"subcutaneous" poems
Baby boy!
Pretty little thing,
your flesh
is So divine!
Oh yeah,
that's right;
I like to watch it -
i like to watch your flesh:
subcutaneous fat
padding tender hips
Shifting on a creaky framework of bones.
So beautiful,
so divine,
so delicious -
I will have you for my own, Straight Boy,
I will eat you,
piece
by
Piece.
First,
your liver,
then,
your Brain,
and finally,
I will devour your confused little heart;
I will bite through the muscle;
and you will watch on
as Blood that pumped
through a brain that pushed away thoughts of hesitant homoeroticism,
and a ***** that rose
For me - INCUBUS!!! -
dribbles down my chin...
lifeless!
Aug 10, 2022
Aug 10, 2022 at 10:21 PM UTC
The other day, as my tears weren't drying,
I wrote 'stop hating yourself'
in hope, on my left arm.
I carried it round with me the next day,
hidden under clothing and smiles
praying the words would sink in.
That black ink would slide under
Subcutaneous layers; deep within marrow
Sparkling kindle within.
A week later there was no trace to be found
of those words or that false hope.
Those permanent marker promises
which I can't say I broke,
because I never made them in the first place.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 6:35 AM UTC
My words are cutting themselves again;
razoring their loosely-sutured syllables,
deep as white-eyed bone.
The suave dipththongs butchered
to the cadence of bloodletting
in hemorrhagic oppositions.
Stapled-closed sentences, smeared with Iodine,
and subcutaneous sentence diagramming
for the retractable scalpel
swiveling along the edge,
of the well serrated cliche.
Once I pressed my wordy flesh
against the wrong side
of a paring knife, while paying no attention
and suddenly,
and without warning
it gave, like an over ripe peach
to the cleaver-
and after that, I was hooked.
Oct 31, 2011
Oct 31, 2011 at 11:05 PM UTC
A subcutaneous doubt musters and you itch
The shore line depression is here without hitch
A sea of harps instigating an emotive atrophy
You discharge and you dive with certain alacrity
There is a boat afloat out in the briny of spite
Oar-less and holey amid the bark and the fight
You plunge and you quaff as you leave quiet behind
A clamber and a climb and inside you will find
Ruckus and roar as you rock with each crash
Thunder and hail as the waves tempestuously lash
Gladden with the grim elation preserves you
Mirthful and drugged whilst the wet pours through
To the most aphotic of waters that drags you deep
The boat now just wood unto rocks in a heap
Too eager to leap and now too weak to swim
A stoical sink under madness to dim
The seashore despair was a lie to itself
The still and the shielded brimming with wealth
Never attempt to weather a storm
Of a storm as endless as that of that storm
A wish that you stayed a want that you listened
You’d still be where her green eyes glistened
Where love and the good is now once tendered
Most is best left as how it’s remembered.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 9:02 PM UTC
you chew on coffee beans to cleanse your mouth of this
one long silence
it is open like a wound
it festers
when your breath condenses in the cold air you feel its presence
with icy hands it holds yours
it is patient
it is strict
chewing gum is not sufficient; it is sweet, it makes you wonder
about sugar crystals
they grow like bones
they are brittle
but the taste of blood, of coffee, of chocolate with no milk is good
you can remember without remorse
you can sit and think about dreams
without letting them in
and all your pain can stay subcutaneous
as long as you don’t speak
Apr 29, 2012
Apr 29, 2012 at 10:50 PM UTC
balance is beholden to little,
just as the stars do not compel.
i roused with asphyxiation,
down suffocation, fever.
reverie so irreverent,
(removal proves impossible).
subcutaneous deposits of venom
perspiration is the poultice.
(but the brain was never meant
to drown in the skull)
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 1:24 PM UTC
purveyors of manufactured
kitsch
reminiscent of
plaster wall pool hall pastime bulls
eye
plastered
America’s
got stars
stripes
corncob pipes in
straight
lines and circles within circles
within
I’s
Jasper laid himself down on the plains of canvas in
perpetual concentrics
perpetuating eccentric eclectic economics of
subcutaneous pricetag politics.
bull’s
eyes on the prize of a new American dream
a dream deferred and defined
in straight and curved
lines.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 9:41 PM UTC
Slogging through endless Whitman prose and I have to make little marks
on the pages every 8 to 14 lines as my mind will not quit the wandering roam.
Blanket paragraphs blend into infinite droll, never ending whine-fest of bull
jazz…jazz singers fill the empty spaces between
the lines of drivel.
