"skinning" poems
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
We catch the sunset
while eating
breakfast: ignoring
mothers, ignoring
landlords, skinning our knees
and skipping supper,
using the kitchen with some
improvisation, forgetting to stir
the pasta, blotting bacon
with coffee filters,
flinging linguini on the walls
and the ceilings (for
if cooked it will cling
but if raw it will fall).
“Is that pasta on the wall?”
“Is it purple?”
Outside a boy
in a dress shirt and a girl in
a paisley skirt walked past
the window, holding hands
and clutching palm
Sunday leaves.
Then the strand of linguini
began to detach itself from
the ceiling, like a break dancer,
with flimsy limbs,
and when it dropped
it fell through the air
like an Olympic
diver, twirling and curling
with two ends clung
to one another
and then unfolding
underwater.
Aug 5, 2011
Aug 5, 2011 at 1:01 AM UTC
Go out to the tarmac shove a pig into dirt
Listen to the squeal make sure it hurt
Hogtie'em smack'em on the *** into the van
collect'em off the street and can them in the tan
Ford Transit then we off to the chop shop
The ****** butchers gonna cut some cop
Drag them up feet first arms tied to the side
Hang em up to dry over a reservoir for the gore
Cut the cartery artery while they cry no more
Whats it all for, whats it all for, a long pig cookout
A hairless goat bled out now its time to get guts out
Bleed slows to a drip time to take a head simply twist
Off it comes like pop easy as a ******* croptop
Get your blade nice and sharpish cuz next on the list
Is skinning a cop shave off fuzz into the slop
Then drag a knife from the plexus to the ****
Tie off the **** and yank the excess its painless
**** up and you can try again pick another off the herd
Cut up again and again plenty of pork to slaughter
Almost ready for the grill party just gotta get meat ready
Detach arms, halve and quarter, keep your hands steady
Time to get out the coriander and chili powder
Hammer with a tenderizer on the counter
Cuts of steaks without any guilt, all free range
As I bite into a roast I make a toast to my rage
That made this deranged cookout, pig liver on toast
With some grits and cornbread as the feds approach
Hundred cops'll will roll on the grillmaster
Hundred shots out swiss cheesed by the ********
Read in the paper a monster cop killer
Killed for fighting the terror with terror
Jun 24, 2020
Jun 24, 2020 at 11:12 PM UTC
Do you miss her
The Hell's Mistress I used to be
Pretty smiles
Prettier lies
********** you with my eyes
Skinning you with my words
I miss the power that came
In lying to everyone
This angelic facade is suffocating
I miss slipping off the mask
And slipping into your head
Making you my puppet
Then getting bored
And making you wish you were dead
Shoving my knife in your back
When you came
Walking into my life like it was yours
Following my breadcrumbs
Swallowing them whole
Who would have thought
You can hide arsenic so well
With just a hint of sugar
And a short enough skirt
Do you miss her
The Black Widow in my web
Eating you alive
To fill the void inside
Sep 30, 2021
Sep 30, 2021 at 11:22 AM UTC
Gravity is not my friend.
It forgets from time to time
To do its job and keep my two feet
Planted firmly on the ground.
I can’t seem to get around
Invisible stumbling blocks,
Tripping over my own two feet,
Knocking into things just by
Walking in a straight line.
Gravity is lazy,
Wanting only to do the bare minimum.
It makes my chest feel heavy when
I lay down but if I close my eyes
I feel my own untethered soul
Float up into the ceiling
And hide amongst the water pipes.
Sometimes, I think gravity gets scared
When I wish myself into something
Scattered brain and disconnected
Disassociation, depersonalization,
Derealization—these side effects on the bottle
They’re all taunting gravity
And gravity runs to hide,
Knocking me off balance and
Up the stairs and skinning my knees
And sometimes I don’t even know I’m bleeding
But sometimes gravity fights back
And my feet are stuck to the ground
My limbs can’t seem to move, my
Head feels like a hundred pounds
My body aches until I lay down
And sink into the carpet.
Sometimes I wonder if you feel it too
If gravity and you are on the odds as well
With all your liquid confidence
And substances to keep you happy
And your tales of falling down stairs—
You fall down, I fall up.
We bob together in a sea of regret
And change and past and
Present and future and lust
And hate but most of all love
Nursing our wounds through
Self medication until a very fed up gravity
Pushes us down, down down down.
Sometimes I think if gravity
Were a little more benevolent
We’d never have hit
These bumps in the road.
I could stay grounded,
Feet planted firmly.
You could stay buoyant
Far above the surface.
But no,
Gravity is a very fickle beast.
