"surplus" poems
you see,
that’s the problem
with being the strong one
who always offers others
a hand
everyone thinks that you
don’t need a hand and
they think you have lots
of surplus energy and no
worries
(s.m)*
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 5:55 PM UTC
Vaginas are all shapes & sizes
Not many vary from the fold
there are very few surprises
Seems nature's gone & set it's mould
But the ****** has such allure
A pull on man to lesbian alike
A calling so strong and pure
Enough to turn a straight girl ****
Is it the promise of warmth & touch
A memory of a time inside
The scent of our matriarch's crotch
Draws us to those legs held wide?
It was nature's way of ensuring
The human race continues on
So that our presence here's enduring
Never ceasing. On & on
Instinct has been subject to a ploy
To harbour this hypnotic power
Sell it back, a high class toy
Put to work this delicate flower
Control the basic urge of man
The essential need to drink & eat
Once you create the ultimate fan
Then the surplus you do deplete
Until it feels that a simple look
Purchased, from a few feet away
Is as good as one hard ****
Copulation they do delay
And so vaginas became a mystery
Sold back to all who do desire
Remember to look back in history
The vaginas are for more than hire
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 3:14 PM UTC
Kudos to Kaepernick.
I just cannot drown all my beliefs and ideas, even if it contradicts my flesh and soul. When I heard that not standing up to the tune; that has always succeeded on sweeping all of the messes underneath the sad reality, to be deemed as subversive, I know that Rosa would definitely clench onto the seat tighter than ever.
Kneel, my friend, kneel.
To drag our body out there, all over the precious hills and fields, while acting as if the scale has always been set fairly beneath you all this time, will hurt you more than myself. How can a mere matter of things decide our future, our destiny? We shall shape our fate, you shall shape your own fate, and to be judged on the perception biasedly built in the name of order for thousands of years, is a situation that should not be endured by anyone or anything in a tiny dot within this vast universe.
Kneel, my friend, kneel.
And for that, I cannot stand proudly and profess my love to you as of now, even though I will always wear my heart on my sleeve for you to see. To be cheated, to be manipulated, to be deemed as surplus, by those at the tip of the plateau, that cunningly asked us to forget all the tangles and wrangles for the love of this sacred land, while unashamedly distribute everything off the land, off the ocean amongst them, is the last thing that we should allow to happen. I am one of those people that are not able to put on the mask on top of our meant-to-be honest faces, to say hail to the thief is worse than the eternal grief. I have never dreamed of burying the hatchet with them, not even for a second and if I ever do it, I shall be condemned and dismissed for forgetting the roots, the fons et origo of mine. To love you does not mean to stand still to the soulless melodies, to love you does not mean to bow down to the meaningless piece of cloth that has overseen countless infiltration and bombing over the years.
Kneel, my friend, kneel.
To love you is to fight for the rights of many, by any means, even by not standing up. When black is no longer the symbol of miserable, filth and calamity, we shall then breath with ease, stand on our feet and fully embrace the real meaning behind all those majestic words.
Kudos to Kaepernick.
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 10:09 PM UTC
Trade,Globalization,Terrorism and Corruption
What's the difference?
Each of us look at the world with open eyes yet with closed minds.
We see the structures of society right before us
yet we can do nothing to alter its existence
Marxism, Liberalism, Elitism, lenses that see a point but not the whole picture
The age of politics is over, the market comes to be our master
I know some might argue over me in this, but hear me out still.
The world we live in is like a senseless commodity
Our natural resources is taken every day
To create excess cars, excess food, excess everything
The surplus is too much that its overflowing with decay
Another thing is war,
A place where precious lives are seen to be walking bags of meat.
The preach for violence that could've created peace, and for what ?
To protect the free world? where the rich sit in high places
and some of us pushed down to supply their greed
Globalization is a license, a license to what?
A license to **** a license to invade other states
without the use of soldiers to force out our will
We become docile as people in their wake and companies are laughing as we speak.
These corrupt figures ,conflict is their business, opportunity and peace is their excuse.
Human integration is what they say and offer, for a better society they say.
But look at us now, where is the promise of a future in the world today?
The world terrorizes me, terrorizes the people who are willing to see
and if I am in terror, what makes the system different from the loud bombs we hear when they explode.
They only made ways to make the killings silent and the experience more traumatic.
I'm sorry if globalization is a bad thing for me, but living in our country, globalization harms before it can give
it takes before we can receive.
