"siamese" poems
Reinaldo was the name they gave the great white elephant
Who came to clear the jungles around Sao Paulo
A clever notion that because Reinaldo was born in the jungle
Any jungle would do just fine, Brazilian or Siamese made no difference
Just as clever was the notion that because I was a black man, educated
I would do just fine directing other black men to do work, English or Portuguese made no difference
Was I truly so much a fool, twice over?
Reinaldo occasionally was afflicted with slothfulness
Some of the men thought it was from lack of **** and whip
I was of a mind that it was due to lack of companionship
It was costly enough to ship one giant beast across a great sea
I left a wife, in Maryland, whom I never loved and who never loved me
I admit before the plan was in motion I never considered that Reinaldo could have a family
Sometimes, I wonder, did he have a wife who never loved him?
Loneliness became a common theme in our new home away from home
And Reinaldo and I became friends, at least I thought of him fondly
As far as I could say, of all the men he responded best to me
At times it seemed a load of lumber was hauled as a personal favor
For the handler too soft to handle with fear and anger
But as much as loneliness was a theme, so was change, and death
The lifespan of an elephant compares to the lifespan of men
Were this scheme of mine to have worked as desired
I could have sent for a cow, and made Reinaldo a sire
Soon it was revealed that slothfulness was a symptom of an elephant young, healthy and wise
Who sensed not his own, but a friend's imminent demise
Now I am left to wonder how Reinaldo will fare in a world stranger than I could have known
His softest handler and only friend bedridden, waiting for my disease to take its final toll
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 6:28 PM UTC
Well, she looks like a witch,
Her pointed nose does twitch.
As she frowns upon the grocery list,
Then scrunches in a timely twist.
Bidding her straw broom,
Which she doth groom.
Hovers away into the gloom,
Over a pond she doth loom.
To frogs, rats, snakes and slime,
Quoth she, "All in good time!!"
Soon they'll be no room,
For the impending doom.
Her cauldron happily hissing,
As she adds to the seething,
Her black cat begins meowing,
After the rats, he begins running.
Slowly cooling the putrid portion,
She applies the lovely lotion.
The moles, warts and silver hair,
Disappear into thin air.
Her velvet apparel now lace,
Not a blemish does one trace.
Fondling her silky Siamese,
She heads home with ease.
To the little candy castle,
Awaiting Hansel and Gretel.
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 10:21 AM UTC
Hanging out new to the scene
So often wonder what that means
As I sit in front of the world's screen
Started in on ...Googling
I typed in a single word
Pressed enter for the Google search
Took me down the path absurd
Where all the lines were blurred
From there I ventured off the path
Wish I'd known there's no turning back
Marveled at the knowledge that I lack
Like how to whittle your own baseball bat
Just in case you're wondering
Midgets don't melt in the rain
Who doesn't think that that's insane
As I dive deeper into Googling
The art of bathing a Hindu rat
Skinning a two-headed Siamese cat
The taking of the perfect nap
Standing up while keeping your lap intact
How to delicately pierce a Rhino's ear
Dressing up then down a deer
50 different ways a man can cheer
While toasting his favorite Micro beer
Abstract art using cotton *****
How to paint between the lines on paisley walls
Teaching Yankees how the South says ya'll
Lost episodes of the show called Lost
Food served upon the world's menus
Even specialties from Timbuktu
Why the sea is green and the sky is blue
As my googling madness continues
More artwork this time with the jam of toes
How to pick your friends but never your friend's nose
Cleaning of the house without a stitch of clothes
The whole time being careful with the vacuum hose
80's Hairbands I used to like
That now know what bald feels like
Making a homemade Hindenburg kite
One that lands this time
How to handle midlife like a man
Taking a survey of what you could have been
Raising Spider Monkey's in the comfort of your den
As I keep on Googling
I now find myself Googling out in front
As I'm Googling from behind
Googling up as I'm Googling down
To the left and to the right
I've learned how to gargle Google
That's a well known Google fact
And if you don't believe me
You can even Google that
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 2:33 PM UTC
How can I be myself if you are my vampire?
I can never sleep at night.