And as you’re leading me
Back to my room
For one last goodnight kiss
I trip
And float away.
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 11:51 PM UTC
Light breaks where no sun shines;
Where no sea runs, the waters of the heart
Push in their tides;
And, broken ghosts with glowworms in their heads,
The things of light
File through the flesh where no flesh decks the bones.
A candle in the thighs
Warms youth and seed and burns the seeds of age;
Where no seed stirs,
The fruit of man unwrinkles in the stars,
Bright as a fig;
Where no wax is, the candle shows its hairs.
Dawn breaks behind the eyes;
From poles of skull and toe the windy blood
Slides like a sea;
Nor fenced, nor staked, the gushers of the sky
Spout to the rod
Divining in a smile the oil of tears.
Night in the sockets rounds,
Like some pitch moon, the limit of the globes;
Day lights the bone;
Where no cold is, the skinning gales unpin
The winter's robes;
The film of spring is hanging from the lids.
Light breaks on secret lots,
On tips of thought where thoughts smell in the rain;
When logics die,
The secret of the soil grows through the eye,
And blood jumps in the sun;
Above the waste allotments the dawn halts.
3.1k
a candy apple red heritage soft-tail classic
on a rusted dirt road
i am built of where i've been
the mango groves
the east and west coast
and every camp-ground in canada
this map is my home
let me tuck you into the folds
and sing you to sleep
some place sweet
where the air smells of earth and rain
don't let the concrete tame you
the road under foot is not measured by the steps necessary to travel it
but the way one migrates over the breaking soil
resting between where we are and where we'll be
when our dreams run free
and the tent's set in the pines
barefoot
running shoes
doc martens
thumb to the sky
pack on my back
black top under bridgestones
let us fly
let us soar
s'go
i'll take you with me
like my sleeping bag
and skinning knife
and canteen
be the water that i drink
fuel the fires that propel this engine
drive me to the end of the road
where one can only go by foot
and feather
and foolishness
let's disappear in the fog of the north
the mud of the east
the heat of the south
the haze of the west
let's find ourselves in the topography of folded bodies
tangled up in a flesh scented tent
Jan 1, 2013
Jan 1, 2013 at 1:53 PM UTC
today, demeter is nothing but
a bewildered ghost in a haunted meadow,
skinning flowers as they weep:
they're neatly lined as in an execution,
the creek, a boneyard,
a lair of sorrows for her dazed *********
today, the sun desperately combs
through tree branches
for an abandoned nest of grief
but its hands just stray too far
and poke at a meadow's wound —
nails cutting through graying skin.
this is a poem written by a bystander.
this is a poem written by a witness.
this is a poem written by the victim.
the world blurs its lines today
and demeter is nothing
but a forgotten ghost
in a town painted new.
Oct 30, 2021
Oct 30, 2021 at 12:59 AM UTC
On the first day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the second day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the third day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the fourth day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the fifth day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the sixth day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the seventh day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, seven palms a-skinning, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the eighth day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, eight grenades a-killing, seven palms a-skinning, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the ninth day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, nine babies relapsing, eight grenades a-killing, seven palms a-skinning, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the tenth day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, ten lords a-peeping, nine babies relapsing, eight grenades a-killing, seven palms a-skinning, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the eleventh day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, eleven snipers sniping, ten lords a-peeping, nine babies relapsing, eight grenades a-killing, seven palms a-skinning, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
On the twelfth day of Christmas, the meat man gave to me, twelve brothers ******* eleven snipers sniping, ten lords a-peeping, nine babies relapsing, eight grenades a-killing, seven palms a-skinning, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 5:27 PM UTC
I remember her distinctly,
she wore green flannel & cargo shorts,
Che cap & a stuck sunflower,
her braids exploded from under it.
She was proud of her antler-handled side knife
& jump boots, traipsed around
like she was on the nature boardwalk,
I heard she stalked Sasquatch once.
That girl was
the consummate outdoors woman,
she knew all about trapping,
skinning & first aid,
could make water
spring from the ground.
Her grin was infectious,
a true aura of love hung
like dander around her,
her sensuality screamed
silently from her twinkling eyes,
the color of azure.
I was with her for one summer,
then I moved out of her sacred-valley.
