"siphoned" poems
You don't see me but I am
There, I have numerous ways
To take you,
Hold you,
Control you,
You'll not even know
I was there,
I am a conqueror of flesh.
Feeling...
Sickly, siphoned, strained
Both body and my brain
Doctor said it's just a cold
Nothing but a passing pain
Is this hypochondria,
Or is there something in my veins?
Your insides are my playground
To cause you much anguish & pain
I'll infect you slowly at first,
Have a little fun within your
Organs
Muscles
Thoughts
I aim to control, invisible
To the eye, but you know
I'm in here, your losing control.
Today I coughed up blood
Cold sweats come in floods
I'm drowning in my own bed
As I clutch my feverish head
There's an inferno in my skull
I'm taking Vicodin to null
Whatever it is eating at me
I know I'll be better in a week.
You apes think size is intelligence,
This was your undoing from the start,
I replicate myself, as its my time to move on,
I leave apart of myself here
As its time too
Infect
Multiple
Spread
My gift to those around,
You sneezed
You coughed
Upon your sweat, I am
Now on everything you touch,
Time to end the play,
"Business calls"
Be Proud of your self
Patient Zero, dear human
You were my first,
But its time for me to move on...
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 6:44 PM UTC
Her voice, sweeter than buttercream
- Salty words won’t pucker her song,
Honey bees follow her adoringly -
The kindest person ever to come along
Her legs, thick with gorgeous muscle
- A tornado couldn't knock her down,
Tree trunks turn green with jealousy -
She's the strongest person in town
Her eyes, alight with warm welcome
- a blackout wouldn't dim her glow,
Lesser stars shrink away in envy -
She's the friendliest person to know
She’ll protect anyone who needs it,
Forgive the most egregious slight
Faced with anger, she won't feed it
Full of grace, she’s everything right
Sadly, he won’t go the way of Earl
But who wouldn’t cheer his self-demise
He who siphoned power, stifled song
And stole the laughter from her eyes
Somehow, she’s still tornado strong
The bees know she’ll sing once more
Her trust might need a little time but
When she’s ready, glowing, she’ll soar
NCL August 2019
Aug 1, 2019
Aug 1, 2019 at 3:09 PM UTC
.
Cloak of invisibility...
*Render me unseen.
As I tremble with the fury of
a thousand downfalls
and untimely disappointments.
Let the complacent eye
merely skim the surface of my masquerade...
Without learning of what seethes underneath.*
Cloak of invincibility...
*Render me impervious...
To the callous digits that know only to point.
To the disastrous effect of heated words.
To the unforgiving nature of
my wayward thoughts and emotions.
Grant me strength and resilience
through hardened skin that promises not,
of betrayal.*
Cloak of infallibility...
*Render me trustworthy and honest.
So that I can rest with the knowledge
that what I feel is true...
What I feel is me.
That this isn't the result of the faint murmur
of errant gossip...
But instead the genuine exchanges
between the heart and mind.*
Cloak of myth...
*Render me a believer.
Aid me in finding my footing
in the blasted dark.
For...
I have been siphoned dry,
during these unsure times
that have drawn much...
Too much.*
.
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 6:30 PM UTC
1
Another space arrives. The newborn cries.
And the destiny determined:
Oven or matchstick.
Descendant of both; inheritor of another:
A machine that dreams itself into being,
Dragging its sleeping subjects after it.
Sustenance of nightmares, the food of what
God is, blood the earth pumps forth.
The plastic legacy is siphoned off,
Its artifacts cheap jewellery:
Enamel glinting white and turquoise.
Flimsy chains that never last,
And yet last forever, the paint flaking off.
So too does the rust on this delicate orchid.
It is an oracle of poisons.
2
The city burns in its incandescence.
The indelible halo
Of a lime-green candelabra
Makes light of midnight. Our slumber is
Punctured by gunshots and the drone of the
Ambulance.
Not a foot but a juggernaut,
Pandora’s box,
Sowing the seeds of your distress.
Fallout marks the potent epoch.
The neon octopus spews it back,
Invisible print on the murderous air.
Where water drinks
No diving bell can bear
The pressure of such fuchsia.
