"snipping" poems - Hello Poetry

"snipping" poems

implosions are for starfish and our mission is clear. we have nowhere to be from and that's half the battle. we are seldom unbridled in the chastity of our carnal bluff... and our cages are breathing. we are finally designing our most daring Inertia. both mum on the details in the devil's flotsam. we jot some of the names of the nameless... on the outside of Dixie cups. like mint julep promise to a tangerine honest. again and again, we ache through the breeze of our soothing traumas. we court the verity of a sham. we blast through the congregation of our adversary, snipping varmints from a stale camp in the southernmost of our due south,; where they fear the bonfire until a vagrant maps the flaming tongues to a long kiss.... and we crash upon the shore of Never Asked. but regret This.

0

May 9, 2013

May 9, 2013 at 5:21 AM UTC

third-eye-candy

implosions are for starfish

implosions are for starfish and our mission is clear. we have nowhere to be from and that's half the battle. we are seldom unbridled in the chastity of our carnal bluff... and our cages are breathing. we are finally designing our most daring Inertia. both mum on the details in the devil's flotsam. we jot some of the names of the nameless... on the outside of Dixie cups. like mint julep promise to a tangerine honest. again and again, we ache through the breeze of our soothing traumas. we court the verity of a sham. we blast through the congregation of our adversary, snipping varmints from a stale camp in the southernmost of our due south,; where they fear the bonfire until a vagrant maps the flaming tongues to a long kiss.... and we crash upon the shore of Never Asked. but regret This.

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Daddy takes me to the greenhouse, behind our rotted trailer, deep in sovereign backwoods. Marsh voices, thick like tupelo honey. The coo of a loon, hiss of a cottonmouth, shiver of a snapping turtle. The silver of swamp lilies lip the land in wild haze, a veil of ochre moss tickles my nose like gauzey ginger ale and soil clings to my ankles like a lonesome hound. Daddy’s greenhouse is a shed, a haven. A milieu of magic and fleur-de-cannabis where pixies pull my curls and gnomes dance under mushroom parasols. My hands dip into a hollow of muddy earthworms. I feel akin to the yellow blood of a butterfly or pale jade of perplexing geckos. Daddy is a shaman. He trims holy blooms that come from spirits who sing in the wind like the whippoorwill at dusk. Snipping sticky bushels, he pads tufts into his pipe, carved in the shape of a sullen armadillo. I watch him inhale. His breath stiff as a braid of mangroves. He exhales a ligneous cough. I don’t mind, much.

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Jan 26, 2015

Jan 26, 2015 at 3:18 PM UTC

In the Swamp of '96

Daddy takes me to the greenhouse, behind our rotted trailer, deep in sovereign backwoods. Marsh voices, thick like tupelo honey. The coo of a loon, hiss of a cottonmouth, shiver of a snapping turtle. The silver of swamp lilies lip the land in wild haze, a veil of ochre moss tickles my nose like gauzey ginger ale and soil clings to my ankles like a lonesome hound. Daddy’s greenhouse is a shed, a haven. A milieu of magic and fleur-de-cannabis where pixies pull my curls and gnomes dance under mushroom parasols. My hands dip into a hollow of muddy earthworms. I feel akin to the yellow blood of a butterfly or pale jade of perplexing geckos. Daddy is a shaman. He trims holy blooms that come from spirits who sing in the wind like the whippoorwill at dusk. Snipping sticky bushels, he pads tufts into his pipe, carved in the shape of a sullen armadillo. I watch him inhale. His breath stiff as a braid of mangroves. He exhales a ligneous cough. I don’t mind, much.

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I have an urge to write words that make the soul cry Weep tears of enlightenment To summarize my life in a paragraph No more body criticism, snipping my spaghetti straps Running in a stumbled line away from confinement Forgetting the word comprise Reality takes a stand reminding me, who will be the mediocre house wife Instead of making a dramatic exit, I drink whiskey and the world has plenty

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May 18, 2016

May 18, 2016 at 10:08 PM UTC

I have accepted it

I have an urge to write words that make the soul cry Weep tears of enlightenment To summarize my life in a paragraph No more body criticism, snipping my spaghetti straps Running in a stumbled line away from confinement Forgetting the word comprise Reality takes a stand reminding me, who will be the mediocre house wife Instead of making a dramatic exit, I drink whiskey and the world has plenty