Every time I look at the stars,
I remember her campfires
& the times we spent
at Moondipper
in each others arms
tasting marshmallows.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 3:44 PM UTC
In a hollow off the main road
sits a village that time forgot
Where things flow, a little slow
and peace of mind need not be bought
The main street beckons all to see
how life ebbed and flowed in the past
Where smiles abound, the happy sound
of a life not metered nor fast
There you'll find the town Silversmith
making jewelry in a forge
The coffeehouse, echos of Strauss
a trodden path out to the gorge
It is home to the Glen Helen
part of a thousand acre woods
Steering the helm, coin of the realm
are the fruits of the craftsman's goods
There by the Antioch College
we spent a good deal of our youth
Climbing the trees, skinning our knees
among beauty we knew as truth
You might just see children playing
Hide and Seek throughout the street
Where "all yee all yee in come free"
sings of a melody so sweet
So should you find that your bones ache
from the pains of life you endure
Take a stroll, over the knoll
to the little town with the cure
Tate
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
Grandpa melted two squirrels together using the fat from their bodies after skinning the skin from their bellies. They were dead before he began this project, of course. He's a taxidermist.
Grandpa is surely to blame for many a nightmare–
The jars of eyes and teeth collected from years of scraping corpses off the highway.
But as the Buddhists preach, I've found some blessings in his macabre pastime.
Most of my friends shy away from the undesirable aspects of life;
Death bringing up the forefront.
I feel that grandpa's melancholy menagerie has helped me
Cozy up to the idea that despite life's bountiful beauty,
A dark side coexists intertwined-
But darkness is not always
A bad thing...
Is it?
Oct 6, 2012
Oct 6, 2012 at 7:22 PM UTC
Under that pretty flawless skin,
Is a bruised layer aching in pain.
And under those heart-melting eyes,
Are the eyes of a lost puppy lying in the rain.
Under that bright and radiant step,
Is something deteriorating into less than a smile,
Under that happy and cheerful handshake,
Is someone who just refused to do that for a while.
It is not very well known that,
Every skinning of the teeth is not a laugh,
You never know; for you may be surprised,
That you may discover someone going down a completely different path.
Jul 22, 2016
Jul 22, 2016 at 11:05 PM UTC
Anne was in the bath
splashing soapy water
over her small *******
you were by the door
looking anxiously about
what if some one comes in?
you asked
the doors locked
she said
but we’re not meant
to lock the door
when we’re in the bath
you said
meant?
you’re all full
of laws and rules
Skinny Kid
laws and rules
are meant
to be broken
that’s what
gives us
our freedom
you looked
at her damp black hair
her *******
like two wet piglets
I shouldn’t be here
you said
you dragged me
in here
she threw
two handfuls of water
over her face
spitting out
what got in
her mouth
shut the moaning Kid
it’s not every
10 years old kid
who gets to watch
a woman bath
you’re 12
you said
well a 12 year old woman
bath then
she said
taking hold
of a sponge
and washing
under her arms
where dark patches
of hair grew
I ought to go
you suggested meekly
no I might need you
to help me
out of the bath later
I can’t stand
on one ******* leg
can I
she said
now get your
skinning backside
over here
you moved slowly
from the door
to the bath
and watched her reluctantly
wash between
her thighs
you can scrub my back
she said
I can’t reach behind
without rolling over
and almost
******* drowning
she handed you
the soapy sponge
and you rubbed
her back
with one hand
trying to look away
not notice
not to take it all in
lovely
she sighed
lovely Kid
and you scrubbed harder
and then handed her
back the sponge
and stood back
looking at the steamed up window
thin rivulets of water
running down
the frosted glass
now help me
get up and out
she said
and pass me a towel
you held her hand
as she heaved herself up
and she stood there
like a one legged Venus
and you gave her
the white towel
from the chair
and helped her out
on to the floor
making wet foot marks
as someone rattled
the handle
and called through
the bathroom the door.
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 2:59 AM UTC
'Twas the night before Christmas--Old Santa was ******
He cussed out the elves and threw down his list.
Miserable little brats, ungrateful little jerks.
I have a good mind to scrap the whole works!
I've busted my *** for **** near a year,
Instead of 'Thanks Santa'--what do I hear?
The old lady ******* cause I work late at night.
The elves want more money--The reindeer all fight.
Rudolph got drunk and goosed all the maids.
Donner is pregnant and ***** has AIDS.
And just when I thought that things would get better
Those ******** from the IRS sent me a letter,
They say I owe taxes--if that ain't **** funny
Who the hell ever sent Santa Claus any money?
And the kids these days--they all are the pits
They want the impossible--Those mean little *****
I spent a whole year making wagons and sleds
Assembling dolls...Their arms, legs and heads
I made a ton of yo yo's--No request for them,
They want computers and robots...they think - I'm IBM!
Flying through the air....dodging the trees
Falling down chimneys and skinning my knees
I'm quitting this job there's just no enjoyment
I'll sit on my fat *** and draw unemployment.
There's no Christmas this year now you know the reason,
I found me a blonde. I'm going SOUTH for the season
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 9:54 PM UTC
It hurt
when I fell
off my bike,
skinning my knees
against the asphalt.