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 9:54 AM UTC
in the wisps of mist
stroking the curves
of a sleeping mountain
I hear a call
husky tones
siphoned off
by a cold wind
mocking
I see you still
as a filtered moon
drifts over my lashes
quivering
like the scent of you
as we dance
skin to skin
close
Dec 15, 2020
Dec 15, 2020 at 5:35 PM UTC
the sky over i-95 is violet, the color of the deepest bruise
like the one you actually remember getting, that eclipsed
all the little gray-green ones from
tripping over belgian blocks, and mismeasuring the distance
to the doorframe.
the sky over i-95 cannot hold water very long
and soon it doesn’t.
you look out the new-car window
silent windshield wipers and you remember
the other times it’s rained on your occasion
(with stinging peroxide sometimes, and
sometimes gasoline, when you had a match
in the glovebox,
but mostly water).
you never stopped liking the way the big trees swayed
in the not-quite-hurricane
or the deafening of the drops on the car’s aluminum backbone.
you used to trust they’d never fall, they’d never flood
the crashes you passed rubbernecking were never fatal
traffic would always clear
you’d never be late.
as you watch the oversized leaves support the waterweight today
you think how every bit of that is gone from you now
siphoned slowly and quietly but
unmistakably gone from you now
you think in matter-of-fact sentences because you are a grown-up:
“I do not trust the trees. I do not trust the raindrops.”
quieter you think
“I do not trust the future. I do not trust an empty building.
I do not trust the movie theater. I do not trust the ocean,
or the river. I do not trust water
when I can’t see the bottom.”
you get a little philosophical as you get hungry and the exit numbers get high
“I do not trust the highway. I do not trust me. I do not trust the curtains
to keep me safe when I sleep, and I do not trust waking to bring me morning.”
you think in matter-of-fact sentences because you are a grown-up,
but also because that’s how the thoughts come.
there’s something that you do trust
that’s enough to warm you as this unseasonable may
comes to a close.
you never stopped liking the way the big trees swayed
and you think how they might fall
but they haven’t yet.
you think how it’s kind of okay not to trust them:
you trust something else.
(pain is lucrative.
so is smiling.)
a female cardinal perches outside the window of
the room, just as you arrive to leave again
and you think how she's just as pretty as the
candy-apple-red male, though she's dark against the tree trunk
and when you’re back to celebrate the years since leaving
you might even trust that tree trunk
and the girlcardinal you have to squint to see
you might also trust morning, then,
and night.
meantime, the sky lightens:
sundrops while the rain comes loudly still.
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 5:29 PM UTC
The winter this year will be the coldest one by far
I can see it in the coldness of my heart
Got bills to pay but my car wouldn't start
Had to heat my house with gas siphoned from my neighbours car
The winter this year will be the coldest one by far
I can feel its cold in my bones
the way they creak like old folks' homes
some days it feels like I'm trying to move through coal tar
The winter this year will be the coldest one by far
I can see the cold in my old friends' gazes
Whispers behind my back, the usual phrases
"Still playing guitar?"
"Still want to be a star?"
"Doubt you'll ever go far."
The winter this year will be the coldest one by far
I feel the cold coming out of my veins
my nerves so frozen I can't feel the pain
I only numbly hope that it doesn't leave a scar
The winter this year was the coldest by far
I was starting to think it might be my last
But somehow before i knew it winter had passed
Looking back I wonder if it was really so hard
Oct 29, 2017
Oct 29, 2017 at 6:58 AM UTC
Hop hopeless off the L
searching for hell
"works" "works"
"subs" "subs"
"Bars" "Bars"
"Xanny Bars"
The Avenue Chant
Howl the diseased infected addicted ****
The Avenue Chant
an open drug bazaar is a beautiful thing for one playing the beautiful *****
Requiem for a Nightmare
You ask what I need
knowing what I want
Hop down the corner
You know the best spot
they got the fire
I got a house to burn
You ask, can I get one?
I think in first person with a laugh
perhaps I would give you a leg for one
I see you could use it
We keep walking
you keep limp, limp, limping down....