The windows won’t stay closed.
You come and go as you please when
I am in my pajamas, such as they are
A tee shirt and underpants
You are always trying to mesmerize me
But it is you who is really
Always you
Who can blame you?
It must be complete torture to look at me
And feel me
But never possess me
If you could only eat me.
If you were my Siamese twin I would **** you
Can you imagine?
I would hack you off with no qualms
Or saw slowly, it doesn’t much matter
Even if I bled out
You are a quagmire.
An existence always with you
You knowing me better than I know myself
Listening to my thoughts
Stealing everything and thinking it’s yours
I am not you
And you are not me
We are not a we
I am not the key to your survival
You, a peculiar abscess
That faces me and holds a conversation
That wants to do this or that
The endless talking.
The windows closed
The heavy curtains drawn
Me in my underwear
I’d watch you while you slept
Thinking about crosses and solutions
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 11:37 PM UTC
Didn't listen to a word they said,
Don't let it go to your head,
No sweeter than a siamese cat,
A pillow soft to follow that.
I am me I am honesty,
I am me to be honest highly modest,
To dress you up not incorrect,
As I lead you on that subject txt,
No sense of cure no maintenance here,
No in betweens to acetate fewer.
I am me I'm honesty,
I am modest to be honest.
To the people on the street,
In all my work friends up all week,
And in glory you appear,
At night you disappear.
I am me I'm honesty.
I am modest to be honest,
In private times asking this big question,
Its easy to sell in one direction.
A give or take its hard to make,
Give me one more big suggestion.
I am me I'm honesty,
I am modest I do promise,
I am me I'm honesty,
I'm getting away from my O'Reily office.
@O'Reily26102012
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 1:38 AM UTC
*i once had a girl from poland over,
gave her the tourism of london,
a daughter of my mother's friend.*
i suffered sun stroke one day out
with her, blonde hair and all,
i was bound to feel the cold shivers,
went to a party with a school-friend
of mine and her...
i was left in a bed shivering,
he later said he didn't want to say it
but did, that they kissed...
like i didn't know the shorthand for
oral ***
now i'm drinking a beer, write
one poem weeping, another like this
one laughing prior, slapping myself in
the cheek...
two slaps to the face i didn't receive
from prostitutes **** your moral
relativism, you people only
know that theft and ****** and ****
are equal in the cauldron of einstein's
space-and-time, i accept physical
relativism, but i loath moral relativism,
it's like giving an umbrella to the man
under a champagne waterfall -
and an anorak to a man under a waterfall
of cow **** -
yep, slaps outside the brothel,
the kind women became knights' sparring partners
for the oath undertaken,
it was a practice among knights to get
a handkerchief to ease the sting later...
but when prostitutes don't slap you
for trying to sort your life in order to provide,
you sort of become two knights,
twin siamese, you slap yourself because
all that st. thomas gospel wisdom went into
sex-augmentation procedures and cheap
cancer victims with pill-for-pill profiteering...
leisurely ladies of societies made rich
by easy money, watching operas
but still preferring to notice what
their neighbours were wearing,
the peasant snobism who are more distracted
by what others wear rather than the music...
a herd of wilder-beasts could ease out more tears
at an opera than these "precious" ladies of the new
post-aristocratic society of easy money...
you drink beer, laugh, slap yourself silly on the cheeks
for more laughter... your brain
becomes a monkey in a cage gone mad
rather than turning docile...
so she came over and enjoyed my company,
spotted a fox in an alley to a surprise...
but then i got rudely told that oral *** was a kiss...
well **** me there's a cataphract -
let's ***** slap him silly so no byzantine philosopher
cared to exist.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 8:37 PM UTC
Bustopher Jones is not skin and bones—
In fact, he’s remarkably fat.
He doesn’t haunt pubs—he has eight or nine clubs,
For he’s the St. James’s Street Cat!
He’s the Cat we all greet as he walks down the street
In his coat of fastidious black:
No commonplace mousers have such well-cut trousers
Or such an impreccable back.
