp, hail-heavy winter with wet socks, a back-pack, and a sterling silver pendent of jaded righteousness swinging from my neck. I’ve kept my head down and blinked smoke out of my eyes. Something inside of me was rusting and rattling and I wanted everyone to listen carefully to my clicking bones. A doctor diagnosed my sacroiliac joints as dysfunctional and suggested physical therapy. My mother diagnosed my humor as alienating, my spirit as disillusioned, and suggested to lighten the **** up. I’ve never stopped a heart- I don’t think I have it in me. I’ve never stopped a heart, but I’ve just about figured out how to end this poem without the heart stopping me.

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Apr 19, 2015

Apr 19, 2015 at 1:07 AM UTC

Heart(wrecker)/Home(breaker)

I’ve never stopped a heart- The poem should end here. It doesn’t. The sound of the levees breaking was quiet, I thought it would be bigger- The poem should end here. It doesn’t. I was expecting shrieking sirens, stirring dogs, and motion sensor porch lights chasing rabbits from driveway to driveway, I was expecting to shatter mirrors and lower temperatures with my very existence- The poem should be over. We should all be in our beds by now, (but we've got six more miles until our exit.) I've been keeping up; brushing my hair and vacuuming the stairs like it matters. I've walked through this damp, hail-heavy winter with wet socks, a back-pack, and a sterling silver pendent of jaded righteousness swinging from my neck. I’ve kept my head down and blinked smoke out of my eyes. Something inside of me was rusting and rattling and I wanted everyone to listen carefully to my clicking bones. A doctor diagnosed my sacroiliac joints as dysfunctional and suggested physical therapy. My mother diagnosed my humor as alienating, my spirit as disillusioned, and suggested to lighten the **** up. I’ve never stopped a heart- I don’t think I have it in me. I’ve never stopped a heart, but I’ve just about figured out how to end this poem without the heart stopping me.

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By Arcassin Burnham Brainwashed over time to not believe the theories, Talking , why you speak to Siri? For all your problems , you get weary, I let God sort it out, Hasn't come down from the throne, His presence was there since birth, But I hope he desends his physical on Earth, So the lust and the evils will disappear, No longer embezzling death and fear, Do your research on everything and you'll be fine In a world this crooked dear, And they say, "People take care of their phones like pets instead of really taking of themselves", And that's why the parents nowadays need professional help, And counseling for the love ones they lost to text messages and tweets, Did the tax dollars really just move on their own and grew feet, Man the devils busy just like God has funny ways of miracles, Rope is tight for black people that America provoked, Staging wars for other countries trying to **** us , Trump that's you? The end is near , and they are gonna sensor this by the time that I get this through.

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Jun 25, 2017

Jun 25, 2017 at 11:38 AM UTC

arcassin-burnham

By Arcassin Burnham Brainwashed over time to not believe the theories, Talking , why you speak to Siri? For all your problems , you get weary, I let God sort it out, Hasn't come down from the throne, His presence was there since birth, But I hope he desends his physical on Earth, So the lust and the evils will disappear, No longer embezzling death and fear, Do your research on everything and you'll be fine In a world this crooked dear, And they say, "People take care of their phones like pets instead of really taking of themselves", And that's why the parents nowadays need professional help, And counseling for the love ones they lost to text messages and tweets, Did the tax dollars really just move on their own and grew feet, Man the devils busy just like God has funny ways of miracles, Rope is tight for black people that America provoked, Staging wars for other countries trying to **** us , Trump that's you? The end is near , and they are gonna sensor this by the time that I get this through.

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What is it that I turn to thee What hold you have on my whole being I write I take a hit of smack and then I write and don't look back The truth comes out I sensor not And it will end far sooner than I thought.

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Aug 9, 2017

Aug 9, 2017 at 6:02 PM UTC

I am a Narcoman

What is it that I turn to thee What hold you have on my whole being I write I take a hit of smack and then I write and don't look back The truth comes out I sensor not And it will end far sooner than I thought.

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He must have a sensor. A sensor that can tell When I'm low And when I feel like nothing. He has a magic light That comes on in his ship That shows him when I'm vulnerable. This happens way too often to be coincidence.

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Jun 12, 2010

Jun 12, 2010 at 6:14 PM UTC

He must have a sensor. A sensor that can tell When I'm low And when I feel like nothing. He has a magic light That comes on in his ship That shows him when I'm vulnerable. This happens way too often to be coincidence.

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