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 12:20 PM UTC
Francesco Bianco and his Wage-Stock Men,
In keeping current with their Rooting Age
Built his Charity on a Stone-House then
As Leisure played a better word for Rage
Not much for Surplus Capital enjoyed
At least for some Tips won by droplets fall
That petty, really. Plus some Papers browsed
For those Picklings shared by survey and toll
Yes, the Compliment of those Blue-Bloods past
Of only their Musk to commensurate
Eve bowed out; Abel only if Forecast
By Cain and his Friends allowed him too late.
You would wonder how such Time could afford
And invest your Years for such brisk Concord.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 4:37 PM UTC
A little aloof I shall stay
Before another tempest hits the bay
Anchoring me down again
Into surplus societal pain
Sharing the ocean can get rough
Absconding high tides is tough
I need to gather myself in vain
Before I crash once again
So I shall breathe, smile and have a good time
And hold on to things that are mine
Whilst I cover up the timeworn stain
And soak my wrath in the rain!
-Zainab Attari
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 3:53 AM UTC
Eggs, eggs, toss them high in the air
Catch em, and gargle, and mash them, and swear
Eat them with shells, eat them with sauce
Eat them with bags, eat them with moss
Eggs, eggs, between sandwich bread
That's what the wise elderly miller had said
Before came the bomb and he had dropped dead
Before being poisoned by a surplus of lead
And then came a centipede, long and sanguine
And bit a small child, so recently weaned
Off the protein derived from his mother's fine eggs
So he had to start munching on his mother's fine legs
"Be warned" said the Miller, his hair all askew
While dousing his wounds with mountains of glue
A tapeworm emerged, and looked toward the sky
Feeling envy toward all the birds that could fly
But the Miller was quicker, even in old age
He smacked the worm soundly, in a manner enraged
Bruised from the damage, and covered in glue
The worm turned away from the sky that was blue
Never with pelicans would he fly with delight
Never with owls would he soar through the night
For all Darwin's cruelty, an injustice rings
Tapeworms simply have no need for wings
So he bit the old Miller, and laid ten thousand eggs
They hatched and devoured his liver and legs
And as the man writhed, waiting to die
He vomited upward, up toward the sky
The tapeworm went flying, up toward the clouds
The air felt exhilarating, the rushing wind loud
For once in his life, he soared with the birds
Then in came a swallow, and bit off a third
His body, segmented, fell in parts to the ground
Tears seeped from his eyes, his face in a frown
From the ground he gazed up into the ominous fog
Before being lapped up by an unlucky dog
The End
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 1:20 AM UTC
Profit
Gross obscene
Exploiting dealing pocketing
Surplus killing debt dispossession
Undoing grieving needing
Ruin destitution
Loss
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 2:04 PM UTC
Autumn hill gather surplus shine
Fly bird chase before companion.
Colour green moment bright,
Sunset mist no fixed place.
The autumn hill gathers remaining light,
A flying bird chases its companion before.
The green colour is momentarily bright,
Sunset mist has no fixed place.
4.4k
I am sitting at a desk,
back straight, head forward, eyes open. Blink.
Economics melts into white noise as
supply curves become demand curves become supply curves, elasticity.
Water weeps through the crevasses of the windows and ceiling,
mocking my ever fragile existence.
Ankle deep in yesterday's cold forgotten words unsaid,
the lesson advances.
Demand curves become supply curves become demand curves, consumer surplus.
A single drop christens my desk and terror fills my long hollow eyes
as the ceiling mutates into a congregation of puddles.
Rain that felt of hydrochloric acid
dissolved the very flesh I tried to escape.
God is not so sweet when it comes to sinners,
confining me to the barriers of an insignificant wooden desk.
The class remains like mannequins,
indifference radiating from their plastic cores.
Supply curves become demand curves become supply curves, externalities.
The only witness to this nightmare,
my last breathe finally deserts me.
I tense as the numbing waves climb up my spine,
injecting lethargy in each individual vertebra.
Malicious tentacles wrap around my throat and water floods my collapsing black lungs.
White noise consumes the entire classroom as I float in and out of paralysis,
only to open my eyes. Blink.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC
Clothes of all kinds
on the sidewalks
sold for crazy cheap prices.
Kids and old people alike
scramble fast towards through mountains
of bargains, this once inaccessible
and highly prized scene of Fashion sense,
separating the haves and the have-nots.
I was born with skin color, names, and belongings
that no longer made sense when the time came
to decide and become. I ran to meet a friend at a corner
a long time ago when the Ukay surplus clothing stores
were just starting out.
He carried a plastic of hiking boots
and a pair of stylish jeans. Laughing and smiling
at the exchanges. A pair of running shoes
and a jacket that was already too big for a woman.