In the whole of St. James’s the smartest of names is
The name of this Brummell of Cats;
And we’re all of us proud to be nodded or bowed to
By Bustopher Jones in white spats!
His visits are occasional to the Senior Educational
And it is against the rules
For any one Cat to belong both to that
And the Joint Superior Schools.
For a similar reason, when game is in season
He is found, not at Fox’s, but Blimpy’s;
He is frequently seen at the gay Stage and Screen
Which is famous for winkles and shrimps.
In the season of venison he gives his ben’son
To the Pothunter’s succulent bones;
And just before noon’s not a moment too soon
To drop in for a drink at the Drones.
When he’s seen in a hurry there’s probably curry
At the Siamese—or at the Glutton;
If he looks full of gloom then he’s lunched at the Tomb
On cabbage, rice pudding and mutton.
So, much in this way, passes Bustopher’s day-
At one club or another he’s found.
It can be no surprise that under our eyes
He has grown unmistakably round.
He’s a twenty-five pounder, or I am a bounder,
And he’s putting on weight every day:
But he’s so well preserved because he’s observed
All his life a routine, so he’ll say.
Or, to put it in rhyme: “I shall last out my time”
Is the word of this stoutest of Cats.
It must and it shall be Spring in Pall Mall
While Bustopher Jones wears white spats!
3.3k
before existentialism, and nietzsche in mind, philosophy was written
or spoken of accepting the socratic rigidity of words,
the rigidity of words known through
the socratic method of inquiry:
the simplest of questions imposed on
the meaning of words; e.g. what is virtue?
but with existentialism this old method
of inquiry, the poised posing bewilderment
lost its quality, in that the new method of
inquiry was given to stress not a method
of questioning but that of ambiguity,
even though this new method that simply
said the reverse of what is virtue as
the preservation of a narrative: "virtue" concedes
many variations exampled true, e.g. -
this dittoing going against - previously said /
as above - became staged against
a brick wall - since this method, the existential
method of brushing aside inquiry and entering
the realm of ambiguity was already present -
the pluralism of meaning found in certain words;
it isn't a question whether red or blue can
be ambiguous, this allocation of noun
and quality is all too pervasive - so when
an ambiguity is allowed to exercise its stressor
posit - the word in question is allocated
a verb orientation in its exercise of use and example,
further diluted by the quantity and lack of example,
and ascribed contorting
adjectivity due to the dilution of meaning: with lessened
recognition of sought out qualification to sentence
an enzymic perfection of: banker and philanthropist,
priest and maximilian kolbe, poetry and lack of envy.
even though these examples are idealistic,
they provide the obvious ambiguity already apparent,
hence the double ambiguity of opposites, ideal opposites.
in shorthand - if socrates were to come
upon reading existentialism - his questions
regarding the virtues would be bound to free floating
terms in the ditto bubbles of flimsiness of non-inquiry -
bewildered by the number of prompts to question,
there would be no necessary ambiguity to many other
terms of inactivity - such as the previously mentioned
red and blue, dog and glue, but too many, it would seem,
should a strict belief in categorising virtue as a noun
but not a verb be kept - for categorisation of such nature
only provides a linear cascade without due action
or cared for imitation - ending with the only chance of virtue
chanced and seen as an unvirtuous person
doing crossword puzzles in silence - and already
virtue's opposite is engaged in defending itself
and justifying its ills by first forcing many synonyms to
cover it in ambiguity, and asserting itself as an adjective
within a noun framework blunt: virtue v. unvirtuous
will only confiscate siamese phonetic mingling to ease the definition;
i guess that's how rhyming was born, the opposite
of alphabetical ordering: a, aardvark the violet's blue
****** a doughnut with you.
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
It was daytime:
I was seperating siamese twins
at the waist
Like a government
trying to quell a rebellion;
I was reconfiguring
scarred old wooden toys
for Santa;
shining scuffed shoes--
pennyloafers with nickels
in the slots.
It was daytime:
I was decapitating
red-haired stepchildren
who had grown
sour from neglect;
removing brilliant succubi attached
to a wholesome family's
soul.
I was snacking on a
nerds rope,
washing babies mouths out
with soap,
slapping pink cheeked
toddlers on their feet.
Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 11:54 AM UTC
It all started out so innocently
A thrift store here, a garage sale there
Anyways, Lord knows how bad I needed
The chartreuse rug of that polyester bear
It goes perfect in my kitchen
Though I can barely see the floor
Just need to move a few piles that grew
From me buying trinkets by the score
Some say I'm a crazy hoarder
I've seen the show and I'm not that bad
Anyway who doesn't need
A stuffed albino Siamese cat
Then there's all the broken plates of china
That I got for a steal
If I ever do find my stove again
I'll use them for my next meal
Why ask why I save all these milk jugs
You never do know when
A herd of cattle will be passing through
The middle of my den
You may say crazy hoarder
I may say I think not
When I look at pile after pile
Of all the treasures that I've got
If you ever care to visit
Just step over this, crawl over that
Till you come to that little itty bitty empty spot
Where we can sit back and relax
And have a little chat,
over this this and that,
maybe why it is ducks quack,
is it brains that they lack,
that my friend is whack...
Crazy Hoarder?!?
Don't make me laugh...
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 7:23 AM UTC
The attention-grubbing *****
Will sit out on the floor
Waiting to be ****** by a
Siamese sock puppet duck
Its quirky little smile
Will show only for a while
Toothpaste soda and Hot Gin Sour
It's all up and about in a stour
Poor sodding toothless *****
Goes to playpen and dances around
Empirical to the idea'r of
the crowd wanting a ****
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 12:27 PM UTC
The Sukhumvit Rap
by David John Clare
Boom boom bah smoke yaba bah bah bah boom!
Boom boom bah smoke yaba bah bah bah boom!
Well, she come in to Na Na town on dah midnight sky train, anonymous esan girl she a mysterious Bangkok dame
Out of the nite shadows she will walk and magically appear, I'm telling you fresh forang you got some awful things to fear right here
She can slave your mind in a minute without talk so lyrical, she's a modern Thai freak, a ****** miracle
First She opiates his mind then double you'll see
will loose all sense of time and then the trouble will be
She knows what she is doing, her instincts are cold Forang men they surrender and just do what they are told
Beyond the like of a dibbie girl as you are a sucker for her date
she will leave your mind and body in a wicked deadly state
A jealous girlfriend could now completes the scene as you walk back to your short time room near Pat Pong
soi cowboy libertine...
If you get near her you hear the voice of a Thai Siren
Don't you look at her don't you touch you'll start cryin'
If you dare embrace her fool you will think you found a rare Silom Road Jem or Jewel?
She can tear your heart out and she will do it with your own **** tool !
Tell The brothers not to look the wink of her eye, tell all of the brothers not to watch her WINK!
You can tell by her moves and the slit under her dress she is a one trick thai pony ahead of you by her breast
She got a photographic smile Greta garbo movie hair
She can tear any man down with that Siamese cat like looking stare...
Don't look into her eyes she'll control you blind
you want to wine and dine her? ha, it is your mind she will sixty nine
Shell try her best to allure you so now don't concede cuz if you touch her now boy your heart will bleed
It is a hell of way to take a Thailand vacation but remember this; there is no way of ever stopping this ****** man killer creation.
Tell The brothers not to watch the wink of her eye, tell all of the brothers not to watch her WINK!
Boom boom bah smoke yaba bah bah bah boom!
Boom boom bah smoke yaba bah bah bah boom!
WINK!
(c) 2010 Clairvoyant Music / BMI Los Angeles CA USA all rights in perpetuity by the author
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 12:08 PM UTC
she wants head
male bonding
siamese twins
tango 69
me
i travel by images
corporal landscapes
the mouth is the tunnel
quick, now
the tongue the train
windows on the world
unmistaken
still
same refrain
we will meet
we will meet
somewhere again
end of the line
with
the power of torso
speed of the memento
lost and then
found
and
always
the blood engine
pounding
puffing
steaming its blush
on the cheek of night
2.3k
I’m lying down in the ground
as the sun shines its rays
right inbound
on me.
hounding me
(surrounding)
Without a sound
Or is there?