I looked up in shock,
my mouth a perfect O.
It wasn't until I saw
the blood,
streaming down my shins,
that I began to wail.
Over the crest of the hill,
I saw my father,
running to me,
his face creased with worry.
Without hesitation,
he picked me up, held me
in his arms.
I clung to him, helpless
as I was, sobbing into his neck.
He assured me that it was fine
I was fine
He was there, and
Nothing would hurt me.
Later, once home, bandaged and clean,
he threw away his favorite,
now-bloodstained, sky blue shirt.
It hurts more now
when I fall off my bike.
When he's no longer there to help me
back up,
wipe away the blood,
and promise me that I'm safe.
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 4:34 PM UTC
A universal force leading you to the crossroads
To sell your soul and finally live within potential
Or pass it by, blinking lashes
blocking dust and truth
It takes three things and only those three
Everything else is fluff
You gotta be ugly - you gotta be blind
Can't see or fathom the linear substance
The concrete holding, your bricks in the wall
Either in a literal sense or on the inside
Prominent features surpassing character
hard to look at but don't you worry
You gotta be blind
so it's no concern to you.
Next you gotta depart with your core
Strip away hope,
a skinning between body and soul
No longer will it be yours but if you're lucky,
you may get to keep it through layaway
There's always a price though, hidden fees
Steep, unsubtle , a fat moon face hiding behind a child's mask
I wonder though, was it really ours, this soul, to begin with?
To sell?
Self entitlement lingers second thoughts
That's the biggie though. Ultimate collateral, this soul you carry.
Finally, I'll only touch the tip.
Driving, animal instincts seeking warm comfort
You gotta answer to a new title,
a southern anatomy most of of the species glorifies.
it dominates in a protruding and brute external hang
A tangent but have we considered this tender piece to be the answer to vulnerability
instead of historically jarred ********** of wit
and wealth?
That's all it takes, folks. At that fateful railing
Get used to hot, sticky and sweet breath
Always chasing, caressing the back of your neck.
The void in the center where you had it
The soul you had
before you sold it.
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 12:59 PM UTC
*
By skinning off the ant,
Came out an elephant
By digging the earth,
We lighted the sky
By walking on the path,
We started flying
Through the parched desert,
We saw mirage ocean emerged
Through the sun's brightness,
Our moon & stars sparkled
By staring at clear skies,
We invited rainy clouds
Drowning off our minds,
Floated us to enlightenment
Stopping the walk of thought,
Started our journey to FREEDOM
By forgetting our lives,
Connected us with LOVE
By skinning me,
Came out YOU
By Being YOU,
YOU became me
And...
In that way
Being in LOVE
We became "ONE"
*
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 12:02 AM UTC
Push into my concave
Ripple off your hollow skull
Never met a fond slave
Lookin through a swallow hull
File down for plaster
Skinning clean your mended bone
Bringin down the rafters
Furnace of a heavy home
Call a little blow away to rock yourself to sleep
Soil over forty fay and sow just what you reap
**** the seed of prosper
Four entangled righteous ****
More than you could foster
Still, you might be over hill
Sonny won't you crawl away to somewhen I've not found
Crankin down the bank shaft cause its rollin rollin round
Caught another big one in a dental floss noose
Sell em to the butcher maybe he can get some use
Oct 28, 2016
Oct 28, 2016 at 12:43 AM UTC
Leather
Soft Supple
Skinning Flaying Dipping
A luxury death
Skin
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 3:58 PM UTC
Harvested-
a basket
of ruby jewels!
Here I stand in the kitchen,
a chilled mother with warm thoughts,
easing tissue-thin skins
from slithers of moist flesh.
Birdsong.
Peaceful solitude.
Time unrolls its red carpet.
Considerably reduced,
I slip a few scarlet streaks
into a bone-white bowl.
A familiar voice calls me to the garden.
"Tea dear!"
but I hunger for something stronger.
A rush of love
flies like an arrow
to pierce silence
May 16, 2010
May 16, 2010 at 4:05 AM UTC
You are fading jeans again
Try ripping them to shreds by skinning your knees
Try to squeeze blood out of stone-wash
You just crumple and fall on me love
Tired and trapped in denim
Too many buckles and buttons and zippers
But in freedom you do nothing more than drape over the sofa
Love in compasses you, freshly laundered.