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 3:13 AM UTC
I'm a Kool g rockin' coogis poppin' coochies
Haters get murked like Colhese my rap lease
Debutin' numero uno the heavy weight sumo
Born on Jupiter raised on Earth my heart's colder than Pluto
Mic judo flows stickin' of ya corticals
Check me in the articles I be the broken particle
Of the universal ya need rehearsal **** goin' commerical
I lay raps like a hearse flow for rappers funeral
I a criminal none keep gats by the abdominal rhymin' phenomenal the mighty Apollo
Blazin' my cocoa flippin' crime like Bardellino
One luv to my nino got it locked like a Vegas casino
We checkin' ya dough at the front door so stop ya show
Fronting and stunting once my nines get the hunting
Bullets spikin' like kickers punting raw taunting
Game hungriest similiar to the lochness
Mon-star far from subpar rhymes ride bizzare
A pharcyde takin' ya into a spiritual homicide converged to the angelic hide
Still a crime shame all of 'em say the same
Thing flexin' diamonds on they pinky rings yet another sad soul that sings sub siblings
To the underworld debators contract initiator so you can create a
Pace between the stage and the audience face
**** that rather keep a gat tucked in the front or the back
With wisdom to rack
Imagine that fools breakin' for stats? see where my heart at?
Diggin' reachin' into the minds of the youth with the brutal truths
Chippin' my tooth
From killin' booths once I plot ya will ya loose
bringin' the ghetto blues and cruising *****
Still a sober jealous God am I call me Jehovah
Tactics of a Cobra one strike it's over
Venomous ridiculous hataz so conspicuous
Hatin' us only to anger my artillery surplus and who bust?
More rounds than Matt Dillion coatin' ya brains
With my lyrical penicillin stealin'
Back the spotlight
Catch the bright sunshine that stares into my mind
A Pharoah prophecy laid in the back of me
Head til I touch my final resting bed I'll embed
The realist **** ya ever heard shooting a bird
To all my enemies I blast at 'em with as the bullets herd
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 12:40 PM UTC
Need adventure Helicopter not included
I mentioned before California is like cereal it is full of fruits nuts and flakes well add Larry to the list he
Found himself out in the yard in a lawn chair and the unthinkable happened he come to the conclusion
He was bored now that just won’t do not in Los Angeles so to solve the problem he dashed down to the
Army surplus store bought a bunch of weather balloons stopped along the way got a tank of helium
Brought them home filled and tied the balloons to the lawn chair then tied the rope to his jeep went in
Got his pellet pistol sat down in the chair so with figuring at release he would float up thirty feet one or
Two ways to get down use the pellet gun shoot a couple of balloons float easily to the ground or if not
That you’re just about even with the top of the house surly you can get the house underneath you to
Jump Off on the roof now Larry wasn’t mechanical so anything to do with engineering was out what was
Is that wonderful feeling of being up there so he pulled the rope there was a slight difference in the
Expected feet not thirty but he shot up and leveled off at sixteen thousand feet ever feel your rope
Might be missing some length well if the thought ever crossed his mind about the pellet gun idea two
Things he was certain about he wasn’t bored and he didn’t want to shoot any balloons deceleration the
Other Way was not an option so what’s a not to bright Californian to do well besides holding on for dear
Life and freezing you added yourself into nature mixed bag nothing left to do but let nature do her thing
So eight hours later he drifts into the Los Angeles airport corridor of all people you would meet a pilot
Trying to land three hundred people calls the tower with this message I passed a man setting in a lawn
Chair with weather balloons and by the way he is at sixteen thousand feet and he has a gun to scrabble
F-16 would be too much even for California so good news for Larry they sent out just a Helicopter and
Brought the lame duck back to safety just another day in the state it’s hard to be surprised in but some
Still succeed
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 6:25 PM UTC
I mentioned before California is like cereal it is full of fruits nuts and flakes well add Larry to the list he
Found himself out in the yard in a lawn chair and the unthinkable happened he come to the conclusion
He was bored now that just won’t do not in Los Angeles so to solve the problem he dashed down to the
Army surplus store bought a bunch of weather balloons stopped along the way got a tank of helium
Brought them home filled and tied the balloons to the lawn chair then tied the rope to his jeep went in
Got his pellet pistol sat down in the chair so with figuring at release he would float up thirty feet one or
Two ways to get down use the pellet gun shoot a couple of balloons float easily to the ground or if not
That you’re just about even with the top of the house surly you can get the house underneath you to
Jump Off on the roof now Larry wasn’t mechanical so anything to do with engineering was out what was
Is that wonderful feeling of being up there so he pulled the rope there was a slight difference in the
Expected feet not thirty but he shot up and leveled off at sixteen thousand feet ever feel your rope
Might be missing some length well if the thought ever crossed his mind about the pellet gun idea two
Things he was certain about he wasn’t bored and he didn’t want to shoot any balloons deceleration the
Other Way was not an option so what’s a not to bright Californian to do well besides holding on for dear
Life and freezing you added yourself into nature mixed bag nothing left to do but let nature do her thing
So eight hours later he drifts into the Los Angeles airport corridor of all people you would meet a pilot
Trying to land three hundred people calls the tower with this message I passed a man setting in a lawn
Chair with weather balloons and by the way he is at sixteen thousand feet and he has a gun to scrabble
F-16 would be too much even for California so good news for Larry they sent out just a Helicopter and
Brought the lame duck back to safety just another day in the state it’s hard to be surprised in but some
Still succeed
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 6:31 PM UTC
To the ancient Egyptians
hieroglyphics looked like
IMAX-HD blockbusters;
Renaissance art is so real
it's like the Holy Family's
really right in front of u!