A ringing
or dinging
a pinging
maybe a constant stinging.
I wouldn’t know.
Could be the blood pulse
or the sea dulse wrapping
the seashells doing their sins
or
a pair of siamese twins
trying to
dance and
lance and
advance on my grave
(how brave! how brave! i hope they cave)
germinated spouts
and terminated doubts
with exterminated outs.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 3:16 PM UTC
When Van Gogh cut off his ear
It was for reassurance that the rest of him could disappear
That illusion of ownership that nerves create
Should have faded with each baby tooth I lost
It didn't though, contrariwise I worried I would extend
Into roads or trees and then feel the tire's friction or the elm's blight
Empathy is a ***** of its own
I pray I never wake up with a Siamese twin
I'd have to care, lest we lapse into mutual sadomasochism
That hilarious territory of bored lovers
The Thalidomide kids might get a kick
out of feeling new arms attached to other people
but that's the exception that proves the rule
After the Vietnam war, some men believed Agent Orange
Had followed them home, alive in newly discovered nerves
Now what odd god must be behind that ****
Mengele often awoke from dreams sweating and sure
That his patients would learn a trick to generate biological anesthetics
He needed the feedback of sound to really understand the human body
“Prayer or pleading” he used to say with a wink to his bartender after work
Sometimes I worry that my nervous system
Might have a Mengelian agenda of its own
That I am woven into a potential torture chamber seems clear
but then I remember that I can always pull the tooth or cut off the ear
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 3:48 AM UTC
well it must be love when
our bodies crash together
caramel pleasure rushing and swilling
hot and sweet bourbon
heavy breaths hold still
my snakecharming lover
when gravity bends
well it must be love when
in dark times we rage and seethe
dragon tongues with words like blades
phantom fists for pounding hearts
we crumble together
my siamese lover
when the world ends
Nov 29, 2021
Nov 29, 2021 at 4:37 PM UTC
She is visiting
Blue eyed as a Siamese
she curls up and purrs
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 10:17 PM UTC
Where were you when I was growing up?
You were in college getting A's while I was getting D's in science class in the 5th grade.
I remember asking if you wanted to draw with me and you never had the "time"
10 minutes out of your ******* busy day to spend with your CHILD.
yeah, I understand bringing food to the table is important and your brain wasn't fully developed until 25 but, where were you?
I loved that computer. Oh, AOL 5.0, talking to strangers, going into lesbian chats, looking at naked pictures of women.
I appreciated when you paid attention to me when I would wear the same underwear and pants weeks straight.
It was amazing that you noticed I never used to take my Ritalin and that I would hide it under my tongue and then stick it in a mug under my ****** twin bed.
I've had 8 cats during my lifetime?
Do you remember April that cat, that siamese cat, our 5 cats? What was up with having so many **** CATS?
I loved watching nickolodeon and nick at nite. Cat dog all day with 5 kittens in our lovely apartment.
LOVED having your now "husbands" nephew trying to have *** with me when I was like 11 and he was 18.
The moths were fun.....fancied smelling like moth ***** during school!
I loved taking baths only because we had no shower head. Filling up a plastic cup with water to be able to wash my hair was my favorite.
I loved when you threw a hair dryer at me.
Digging your stupid fake nails into my skin, not sure what I did "wrong" then but that was always the best treatment, CHILD.
My favorite was when you helped with my homework.
Loved when you threatened that you would "tie a rope around my neck" and that you hated me.
Loved eating raviolis and getting 2 chicken sandwiches from Mcdonalds. Oh, 4 mini burgers and fries from Whitecastle after going to Marshalls was my favorite.
That guy, that assyrian, iranian guy that owned Carvel and was 20 years older than you...I loved when he used to let me go outside alone the condos when I was 3.
Loved when he'd force me to where overalls and ugly clothes in elementary school.
Being forced to go to an Assyrian church every sunday was the best!
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 5:07 PM UTC
Days are splendorous,
in the royal color wash,
and frost,
of November.
Four thirty is a burning torchlight
of reminiscence.