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Desires feeding our souls Gnawing and eating our flesh, until we're a vulnerable flush red Our pores exude the confident strife A conflict that should have never arrived To resurface our skin, bring back the childhood mind I still see the eight-year-old awkwardness, holding a staple makeshift poetry book and pen The young struggling mind, when dying was simple to find Daily I walk into the aroma of the sunlight Intricately snipping roses off their vines, soaking in their beauty as my fingers sting and bleed A decade incomplete She never stopped being a victim long enough to realize her heart was revitalized, made into an equal whole A rose petals thirst satisfied No insignificant being She was now a family

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Jun 6, 2016

Jun 6, 2016 at 5:13 PM UTC

The woman in the flower sundress

Desires feeding our souls Gnawing and eating our flesh, until we're a vulnerable flush red Our pores exude the confident strife A conflict that should have never arrived To resurface our skin, bring back the childhood mind I still see the eight-year-old awkwardness, holding a staple makeshift poetry book and pen The young struggling mind, when dying was simple to find Daily I walk into the aroma of the sunlight Intricately snipping roses off their vines, soaking in their beauty as my fingers sting and bleed A decade incomplete She never stopped being a victim long enough to realize her heart was revitalized, made into an equal whole A rose petals thirst satisfied No insignificant being She was now a family

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The clock disserts on punctuation, syntax. The clock's voice, thin and dry, asserts, repeats. The clock insists: a lecturer demonstrating, Loudly, with finger raised, when the class has gone. But time flows through the room, light flows through the room Like someone picking flowers, like someone whistling Without a tune, like talk in front of a fire, Like a woman knitting or a child snipping at paper.

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3.3k

A. S. J. Tessimond

The clock disserts on punctuation, syntax. The clock's voice, thin and dry, asserts, repeats. The clock insists: a lecturer demonstrating, Loudly, with finger raised, when the class has gone. But time flows through the room, light flows through the room Like someone picking flowers, like someone whistling Without a tune, like talk in front of a fire, Like a woman knitting or a child snipping at paper.

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I have a special interest in telling about my colonoscopy. The doc cheerful, secure in his specialty, colon cancer being the second leading cause of cancer death after lung tumors. They can snip the precancerous polyps right out of you during the test. At first the doc gave me the statistics but having paid 25 bucks for this interview I decided to make him explain the science. He was most comfortable describing the physical architecture of adenomatous v. hyperplastic polyps but what about cell structure I said. He was vague about genes and hormones, I could have been chatting with an Electrolux salesman. I wasn’t worried although my *** was burning. Everybody dies, everybody, even Whitman and Emerson, so I browse models for dying— mine are middlebrow, saddlebow—John Wayne in The Shootist, Paul Newman in Hombre—or hagiography Plath her head stuck in an oven, Hemingway who ate his shotgun. Anyway I was upbeat flirting with the nurse, a muse who has seen it all before, acting tough, which isn’t actually an act you do your prep and say your prayers. I thought I’d be in and out **** as you probably already know the prep for this procedure is worthy of Gandhi. A day of fasting, clear fluids only, and constant voiding. You arrive at the hospital one spiritual chicken. I reflected it can’t hurt, lose a little weight, remember who you are without so much **** and flesh between you and the natural world. Snipping polyps is like taking electrons to a lower quantum energy level, nearer the nucleus, with fasting and ****** abstinence. The art of total presence and abstinence, dependence on the Other for future existence.

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May 15, 2024

May 15, 2024 at 7:09 AM UTC

I have a special interest in telling about my colonoscopy. The doc cheerful, secure in his specialty, colon cancer being the second leading cause of cancer death after lung tumors. They can snip the precancerous polyps right out of you during the test. At first the doc gave me the statistics but having paid 25 bucks for this interview I decided to make him explain the science. He was most comfortable describing the physical architecture of adenomatous v. hyperplastic polyps but what about cell structure I said. He was vague about genes and hormones, I could have been chatting with an Electrolux salesman. I wasn’t worried although my *** was burning. Everybody dies, everybody, even Whitman and Emerson, so I browse models for dying— mine are middlebrow, saddlebow—John Wayne in The Shootist, Paul Newman in Hombre—or hagiography Plath her head stuck in an oven, Hemingway who ate his shotgun. Anyway I was upbeat flirting with the nurse, a muse who has seen it all before, acting tough, which isn’t actually an act you do your prep and say your prayers. I thought I’d be in and out **** as you probably already know the prep for this procedure is worthy of Gandhi. A day of fasting, clear fluids only, and constant voiding. You arrive at the hospital one spiritual chicken. I reflected it can’t hurt, lose a little weight, remember who you are without so much **** and flesh between you and the natural world. Snipping polyps is like taking electrons to a lower quantum energy level, nearer the nucleus, with fasting and ****** abstinence. The art of total presence and abstinence, dependence on the Other for future existence.