Cambria
Crutches clacking off the littered decaying pavement
The boys are out in town (when aren't they)
the block is hot (as always)
I wait around the corner
You do my ***** business
Our ***** business
Everyones ***** business
You swing back, deed done, dirt in hand
awwww
yeahhhhh
the stamp is cobra
I remember this **** mm.
this **** is good
The printed snake swims up and out
siphoned from a tiny
baby
blue
bag
cleansing all insecurities, all fear, all humanity.
We limp along
You tell me how you ended up on these streets
wife kicked you out, job fired you, veterans insurance cut you.
The American dream as it looks, on Kensington streets,
circa2013
etc. etc. etc
I feel bad, but, not really, emotional skeleton,
Numbed.
I leave you with some rocks, not much,
then go off kicking
rocks all the way Redrocks
H>O<W
long can I continue without being caught in crosstalk.
A skinny white privileged boy from the suburbs
seeing his future
trotting away before his eyes
The
everlasting
haunting
crouching
limping
creature of death
A
rotten
old one
legged
......junk
Y
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 7:05 PM UTC
Watching...
The night
enter a fresh new realm.
The same day is cast in different hue...
Vibrance in colours dissipate...
Siphoned,
consumed by the dark.
Watching...
And feeling my presence
blend into nothingness.
This night reeks of
blatant nonchalance.
Careless shadows stretch and dance
as I wrestle with my vision
to determine mindless silhouettes.
Watching...
The trailing taillights
of nocturnal traffic.
In my city that never sleeps.
They simply disappear into the dark
with each tick of the hand.
Watching...
The half moon,
eaten away by the void.
Minutes elapse into eternity.
And seconds beat hard
upon my bastion of hope.
Watching...
The ground
that lay quiet before me.
This earth that bears my weight...
This earth that has my shadow
shackled to my feet...
Offers nothing but quiet solace...
Fighting to calm the storm
in my head.
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 10:45 AM UTC
It starts
deep within
just flames
licking fire
tripping up
my spine
in crackling desire
spreads through my pores
in heated, close beats
releases its high
from my brain
to my feet
The slow burn
in my solar plexus
spreads in hot surges
waves of wildfire
pulsing in white-hot urges
right down
to where
it really takes off
rushing through my
my cells
never pausing to stop
One can go mad
from that torrid,
thick heat
every day
so I will trill
into my music
rocking my chair
as I play
feeling the vibes
within the rush and the beats
from the top of my head
to where these velvet
thighs meet
like the blazing
mirage of a summer
heat wave
releasing
the flow
of all that I crave
close-channeled
energy siphoned
into other spheres
so much like heaven
it squeezes out
tears
late desert
summer nights
naked under
plush covers
my tunes and my pen
are my only lovers
it burns for a while
slides into
ecstatic bloom
and then catapults
back up
in a frantic
heart boom
this is my world
when I am
in charge of my own
rhythm and tunes
playing them out
like mysterious flumes
this is how my passion
unfolds
when I choose music for a set
I start off contemplative
and end up wet
So I will take this ink
let it spill upon the page
wield the sword of my
slick waters
free my soul
from her cage
like a silky animal
running to cool, shaded brush
I will save up this
passion
so endlessly
lush
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 2:57 AM UTC
The desert gradually turned to a grassy thicket
tamarack branches turn towards the fleeting dusk
above, ancient starlights fade in cimmerian skies
their ghostly glow choked by the sullen silhouettes
of churning charcoal clouds against the abyss.
The world feels as though she is being devoured
by nothing and emptiness.
Again the tortured-self awakes inside of Apricus
wrestling with its bindings merely out of gall.
It elicits ache in the belly of its captor,
the kind that only heartbreak makes inside us all
and once the tantrum cease,
it laugh a little before it speak
*The darkness comes, not for you and I alone
but in the end all life is its sacrifice,
why struggle any longer to change the minds of sheep?
Has the battle not hardened our flesh, sharpened our teeth,
has it not made us hungry for what lesser men eat?*
A thunderhead above him began to coil
tightening its hold around the moon,
each rotation siphoned the lunar light
till the well traveled soil of the trail
turn to a thin brush, then into a heavy wood.
Ask not if you shall stray from your path
rather ask if you will have the constitution
to find your way back in the black
of a stormy night.