November,
older,
wiser,
But similar,
in the way that air,
is a rustle of crisp leaves,
and emotions that,
stretch across the horizon,
like an autumn parade.
Familiar,
in the way that,
shifting parameters of light,
invigorate and disturb.
Prodigious,
whispering of enchantment,
and it's Siamese twin,
disillusionment.
November,
That lingers like a somber melody,
or a dense beat,
hanging on the evening wind,
Whose disruptive energy,
is portentous,
of wakeful nights to come.
That shimmers,
and shivers,
and sings,
sending a mating call,
to ravenous winter.
November,
is a communicable pheromone,
am aphrodisiac,
A crescendo.
The yearly succubus,
crowned,
in her raucous display,
of jewels,
Her ingenious distraction,
as she drains the world
of warmth,
and daylight.
And I am hallowed.
November's champion,
riding the dark,
like a faithful steed.
A cowgirl about town.
An outlaw,
blown in on a strident wind,
Primed to partake,
of libation and lechery,
because I am restless,
and it is too brisk to wander.
November is distilled,
and flows like hot cider,
steaming in the faces,
of days it leaves cold.
It is one thousand proof,
and permeates breath vapor,
each small fog,
that lingers like an apparition.
Shades of November,
fettered from dissipation,
as winter,
in search of answers,
clutches at the evidence of its becoming.
Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 11:10 PM UTC
eating breakfast
on a beaten girl's face
she ignites when you take it
she glows in her faith
with gold and blue phalange atop sleekest new marrow
she is clear raincoats and black body polish
she is siamese cats asleep on a windowsill
she is the rusted remains where the ices draw narrow
she is reading rimbaud and drowning brian jones
the swan's neck upper reach
is steady with guilt
engraved with your initials
a monogrammed friese
on white marble quilt
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 11:19 PM UTC
youll see me half dead lying in a ditch by your mothers house. shes smiling, but your tears,quarters,dimes are worthless here. egypt. land of your gods' daydreams; twelfth sister of the night. shimmered and weeped. under your eyes are millions of disguises you have yet to unveil. we wore seashells and flowers. decorated ourselves in jewels. nightclad. venus slept under the afternoon. black and siamese twins have yet to uncover a sizeable difference between me and you. took scissors to carve a name into yourself. "JESUS" and "KING." got drunk before i rolled my eyes back into my head. forever uncovering diamonds in your snow. foggy and blue. giggled and worshipped pictures of ourselves. we are the sky's undead children
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 4:19 AM UTC
The slow dance with yourself, prom.
No partner in crime, no getaway.
Caught, red and white all I see.
The sirens of my heart, ringing.
No Heer, No Ranjha.
No Paris, No Helena.
No Laila, No Majnu.
No Romeo, No Juliet.
Ties and Dresses
Corsage and Coronary
Royal Red carpets
straight from the heart.
Epileptic lights
Face in a sea of masks
Empty hands and waiting eyes
Welcome to the Lonely Masquerade Ball.
Where no faces exist
home of the masks.
Where no hip is free
Siamese twins.
Only heart that beats alone.
Only open eyed one
Only closed lipped one
Soulless, Loveless.
Hordes, Masses, Groups.
Flurry of flamingos
Cackle of hyenas
Litter of rabbits, garbage.
The ugly duckling
Oscar Wilde
Stars on Earth
Rainbows in storms.
Missing posters, wanted.
Revolving doors, wait.
Get the getaway car
Go Go Go.
Jan 31, 2020
Jan 31, 2020 at 4:33 PM UTC
How you ARE?
It all moves in circle spiraling
inside themselves and it ALL
movessofast
crossing-up and melting-under
while her water breaks down
below under the stairs, next
to the garage between the two
Great sphinxes no it doesn't I
won't cry
Your wrong you own it
because you always almost never
find delight in the bells who hum
indiscrimately dividing siamese
tulip bulbs ironically yelping
(out loud) rather than silent like
two lips that bulge
twitch it goes right behind when
you looked out
the corner of your eye white tail just
disappearing and That thought is gone
forever you sometimes manipulate
your self next to all the others
It isn't gone but he'll never admit
it he's never always
correct rulering everyone's
personalities. into bologna
and you alwaysalways you thought
but rhapsodied her way into and
no One knows who he means Anymore, Anyway.