Continue reading...

The light bulbs burst when you walked in, And the sparks ignited my skin. The fire was still burning long after you were gone, Until I was charred to the bone. I recall how you clawed at the meat, Right above where my heart beat. Your red eyes glowed in glee, Until I could no longer see, Blinded by the one thing That I thought only you could bring. Then I heard the snipping, As you cut the strings And began humming to my screams. A harmony of two extremes. When the flood lights shone through, There was no more you; Only a permanent deformity And ripped arteries.

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Apr 8, 2015

Apr 8, 2015 at 3:23 AM UTC

The light bulbs burst when you walked in, And the sparks ignited my skin. The fire was still burning long after you were gone, Until I was charred to the bone. I recall how you clawed at the meat, Right above where my heart beat. Your red eyes glowed in glee, Until I could no longer see, Blinded by the one thing That I thought only you could bring. Then I heard the snipping, As you cut the strings And began humming to my screams. A harmony of two extremes. When the flood lights shone through, There was no more you; Only a permanent deformity And ripped arteries.

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The crimson flame Of firecrackers Snipping and snapping Biting at your skin Tempting terror’s sweat To pour sweetly With an adrenaline rush Running recklessly Till the asthma Catches up Till you can’t Catch your breath Killer Cramps Cramping your style Slight cuts That glide across the skin Thin lines of bleeding It was better than seeing That failed form in the mirror That chemo skeleton Dying hurt worse Living to die or dying to live What a terminal Pain ******

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Jan 29, 2015

Jan 29, 2015 at 12:11 PM UTC

Terminal Pain ******

The crimson flame Of firecrackers Snipping and snapping Biting at your skin Tempting terror’s sweat To pour sweetly With an adrenaline rush Running recklessly Till the asthma Catches up Till you can’t Catch your breath Killer Cramps Cramping your style Slight cuts That glide across the skin Thin lines of bleeding It was better than seeing That failed form in the mirror That chemo skeleton Dying hurt worse Living to die or dying to live What a terminal Pain ******

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Outside this window the air bites the faces of pedestrians in the streets below. Despite the argument between the bitter cold and the approaching nightfall the people seem happy to ignore the tussle that has begun to shake the leaves from the trees. The glass panes sweat with nervous hot flashes. The brightly lit coffee shop is a sanctuary amidst the concrete tundra. People scurry to the red hue that melodically flickers like a rising fire. Warm mochas and foaming milk calm the chills and frighten the geese from our skin. While the sauna in their bellies heat their core; for a short time the grey skies are forgotten. The substance numbs the cold. But if the awareness of this chilly solstice is put aside completely and preparation for the snipping wind is side stepped, then where would we be? Happy to ignore our surroundings, Content with freezing.

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Dec 2, 2013

Dec 2, 2013 at 1:12 AM UTC

sonya-rae-schement

Content With Freezing

Outside this window the air bites the faces of pedestrians in the streets below. Despite the argument between the bitter cold and the approaching nightfall the people seem happy to ignore the tussle that has begun to shake the leaves from the trees. The glass panes sweat with nervous hot flashes. The brightly lit coffee shop is a sanctuary amidst the concrete tundra. People scurry to the red hue that melodically flickers like a rising fire. Warm mochas and foaming milk calm the chills and frighten the geese from our skin. While the sauna in their bellies heat their core; for a short time the grey skies are forgotten. The substance numbs the cold. But if the awareness of this chilly solstice is put aside completely and preparation for the snipping wind is side stepped, then where would we be? Happy to ignore our surroundings, Content with freezing.