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 11:32 PM UTC
Cranes cruelly claw back the Earth's green turfed hair,
These machines, these metallic prehistoric beasts,
Their sharp jagged teeth coldly rip
and tear the Earth's fertile face,
Poles, long and hard and gnarled and rigid,
They plunge viciously into Her soft soil,
These steel shafts of Man's insatiable desire ******
day and night without pause,
This lawless raw **** is ignored,
The crime comes to a gushing ******
All the raging lust is funnelled
into the Earth's sighing thighs,
She gasps for air but her mouth is heavily gagged,
The Earth, her blood, black as the darkest galaxy,
It is siphoned and pumped away,
Sometimes it is into the sea spilled,
Have you seen the pelican king sinking?
©Rangzeb Hussain
Jun 19, 2010
Jun 19, 2010 at 6:52 AM UTC
Del sat on the steps in front of a brick building, smoking a cigarette. She looked more like a thick, young teenage boy that a woman in her mid-twenties. With her track jacket collar pulled up tight around her, she recoiled into herself, slinking back into the steps. She siphoned a long deep inhale of smoke.
Andie blew the cigarette smoke through her tightened lips and whistled the smoke at the mirror in front of her. She reviewed her reflection critically with squinting eyes. It was cold and dark in the room except for the hot glow of cigarette and the glare of a bare light bulb without a lampshade. Her skin stood up with goosebumps and her ******* were small and hard.
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 11:54 PM UTC
I have always thought of home to be a place
have described myself within a myriad of
different protagonists, herbs and flaccid analogies
i have been birds nesting in rafters, wolves
and nothing more than a willowy spirit without a
body--
and i thought for a moment that people could be homes
too, the way you walk into hugs or are metaphorically
gathered, i watched him in the mirror sliding around
my waist, resting on my hips, smelling my hair, picking
me up to put in a vase, ridiculously pretty, you know that?
and it's not that I longed for more,
that I have longed for where, for a here that
i am acutely aware of how i vacillate between empty
and overflowing, of my own thoughts, i have heard
you think too much and maybe I do-- maybe too much
of me lingers
In dreams I unzip and turn myself inside out
like a dress, fold my shoulders down and the mountains
reappear, i am all the grass of a former self, before the tides and winds and men, before my choices bent me back
and took a swiss army knife to whittle me away
i think i am longing to be clean
to be over to breathe and not feel the strings
the way my voice splits into a rank of pipes swelling into a hundred voices and he only hears a few, i am many
longing to be one, he cannot twist the drawknob
because I am already filling the cathedral in the words of
Stravinsky, *the
m onster never b r e a t h e s*
and I feel like i never have
i am earnest to fill my lungs with air instead of water
join the present, but the Welsh knew me too well,
the portuguese, saudade and the Germans, sehnsucht
put a letter to the things that can only be described in paragraphs or tears or indeterminate intervals of time sitting on his bed while he showered, all the doors slammed, empty coffee cups,
clogged sinks, unswept floors, long drives,
shots of whiskey, withering glances held on tension and
te amo mouthed across the room--
we wonder, can we be reached? wrought? touched. found.
in our deepest hearts, wounded mysticism, an untapped sense of joy that can be lanced and spilled, I am wistful, anxiously waiting to be siphoned,
Hiraeth.
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 9:41 PM UTC
###
I once thought not breathing came
in rasping gasps,
in sudden, fleeting moments;
when the air becomes lead,
and your lungs laden with mercury.
that was before you left.
this endless Vacuum
rips apart whole universes.
it is as if you have siphoned Existence,
leaving nothing but the wispy trails of a dying star
on descent
to the ground.
observe my palm.
it holds asteroids,
where there once were planets.
observe my eyes.
they are black holes,
where there once were galaxies.
feel my heart – place your hand against my chest.
it is still beating.
this is the Core of the Universe;
and it will continue to pulse for you,
even if you have long stopped listening
for its rhythms.