The dog barks on the veranda looking old and sad in the wind,
The water trickles through a series of rusted and holey pipes… peeling
asbestos laden lead paint tricks the mouths of children… a sick cat heaves near the Chesterfield.
Finding myself no longer interested in freelance fodder, I real from one daydream to the next
without enough pause to subconsciously journal… a subcutaneous oak shard
gives a slight reddish bump to my well defined forearm,
slight pressure sends nearly transparent ****
screaming from its melanin tomb.
The sliver remains diligent.
The sliver holds its ground,
The sliver has a new home,
The sliver wants to die here,
and never again travel the long lonesome forest road,
The sliver shines silver in the sunlight,
I shiver at the sight.
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 5:16 PM UTC
Is it elegance or ignorance? Subcutaneous subterfuge. Blanketed and varying slightly, insolvent and limited. Bourne amidst a social caste of wealth or not for you.
The reigning victors make the rules. Life is a habit, not a reflex. To learn I must clear my mind of unnecessary clutter and make order within the hoard.
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 9:33 AM UTC
A mass pushing into me like a great lorry
The leather jacket, the smell of the dead
The skin so shiny like a glass filled with milk,
White and whole and fattening, filling you up
But not full yet, one final blow to come
And the covering of the legs like netting,
Rips apart, an opening to another world,
Begging me, asking for it, shaking with knowing
Had you not picked the fruit from that tree,
Tasting its seeking, desperate sweetness
Perhaps i would not feel your weight as I did
And you would fall down like an infantile bundle of feathers
The epidermis, the subcutaneous layer, the blood
Moving quickly then slowly then quickly
Are you still there? I shouldn’t care
A button falls from your breast, a trickle down your cheek
The eyes, the eyes! They follow me, the train,
Moves slower as it pulls into the station
And makes one final sound, a signal,
I’d rip their eyes out and let them bounce onto the tracks like marbles
So many stains of blood and war and toil
Lie across the carriages and out onto the moors,
I wouldn’t worry,
I’ll make it clean with disinfectant and run smooth again with oil
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 1:53 PM UTC
Drag my feet across the space of time. Down the rungs of laddered rooms. So many doors. Most are locked now. Soles pricked by evergreen. Every remembrance, a splinter. Subcutaneous, then deeper. Hypodermic nostalgia. Pin-cushioned and pine-needled. I could pull them out. But relief is not found in extinguishing bushfires. This wooden heart needs to burn free. Poplar, ash, maple…there is a forest within me. Limbs upon limbs draping and dripping and gracing skin that falls away when the weight is too much. And the lightness never seems to last beyond three months. Appendages on oaken tombs. Endless hallways. Sealed doorframes. This winter is eternal, and my timber…a pyre. Lips pressed to polaroid.
I’ve become a jungle of eulogy.
A thicket on fire.
Oct 30, 2022
Oct 30, 2022 at 12:18 PM UTC
There's something swimming down there.
Unseen, subcutaneous under layer and layer.
Malice in that silence,
venom in that stare.
laying in wait, to strike, break,split tear.
Peace as a siloullusion of the swelling act.
Waiting on reality's organic nascent,
unresolved affair.
Whatever it is that swims waiting for a chance,
in your terror askance.
Will soon break on out, too real for fiction:
to swallow you whole in it's gruesome glory.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 5:49 PM UTC
blue at times on the cusp of something deep and profound
or careless on the brink of a laugh at me
or subcutaneous itching all over for something new
now I am in between caught right there where I doubt
the next meaning and **** itch
is quite annoying
as are the little thoughts sprung forth from inside to
fleetingly go away as fast
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 6:30 PM UTC
i grew up in an evangelical home in the burbs. i now like to think of this brand of belief in christian doctrine as the sorta "star but humble upstart" ---- a shy new jesus on the block. not very showy with ritual. not too brimstone-y with rules. but nevertheless it is terribly aggressive and convincing in its apparent passivity, summoning up a tactical confusion in the believer that petrified the will before it had a chance to bloom and raked in the imagination before it could body forth an inner-whorl.