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sharp and deadly strong and steely its grip as firm as iron catastrophic cutters bloodthirsty biters menacing, threatening, never building up always tearing d o w n jaws relentlessly endlessly mercilessly slicing snipping shearing victims, two from one beware before it’s too l

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Oct 16, 2012

Oct 16, 2012 at 12:13 PM UTC

scissors [revised]

sharp and deadly strong and steely its grip as firm as iron catastrophic cutters bloodthirsty biters menacing, threatening, never building up always tearing d o w n jaws relentlessly endlessly mercilessly slicing snipping shearing victims, two from one beware before it’s too l

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Love as a bird flying free  dying daily to un-cage  attachment. Snipping  cords binding unwinding  expectations only hold  a box of memories, only  those moments to  sleep more on satin  sheets in cotton thread.  Im not sure if he loves me  or if I read, a reflection  in the mind of me love  as the bird flying free.  Come what may as  it leaves the warmth  of winter awakening  spring. Till summer  speaks from my window to the bird thats flying  free. Detaching the cords  uncage my soul, his soul  our soul. Upload to cloud  in memories. Moments.  Quilted in the silken sky.  Love as a bird flying free

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Oct 5, 2013

Oct 5, 2013 at 2:13 AM UTC

Love as a bird flying free  dying daily to un-cage  attachment. Snipping  cords binding unwinding  expectations only hold  a box of memories, only  those moments to  sleep more on satin  sheets in cotton thread.  Im not sure if he loves me  or if I read, a reflection  in the mind of me love  as the bird flying free.  Come what may as  it leaves the warmth  of winter awakening  spring. Till summer  speaks from my window to the bird thats flying  free. Detaching the cords  uncage my soul, his soul  our soul. Upload to cloud  in memories. Moments.  Quilted in the silken sky.  Love as a bird flying free

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We all derive from the same paper that which is forcefully folded, patiently pressed and carefully creased. We all speak through the same pen that wishes for stencils, grimacing at unpracticed, crooked lines. We all take action with the same scissors, cutting away from the whole to create paper people holding hands. We all are constructed in the same accordion, snipping away the background that falls like snowflakes to create identity. We all fear severing the same sections that conjoin one being to another, waiting with knives in our hands, anticipating to cut. We all fall from the separation, slicing the connections that bind us, sacrificing our grip that suspends us in safety. We all meet at the bottom of the same paper shredder, lost in the screams of its blades, obsessing ourselves to be broken pieces of an individual, but forgetting that we paper people once all derived from the same paper.

0

Apr 7, 2016

Apr 7, 2016 at 12:38 AM UTC

We all derive from the same paper that which is forcefully folded, patiently pressed and carefully creased. We all speak through the same pen that wishes for stencils, grimacing at unpracticed, crooked lines. We all take action with the same scissors, cutting away from the whole to create paper people holding hands. We all are constructed in the same accordion, snipping away the background that falls like snowflakes to create identity. We all fear severing the same sections that conjoin one being to another, waiting with knives in our hands, anticipating to cut. We all fall from the separation, slicing the connections that bind us, sacrificing our grip that suspends us in safety. We all meet at the bottom of the same paper shredder, lost in the screams of its blades, obsessing ourselves to be broken pieces of an individual, but forgetting that we paper people once all derived from the same paper.

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bewilderment, many more women than men, and still so few a man committing polygamy, it's almost like the mirroring of so many men committing suicide; the loss of the practice of polygamy leaves so many men committing suicide prematurely, leaving so many women alive to give the abnormal ratio without an actual diseased cause of death of men, hence the statistics. just when you start enjoying it, you stop, there are so many going to restaurants, but you're just a turkey readied for stuffing, you gorge on it like traffic in Hinduism with the holy cow that's a pedestrian in England... chomp and chop the food like a toilet blockage, you eat it without a palette, no cheese and crackers after, no candlelight, no wine, it's a strange looking necessity, esp. once digested; it's as necessary as death for your engagement: you have to eat, you have to die... i eat to add to the insomnia cure because i should but can't pay alimony payments because an engagement is not lawfully enforced... chemists are natural bachelors, i told you, but you wouldn't understand... you were the ******* of youth, the girl aged thirteen prone to suicide and still the many numbers of men committing to the act of suicide... the law is in your favour, since you're the incubator of it, the womb, any rich **** can provide the Semitic root of it all, cutting the excess skin of genitalia of one *** whether ******** or ******** you think you won't get anti-ontological behaviour? if what was intended was intended and you play and revise the **** thing, do you think the answering reason will not look ridiculous enough to not attract ridicule like a cow and flies, ready to spawn maggots in the wet eye sockets? you must be joking then! monotheism was born in the halo of revising mankind, abraham's snipping isaac's "excess" skin... it took place there... but revising a second time with female circumcision... well, revising humanity like that gave us all the possible abominations accessible... how can you teach the origin of man with that ugly aesthetic of being furry and a blunted snout of the gorilla and not wonder why revising man to an over-eager representation of engaging in *** not combine into a holocaust... you steal the sheath of the sword from the sword, you'll find it constantly warring, because that's what circumcision did, it stole the sheath of the sword... and no, this isn't crude imagery, ******