###
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 11:20 AM UTC
My demons, the colossus of slaughter
and infantile undoing
are draped as a jagged carcass of a wreath,
of twisted and malignant ****** limbs,
upon my shoulders and stark throat
dripping stagnant
as a mangled bear of grizzled fur and barbed wire,
I heave this colossal mane
my sanctioned torturing ever heaven bearing,
legs biting tension, tibias finally cracking
I trudge, seethe and scourge with limbs
far rusted and burdened,
the girth of my weighing
wreath of clotted bone and blood,
mammoth corpse of whale and boorish bear,
hunker down about these broken hinged blades of shoulder,
godly cloak of human sin, and iron curtain
my siphoned lungs drain about the ground
dripping from the flesh of my lips,
spilling out as life,
I cough and purge all my mortal given organs
upon the belly of the Earth,
wreath of anchor chain and rotted animal bulk
bar and breach this shrapnel spine,
legs splintered,
no man might carry,
only a corpse could accept
the wearing weight of the worlds sins,
I forever stammer on
Sep 8, 2011
Sep 8, 2011 at 1:10 AM UTC
All of my firsts,
all of my beautiful memories,
my sacred bonds
have been cracked open,
tainted,
the ties have been cut,
I am drifting,
floating off,
I have no anchor to drop.
I have given away
everything I can, and
there is nothing left of me
to offer but
salt water pouring from
my heart, trying to nourish
this thicket weaving through
my rib cage.
My collar bones are
shelves holding books and
love songs that I
can no longer listen to.
My knees are rubbed raw,
carpet burn from kneeling
before a God that only
called me a sinner,
I have nothing left to offer.
Palms facing upwards on
the ends of outstretched arms,
I have given away all
that I can,
I have siphoned the very
blood from my veins,
I am empty.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
I feel unsafe
In a building with closed doors, you are always there
There's no need to run, hide
There's no place to go
You always find a way to seep through my skin, infect my thoughts
Too long have you chiseled at my soul
Brainwashed my mind
Siphoned my happiness out through my pores
Now that you're gone, things are better
But I feel as if you took something
Ah yes, you took the memories
Stripped them of me, destroyed them with your toxic waste
I can't retrieve them
Ever
May 28, 2012
May 28, 2012 at 3:19 PM UTC
1.
My mother hates me!
My father hates me!
Oedipus screams to the
stealthily silent Sphinx.
He scatters riddles like laurel leaves
waiting to be braided into
a playwright's crown. It is too
grandiose to fit his cracked. cramped cranium.
His unconscious mind flies open
like the Sphinx rocketing to the sky.
Sacred haunches soar. Wings beat
steadily to reach titanic heights.
Blind to his murderous fate, Oedipus
cannot know himself. Before the
Delphic Oracle, his life shrivels,
unexamined by his bleeding eyes.
2.
Freud exults in triumph.
Maternal love births eternal love:
endless comfort and affection
for the newly bloomed beloved.
Soon, comfort metamorphoses
into feral eros, unspeakable, unthinkable,
beyond the bounds of catastrophic evil.
Submerged desire sullies the chastest kiss.
Jacosta embraces her son
as her new living king, her husband's
royal blood bubbling brazenly
on the bitter road to Thebes.
His hands stained, Oedipus strives
to transmute his trauma as our own.
We become him when Freud deigns
to interpret our darkest, direst dreams.
Blindly, we mimic him: carnal union
with the mother, lethal rage against
the father. Mourning Becomes Electra
beckons to the wary second ***
3.
The Sphinx belies its own riddle:
How can prophecy spring from
the sculpted, smooth stone
of these perfect *******
Only blind Teiresias plumbs the depths
of Oedipus' fate: Judgement lies blinded,
action lies blinded by the ventricles of
violence, the twisted telos of the mind.
Humans sin against the world, against
nature, siphoned of joy. They sin without
a sacred perch to rise from. Blood and *****
mud and blindness fashion their Oedipal souls.
Feb 21, 2020
Feb 21, 2020 at 3:21 PM UTC
Unfrozen, surviving in miles of silent wasteland
Somehow risen from cold to my feet, but not breathing
Am I flawless that I drift so lightly with a Western wind?
Or so flawed that I don't admit I'm desperate for coming home
The final night with my elbows on the throne
Laughing over longing after end to the infinite.
Beheld well with the highest intention to flatter you
Maybe I'll die in laughter when you realize I invite you to bitterness,
brittleness to the shattering for which I'll want you close
Because with another's bloodstains I can live alone
Using what I've siphoned to make my ill-advised scratches on tablets on tabletops.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 2:14 AM UTC