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 5:47 PM UTC
the pro-anti-abortion argument:
so the tissue argument doesn't count?
so...
once the ***** leaves the body
of a male....
it is the sole possession
of a female?"
sign me up for euthanasia...
please! send me to
gaßkammern!
might as well cut my testicles off!
employ me as a *******
castrato for holding the harem
***** free...
so i can't *********
did i forget my napkin,
or did my bride forget her *****
just asking...
so...
as long as my ***** remains in my,
or on a tissue, flushed down a toilet...
but them she takes over
the ownership?
she gets the bigoted bargain
and bias?
**** me...
i'm sure a Rabbi would argue
that a 16 year old
is always ready...
because... given the current
secular year p.s. a.d. that's always
true...
so i can't...
**** off...
wait a minute... but i haven't
been circumcised...
look at me! woo woo!
next time i *********
into a woman...
i'll secure some wolf ***** into
a syringe...
and then implant a
Frankenstein experiment into her...
my...
didn't a woman, epitome...
make a case for desiring vampires
& werewolves?
**** it...
let's make josef mengele
2.0,
i'm ready...
i'm craving for the laboratory...
but... clearly... you're not...
given...
can a woman really claim such
ownership?
i must make an equal claim...
whatever i *********
into a tissue and flush it down
a toilet...
has to become a pseudo crocodile
child of the deep...
if only i was born in the end of the 19th century...
my Auschwitz would have looked much
more differently...
i would have attempted less twin experiments...
to curate a cure for the Siamese...
i would have injected women
with wolf *****
such a mild,
childhood fantasy...
and people worried
about the treatment of
heretics by the church in
the Renaissance;
if i were the primordial evil
of the 20th century...
i'd pocket my concerns...
where i began the 21st century with.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 10:56 PM UTC
the hardest surgery is the one you perform on yourself.
Steady?
Ready?
No anesthesia but a chuckle of nervous humor
the first incision across your heart.
When you finish (many months later)
you put the scalpel down, wave weakly
to the clapping colleagues hugging each other in disbelief
from the observatory, sterile and eager
you give them a wan grin
and hope they've watched closely
so that now they know how...
how to do this.
At twenty-something, I was taught by Fear
who said nothing matters
and then at twenty-something-else I was taught by Faith
who said anything matters
And she wasn't the Sunday kind of Faith that you find
clasped between your palms, clasped like you're afraid
that if you let go the Faith will just tumble out and break.
No, she was the Faith that was bigger than God and so intimate
that sometimes I was the Faith, sometimes you were the Faith,
and sometimes the Faith was me.
So really, Faith doesn't have a name.
But Faith and Fear, they both breathe, they're each lung
and when I fill one, the other billows, after all
you need two to breathe.
And so then I, feeling bold, learned about Bravery.
I had heard about it in newspapers and history book indexes
and in our local volunteer firefighters.
Wondered if I could buy it.
Wondered how much it goes for.
But I couldn't find Brave until the moment I gave up on it
and said, ***** it, I'm so scared but I don't care anymore,
I'll just do it, Brave be ******
And surely enough, it was hiding beneath the tremors.
So really, Brave was the Siamese twin of I'll Just Do It.
which, by the way, wasn't in the glossary of this or any history book.
Everything changes, you know?
I'm changing, you're changing.
Oh, it storms me like the sea!
I secretly raise my glass to stasis, my faraway frenemy.
Don't tell the other Sagittarians, they'd exile me surely.
Change, letting go of my old faces
feels too close to dying,
feels too close to leaving you behind.
And I'm not ready to leave you behind.
Oh the West, keep your Mountains.
If only for a little longer.
I've excised my soul again and again
transplanted and sutured
but there's just no time.
Even with these visions from under the knife-
there's just no time to heal
before I'm laid on the table again.
*Faith hold me-
Fear teach me
so I can...*
Steady.
Please- stay with me.
Ready?
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 12:04 PM UTC