0

Mar 29, 2016

Mar 29, 2016 at 8:28 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

bewilderment, many more women than men, and still so few a man committing polygamy, it's almost like the mirroring of so many men committing suicide; the loss of the practice of polygamy leaves so many men committing suicide prematurely, leaving so many women alive to give the abnormal ratio without an actual diseased cause of death of men, hence the statistics. just when you start enjoying it, you stop, there are so many going to restaurants, but you're just a turkey readied for stuffing, you gorge on it like traffic in Hinduism with the holy cow that's a pedestrian in England... chomp and chop the food like a toilet blockage, you eat it without a palette, no cheese and crackers after, no candlelight, no wine, it's a strange looking necessity, esp. once digested; it's as necessary as death for your engagement: you have to eat, you have to die... i eat to add to the insomnia cure because i should but can't pay alimony payments because an engagement is not lawfully enforced... chemists are natural bachelors, i told you, but you wouldn't understand... you were the ******* of youth, the girl aged thirteen prone to suicide and still the many numbers of men committing to the act of suicide... the law is in your favour, since you're the incubator of it, the womb, any rich **** can provide the Semitic root of it all, cutting the excess skin of genitalia of one *** whether ******** or ******** you think you won't get anti-ontological behaviour? if what was intended was intended and you play and revise the **** thing, do you think the answering reason will not look ridiculous enough to not attract ridicule like a cow and flies, ready to spawn maggots in the wet eye sockets? you must be joking then! monotheism was born in the halo of revising mankind, abraham's snipping isaac's "excess" skin... it took place there... but revising a second time with female circumcision... well, revising humanity like that gave us all the possible abominations accessible... how can you teach the origin of man with that ugly aesthetic of being furry and a blunted snout of the gorilla and not wonder why revising man to an over-eager representation of engaging in *** not combine into a holocaust... you steal the sheath of the sword from the sword, you'll find it constantly warring, because that's what circumcision did, it stole the sheath of the sword... and no, this isn't crude imagery, ******

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I left the road to see the center in your eyes They reflect the past and every part of me This tangled a twist spinning towards the sky Just enough to touch the heavens and it was radiant Brilliantly Radiant. I saw the look you gave when your soul got trapped between your ribs, Feigning rhythms and heartbeats set the tone Bitter cold snipping at my spine and digging out my breath And I never want to let go. This may have been an awkward dance fitting to the tune Skipping the steps to the future that lies ahead but the past is just a place In this moment we were still. Brilliantly Still. Calm nights seize into silent mornings where the birds wake to the sight of the sun And we wake to the sound of their song They have no need to worry, only the breath in their beak that forms into music The leaves flow to the wind and the train passes with soothing horns "Shhh..... Listen." I'll pluck the chords and change the melody so that the horns never stop Your ears, pinned to the window letting them slowly drift you to sleep Playing back all the subtle notes that fall from the engine to the tracks tumbling with consequence And I prefer to the solemn pacing of forever but I don't believe in time and in this moment we are infinite. Brilliantly Infinite.

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Jun 18, 2013

Jun 18, 2013 at 3:45 AM UTC

austin-thomas-wood

Time is an Illusion

I left the road to see the center in your eyes They reflect the past and every part of me This tangled a twist spinning towards the sky Just enough to touch the heavens and it was radiant Brilliantly Radiant. I saw the look you gave when your soul got trapped between your ribs, Feigning rhythms and heartbeats set the tone Bitter cold snipping at my spine and digging out my breath And I never want to let go. This may have been an awkward dance fitting to the tune Skipping the steps to the future that lies ahead but the past is just a place In this moment we were still. Brilliantly Still. Calm nights seize into silent mornings where the birds wake to the sight of the sun And we wake to the sound of their song They have no need to worry, only the breath in their beak that forms into music The leaves flow to the wind and the train passes with soothing horns "Shhh..... Listen." I'll pluck the chords and change the melody so that the horns never stop Your ears, pinned to the window letting them slowly drift you to sleep Playing back all the subtle notes that fall from the engine to the tracks tumbling with consequence And I prefer to the solemn pacing of forever but I don't believe in time and in this moment we are infinite. Brilliantly Infinite.