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 12:38 AM UTC
To claw and grasp at the nearest death
Am I so wrong to cling to my last breath
I've shed this skin a million times before
Soured by the repetition
Of skinning myself to fit in
Two hands joining
The others holding back
To swim in your ocean
Lost in the sea I'll thank you as waves
Take me under, crash over me
And I'll drown the sincerest goodbye
With an abysmal lullaby
For a chance you've said I'd be missed
I'll repeat the scars I've branded with honor
But wear them with diluted meanings
My intentions once seemed pure
Now they're promises I can't endure
Two hands joining
The others holding back
To swim in your ocean
Lost in the sea I'll thank you as waves
Take me under, crash over me
And I'll drown the sincerest goodbye
With an abysmal lullaby
How long the road has waited
To crumble beneath my feet
Wandering to the edge
For a last look at the sun setting
And then I felt the path give way
Two hands joining
The others holding back
To swim in your ocean
Lost in the sea I'll thank you as waves
Take me under, crash over me
And I'll drown the sincerest goodbye
With an abysmal lullaby
Two hands joined
The others held back
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 7:58 PM UTC
I killed some baby
Birds
In 1974, eleven, ten years after I was
One and Innocent and my chubby
Fingers probably looked like fat
Sausages to the birds
Tormenting me
Mama bird, frantic, chirping and
Flying in my blonde hair-space
Something worm-like crawled into my
Existence Heart Soul Stomach Nothing
Better than a poke in the eye
Unless you’ve wings that haven’t
Been fully tested
Chirp squawk squawk Chirp
Some kids too far away,
Yelling Hey what the heck’re you doing
You shut up and mind your own
Bees had no wax that day for me
Stick in the safe confines of the picnic
Non-shelter gutter enclosure straw nest
Aborting a beautiful winged thing months
Weeks
Frail little ungraceful bodies
Fell from a height unseen
Landing in ****** puddles
Mom-bird aiming her beak at my own
Eyes swollen and wet, seeing the
Damage I’d manage to inflict
With absolutely no reason as to
Why? On that horrible-
Day and confused, Why?
WHY Did I DO that?
Oh God I’m so sorry
I killed something only Your
Hands could have Present-ed
To our world
Behind me, birdsongs flew, invisible
Wings echoing
Down endless dark corridors
Of my mind
I ran the gait of cowards,
Crying, awkward, stumbling, falling,
Skinning the guilty knees of the man
Inside my conscious who’d taken
Temporary refuge in his wanderings
I cut between yards I promised I’d never cut
Again
Son what’s wrong why’re you crying
I sobbed the evil man out of me, his
Residue falling in salty tears
I did a bad thing, Mom
Tell me what happened. Get it out of you.
Some birds, baby birds, were chirping
Yes. Go on.
I took a stick.
I feel my Mom flinch as if struck with a
Sharp pointed wooden object
Oh no…
And I killed their song.
And their ability to fly.
Oh, my son…
And Mom simply held me, drawing out
The rest of the wild
Spontaneous impulses
That possessed me on that awful
Day I killed the baby birds
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 4:25 PM UTC
~~~
dislocation/punk'd
hey baby,
put one forward,
faking baby steps.
life is hard in different ways,
for so many of us, the days say,
each year of us, walks a unique maze,
hands on the wall, unavoidable tripping on
speed bumps that make one crazed
and that you even see
coming
but inevitable is the red,
swelling, bruises, cutting,
the side effects of what gets said,
the falling-downs of words that are
dislocating
things get said, and you get paid
in eerie and weary,
and the loss of balance,
as if you are just the warm water,
water that slips over the side,
not the body inside,
and when you slip up,
that wet, warm beat-up,
That empty feeling of being is
displacing
you know, well advanced,
that parts of you,
moving around inside,
sources of internal dizziness,
the curve ***** thrown in slow mo
that so mesmerize you
into watching but not swinging,
accepting that the arc,
provides burns skinning,
and you go down 'n out
striking
what ya gonna do?
dust off and upstanding accept,
that some pitches are just **** hard on us,
we the swingers, often miss the ball,
wide of the mark,
sometimes we just stand, mouth agape,
watching the ball coming right at us,
even foreseeing the incoming
paining
what hurts,
is not those rosy red ridge reminders,
the after party of being hit,
but that when getting punk'd,
chewed up, spit out,
you get used to it, and to survive,
to keep your wits,
you spend time convincing yourself,
that you don't even care,
but you find your thinking is all about
rhyming
so when poetry get complicated,
ya get back to where ya
once before where,
keeping it simple,
roses red, violets blue,
what ya gonna do,
but your sense of smell
shot to hell,
what the hell,
thinking just another wet plunking
thinking no big dealing
this one mo' punking,
there will be more
but wonder why
you can no longer make your
simple, confused words to be reduced
by right
rhyming
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 2:53 PM UTC