the evangelical brand leads with a hidden, veiled threat of eternal damnation best served cold with kind eyes. these eyes, they grow mouths inside them to speak to you the truth as they see it. it assumes your consent already. it rips initiative from the realm of possibility. it rents you a god, a "real living god" amid a scarcity of eternal life. you are sold. you must be. it trains a deep, serene dispassion that enslaves any shred of emotionality. it grips ****** life-affirmation with thousands and thousands of self-induced mental strokes against the backside, moving into position various leather tentacles tipped with acute tapered bones that seek out, lick, dig and pull up a guilt that beats subcutaneous, stuck to the very core center of the hard white tissue holding up humanity itself. you are fallen now because of before, or so it goes. it is the worst kind of violence. it steals who you are and gives you back a cheap copy that tells or suggests you hate, with a vengeful love of course, these original pieces of you that keep cropping up, keep emerging through nice smooth paved suburban sidewalks, still wanting, still desiring -- new words worming through old written ones.
it starts with a lack, and it wants to color you in. "you are not good enough" it sez. "you need something" it warmly alleges. "don't resist, let him in" it condescends with a grin reaching for the ear. it is a vamp asking for permission to eat your heart out with fork and knife, only to replace it with himself - all as you watch the procedure. it loves you to death.
tell it **** off, kindly. then shut the door.
Dec 30, 2015
Dec 30, 2015 at 4:27 PM UTC
mere life is
plenitudes
disarray there is
subcutaneous actions little lies
subversive factions actively pursuing
evil deeds wrong hating
stabbing
the well felt
normal, actually
living beings,
I just don't turn
my back.
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 12:16 AM UTC
Subcutaneous,
in and under the bubbling skin
a pin *****
I feel sick
I look thin,
a nerve trapped
body sapped of energy
in pain under the Christmas tree
sleeping only fitfully,
December's really not for me
give me June,July and
let me live
or let me die
in peace.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 5:31 AM UTC
Dreams that make your body pop, force the show to stop, let your jaw drop and breathe them in,
my dreams are kept in a biscuit tin
and hidden in the wardrobe.
File that under miscellaneous or under the skin, subcutaneous, any information unsought, bought, is probably extraneous and that's enough of us,
It's bedtime in the suburbs, the adverts have taken the lead, the dog's flopped into his basket after having a ****** good feed,
About now I'll jump ship, skip the light fantastic,
I could dream of her knicker elastic, but they don't make that anymore
(actually they might do but what would I know?)
Friday is on the horizon
but it'll never come for those who believe that
the earth is flat.
or maybe it'll just fall into them.
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 4:38 PM UTC
I wield a non-physical entity buried underneath
subcutaneous tissue, muscles, and bones.
I can animate the principles of a living being with ease.
Though the essence of my soul is at war
with its own morality.
All the different aspects of me leak from my pores,
they burn my skin as if they weren't just a part of me.
others clash together and form into something unrecognizable.
I am in a battle between words and sensations.
A plethora of conflicts placed within me.
I am just an Individual.
I am one person and I hold the guilt of my innocence.
Hopefully one day the scales may tip in my favor.
I've thought of waving the white flag
having the potential to survive physical death.
I am a delicate being.
know that there's more inside of me
than what I allow you to see.
Mar 12, 2025
Mar 12, 2025 at 12:56 AM UTC
Cherry pits and Goodtime while I avoided your frame
Christopherson carrying us quietly... or maybe it was Paul Simon
(I forget)
And I listen to your subcutaneous single-serve salvation
while you're seeing trees for their root structure
watching the AudioArbor curl and weave
with the hue of that little toy xylophone
you two found in some box in the basement
and I feel discovered all over again
I don't know how teaching me a cleat hitch
stumbled into Kant and 21st-century relationship structure
That's a path only you could manage
flanked by a witty remark about the weather or traffic or my day
skimming the depths on nothing more than Zephyr's respiration
And now I know patience was wrong
watching concentrated ambition simply... snuffed
waiting and wisting ebb as you tip-toe to oblivion
Sep 18, 2020
Sep 18, 2020 at 12:17 AM UTC
Monday!
I wouldn't have it any other way,
well perhaps or
maybe Friday.
I'm calling in a favour from a friend
who voted Labour and I'm asking
for a small piece of the pie.
They can slice it any way
carve it up into today
all I want is one
small portion of the pie.
My belly's started shrinking and
its started me to thinking that the pie
is just the carrot and I'm sick
subcutaneous emotions
underneath the skin there's oceans
but
the fish were fished out many years ago
I wish I knew I know I do
but
it's Monday
why are you
slicing up the pie and eating all the crust?
just one favour from a friend who voted Labour then I'll end
up with a fraction of the cost that it cost me.
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 11:21 PM UTC