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Mumble Rappers be on something like: "gotta bad b...she ain't be walking righ°..." Double-dipping, No-stopping Frames-dropping, No-clipping, wutta glitchy sight .. I've been sitting super stealthy cypher. I've been running with my do-or-die fir. [Careful] I would die for what What you would eye for Cloudy with the red eye Insight, eyesore I swore, pops, that I'd be different Spec ops man, Mine's been misting Foggy froggy frothing when I spit distance 3eyes shifting 2Split da difference Any1 asking Meh: How have I been getting....? Guru Minds have been sitting squarely as a cube in cypher Make mah breathes for human CubanS matter as I decypher : Life is living truth or daring to choose to live or die for ... Ai just a silly Scyth0r snipping sidebar sowings stow no baggage. That's what I'd be towing. Rats staining, stinging pocked and potent. Out of the Cabbage patch that I've been growing 01011011 01111101 01111011 00101110 00101110 00101110 00101110 01010000 01110010 01100001 01100011 01110100 01101001 01100011 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01110011 00101100 00001010 00100000 01101001 01110100 00100000 01110111 01100001 01110011 00100000 01110110 01100101 01110010 00100000 01100010 01101111 00100000 01100100 01100101 01101110 00101110 00101110 00101110 01111101 01111011 01011101 Sorry to be blunt, man .... it's a sour twist, Undid the trap mode went too lavish >> the-Gentle-Ghost-o'-ghetto hopes at most to let go, Building out hell bricks Pave- too -close -to -level<< it's all in the mental, in the same lane stack Shake a Lil when treble trains track, Shake, shake when the train track, shake shake, shake when it trains shake when the trains track. I swear, it's not a bad tick. Just bring the brains back. It's not a bad tick. Just get the brains back it's not a bad tick. The brains back~ just bring the brains back bring the brains back Bear with me. >>Music turned up. Are the windows cracked?<< ..............Who should have brought the show...vel? And the WAXWHALESTACK.....................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

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Dec 9, 2023

Dec 9, 2023 at 12:28 PM UTC

Silly Scyther Snippin

Mumble Rappers be on something like: "gotta bad b...she ain't be walking righ°..." Double-dipping, No-stopping Frames-dropping, No-clipping, wutta glitchy sight .. I've been sitting super stealthy cypher. I've been running with my do-or-die fir. [Careful] I would die for what What you would eye for Cloudy with the red eye Insight, eyesore I swore, pops, that I'd be different Spec ops man, Mine's been misting Foggy froggy frothing when I spit distance 3eyes shifting 2Split da difference Any1 asking Meh: How have I been getting....? Guru Minds have been sitting squarely as a cube in cypher Make mah breathes for human CubanS matter as I decypher : Life is living truth or daring to choose to live or die for ... Ai just a silly Scyth0r snipping sidebar sowings stow no baggage. That's what I'd be towing. Rats staining, stinging pocked and potent. Out of the Cabbage patch that I've been growing 01011011 01111101 01111011 00101110 00101110 00101110 00101110 01010000 01110010 01100001 01100011 01110100 01101001 01100011 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01110011 00101100 00001010 00100000 01101001 01110100 00100000 01110111 01100001 01110011 00100000 01110110 01100101 01110010 00100000 01100010 01101111 00100000 01100100 01100101 01101110 00101110 00101110 00101110 01111101 01111011 01011101 Sorry to be blunt, man .... it's a sour twist, Undid the trap mode went too lavish >> the-Gentle-Ghost-o'-ghetto hopes at most to let go, Building out hell bricks Pave- too -close -to -level<< it's all in the mental, in the same lane stack Shake a Lil when treble trains track, Shake, shake when the train track, shake shake, shake when it trains shake when the trains track. I swear, it's not a bad tick. Just bring the brains back. It's not a bad tick. Just get the brains back it's not a bad tick. The brains back~ just bring the brains back bring the brains back Bear with me. >>Music turned up. Are the windows cracked?<< ..............Who should have brought the show...vel? And the WAXWHALESTACK.....................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

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shifty-eyed sundays/summer smiles. green backyards child-full, meat eaters meat-eating, bellies & throats conversation/food-filled. young families flocking fawn-eyed to communion barbeques, sweaty raspings/of feeding minds; living-room, reading-room, lessons & phonics shortwinded swindlings at tables of breakfast (equal portions) ---sub-divided. categories..elements systems of classifying, lessons limping/near succeeding. trekking inglorious [tired] track laps---round laps of track, tried feet feet-walking sleep-talking waking, taking rests. @ intervals, (splashes of time) clock/clock-time. sleep, repose, health profits; restless prophets. word-of-mouth. strange tongues, th'creaking of breaths, classical forebodings---brow beating, war breeding. wrist flickings/blurred strokes markings/carvings---letters/numb3rs, communicating---language speaking. (overhearing.) positive consensus > press play. un-buttoning buttons soirée is overfinished, overture. shirts come up/over/off--- bath's running---taps run-running, clippings clipped from papers, ---snip-snipping. crashing/slicing blades of scissors, point-on-point. television evening sign-off/lights off. interestingopenwindowenergy, an elegy.. under_scored.

0

Oct 27, 2011

Oct 27, 2011 at 9:20 PM UTC

shifty-eyed sundays/summer smiles. green backyards child-full, meat eaters meat-eating, bellies & throats conversation/food-filled. young families flocking fawn-eyed to communion barbeques, sweaty raspings/of feeding minds; living-room, reading-room, lessons & phonics shortwinded swindlings at tables of breakfast (equal portions) ---sub-divided. categories..elements systems of classifying, lessons limping/near succeeding. trekking inglorious [tired] track laps---round laps of track, tried feet feet-walking sleep-talking waking, taking rests. @ intervals, (splashes of time) clock/clock-time. sleep, repose, health profits; restless prophets. word-of-mouth. strange tongues, th'creaking of breaths, classical forebodings---brow beating, war breeding. wrist flickings/blurred strokes markings/carvings---letters/numb3rs, communicating---language speaking. (overhearing.) positive consensus > press play. un-buttoning buttons soirée is overfinished, overture. shirts come up/over/off--- bath's running---taps run-running, clippings clipped from papers, ---snip-snipping. crashing/slicing blades of scissors, point-on-point. television evening sign-off/lights off. interestingopenwindowenergy, an elegy.. under_scored.

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Blinding flash Eardrums burst Blood, so much blood Is it mine? My eyes! MEDIC!! Snipping ripping Scissors and hands tear away at my clothes Water or something splashes Burning everywhere The smell... **** and fire and burned meat Is this what death smells like? MOM!!! Floating No carried On a litter Now flying UH-60 **** Something jabbed... Floating Floating Far away Voices Beeping Crying Screaming Begging Mom? Closer Voices Beeping Wheels rolling Machine sounds Words Mom... Here, Now Bright lights Searing pain Masked faces Muffled voices IV bags Machine sounds Mom Questions No answers Where's my leg?

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Sep 4, 2021

Sep 4, 2021 at 12:04 PM UTC

Blinding flash Eardrums burst Blood, so much blood Is it mine? My eyes! MEDIC!! Snipping ripping Scissors and hands tear away at my clothes Water or something splashes Burning everywhere The smell... **** and fire and burned meat Is this what death smells like? MOM!!! Floating No carried On a litter Now flying UH-60 **** Something jabbed... Floating Floating Far away Voices Beeping Crying Screaming Begging Mom? Closer Voices Beeping Wheels rolling Machine sounds Words Mom... Here, Now Bright lights Searing pain Masked faces Muffled voices IV bags Machine sounds Mom Questions No answers Where's my leg?

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It's a turbulent life you have lived Past is snipping at your heels As you run past the pain Remembering all the deceit Call me when its time To come home and hold you Take my hand And let me guide you Call me when you know How to care for yourself Ease my mind Take care of yourself Call me when your memories Are no longer a maelstrom Of confusion and lights But a kaleidoscope Call Me, Call Me Call Me when you remember What you want from life When you figure out 'Who am I?' © Sofia Villagrana 2021

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Dec 26, 2021

Dec 26, 2021 at 11:06 PM UTC

It's a turbulent life you have lived Past is snipping at your heels As you run past the pain Remembering all the deceit Call me when its time To come home and hold you Take my hand And let me guide you Call me when you know How to care for yourself Ease my mind Take care of yourself Call me when your memories Are no longer a maelstrom Of confusion and lights But a kaleidoscope Call Me, Call Me Call Me when you remember What you want from life When you figure out 'Who am I?' © Sofia Villagrana 2021

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Love as a bird flying free  dying daily to un-cage  attachment. Snipping  cords binding unwinding  expectations only hold  a box of memories, only  those moments to sleep more on satin  sheets in cotton thread.  Im not sure if he loves me  or if I read, a reflection  in the mind of me love  as the bird flying free.  Come what may as  it leaves the warmth  of winter awakening  spring. Till summer  speaks from my window  to the bird thats flying  free. Detaching the cords  uncage my soul, his soul , our soul. Upload to cloud  in memories. Moments.  Quilted in the silken sky.  Love as a bird flying free.

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Oct 8, 2013

Oct 8, 2013 at 10:09 PM UTC

Love as a bird flying free  dying daily to un-cage  attachment. Snipping  cords binding unwinding  expectations only hold  a box of memories, only  those moments to sleep more on satin  sheets in cotton thread.  Im not sure if he loves me  or if I read, a reflection  in the mind of me love  as the bird flying free.  Come what may as  it leaves the warmth  of winter awakening  spring. Till summer  speaks from my window  to the bird thats flying  free. Detaching the cords  uncage my soul, his soul , our soul. Upload to cloud  in memories. Moments.  Quilted in the silken sky.  Love as a bird flying free.

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Hey , he's the old man with a pair of mental scissors Snipping away at the picture perfect reality he perceives as the truth Hey , she's the old lady hard of hearing who clings to the unreality that all is as it should be Hey , they are the reasons given for all the good intentions that do more harm than good Hey , hey , . . . . hey , It is you reading these words in all your disguises that are trimming the truth to make it fit inside the lies Hey , It is me lastly , snip , snip , snip . . . snip .

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Jun 26, 2016

Jun 26, 2016 at 8:50 PM UTC

South-by-Southwest

Cutting and Measuring up the memories

Hey , he's the old man with a pair of mental scissors Snipping away at the picture perfect reality he perceives as the truth Hey , she's the old lady hard of hearing who clings to the unreality that all is as it should be Hey , they are the reasons given for all the good intentions that do more harm than good Hey , hey , . . . . hey , It is you reading these words in all your disguises that are trimming the truth to make it fit inside the lies Hey , It is me lastly , snip , snip , snip . . . snip .

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don't think about the way he held you when he saw you cry for the first time. don't think about his smile when you turned around and caught him looking at you. don't remember the sound of his voice whispering your name to see if you were still awake at 2:48 in the morning. don't recall how perfect and warm his hands felt on your body and how gentle he was with you. don't. remember him shooting down your ideas and making a mockery of your opinion. remember how he called you pathetic in front of his friends and laughed as you tried to shake it off. think about how he told you that he was glad that you two could joke about anything with each other, after he called you a ***** realize the distance he created in the final weeks in the countdown to snipping the thread that delicately bound your heart to his. remember him telling you that he never loved you. remember him treating you like a child, remember him calling you beautiful only when you laid on your back on his rough flannel blanket, staring at the ceiling until he decided he was satisfied. remember waiting for him to text you and call you and talk to you, remember him ignoring you and making you feel worthless. don't remember how his eyes sparkled when the sunlight hit them in the right spot. don't remember him pulling you close for a kiss. (i was only in love with the idea of you)

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Oct 7, 2013

Oct 7, 2013 at 10:13 PM UTC

i was never in love with you

don't think about the way he held you when he saw you cry for the first time. don't think about his smile when you turned around and caught him looking at you. don't remember the sound of his voice whispering your name to see if you were still awake at 2:48 in the morning. don't recall how perfect and warm his hands felt on your body and how gentle he was with you. don't. remember him shooting down your ideas and making a mockery of your opinion. remember how he called you pathetic in front of his friends and laughed as you tried to shake it off. think about how he told you that he was glad that you two could joke about anything with each other, after he called you a ***** realize the distance he created in the final weeks in the countdown to snipping the thread that delicately bound your heart to his. remember him telling you that he never loved you. remember him treating you like a child, remember him calling you beautiful only when you laid on your back on his rough flannel blanket, staring at the ceiling until he decided he was satisfied. remember waiting for him to text you and call you and talk to you, remember him ignoring you and making you feel worthless. don't remember how his eyes sparkled when the sunlight hit them in the right spot. don't remember him pulling you close for a kiss. (i was only in love with the idea of you)

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A short fuse Fused together Together forever Forever sniping Sniping, snipping Snipping an already short fuse.

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Apr 7, 2014

Apr 7, 2014 at 6:24 PM UTC

Camellia-japonica

A short fuse Fused together Together forever Forever sniping Sniping, snipping Snipping an already short fuse.

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