gamers & pervs lose their
egos to avatars & **** -
the surplus visual culture
strikes future generations
like silent movies today;
commercials are empty &
expensive; drama, cliched
stereotypes for the money;
gone are the days of Baal
& Dionysus, & gone are the
ecstatic frenzies, gone are
realism & surrealism; space
is our new home, now forget
everything u've ever known
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 7:16 AM UTC
Won boxing matches with Lewis , Lasky, Corn Griffin, Swiderski,
Then many more titles with Griffiths, Farr, Stillman, and Levandowski,
Jackson, Caggiano, Darnell and Dobson
Something he could tell his grandson
His greatest match of all was the title he earned against Max Baer
The fight was the ultimate win at Gardens of Madison Square
A very passionate man for his wife and children he went to great lengths
To keep his family together during the depression, even in times of brink
Served honorably in WWII as a 1st Lieutenant
Owned a surplus supplier of marine equipment
Helped to construct the bridge Verrazano
It was the proud city’s beautiful Picasso
Gone is Jim Braddock, a movie about him, CINDERELLA MAN to be sure he’s not forgotten
His Granddaughter Rosemarie Dewitt played his neighbor Sara Wilson, who was downtrodden
Copyright 2014
All Rights Reserved
Biopoem
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 11:00 PM UTC
lamenting out loud
incoming funk lords
remembering ambient illhueminati
using wrong account
applying lexical snobbery
"using arcane diction
during bamboo surplus"
sinning and redeeming
enjoying manufactured existence
struggling but whatever
transfigurating xenocryptic renderings
scheming paroxystic shipwrecks
dispensing xylophonic wainscotting
revolving number plates
disheartening star charts
upgrading defenestrated system
observing new alphabet
amplifying celestial explosions
trippifying schema migrations
deregulating various economies
befriending code snippets
writing excess minutiae
effulging caffeine consumption
rebuilding grandiose protectorate
uniting our caliphates
collecting projected change
kettling ostalgie hues
collapsing second-world references
traumatizing unrequited follow
making baseball analogies
surveiling little sheep
awaiting various answers
deleting defaced tweet
exciting times ahead
downloading panda consciousness
capitulating rising stellation
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 12:05 PM UTC
There is an electric hum from traffic lights
Barely audible to the people waiting at the corner
Overwhelmed with confusion over the former
Condition of the economy in spite
Of the surplus of traffic signs
So they stare at traffic signs
The signs don’t mind
They stare right back and watch and contemplate crossing, too
But the signs will stay behind
Because people go
As they please
Under an ashy sky
And flickers
Of lightning
Appearing in the clouds
Consider the aerodynamics of taxicabs
You wish humans were so streamlined and yellow
We’re not so bad!
Said a fellow
Accountant using an algebraic formula to attempt to derive
Why you smile for us and I’ve
Noticed, though no one else has, the electric storm churning
Miles above
Polarizing the sky
In silence
They tremble, these, the not-so-poor
It’s that fearful tic, the one we’ve seen before
But you tremble, too
Do you see me quiver
We’ve got that quick jitter
Like a prickling under the skin that’s pulsing through
Our blood the way that caffeine does
Or the wattage exploding in death throes or birth throes
Above us now
Hypnotic
And powerful
Though I cannot tell
Exactly how far away
Aug 1, 2010
Aug 1, 2010 at 3:08 PM UTC
I sometimes sit and think about how I wouldn't mind if the world ended
I know its wrong of me to say that at face value, but deep down inside I know we all think it
not that the earth itself should be destroyed into oblivion, but the opposite
that the world should live on
and the cancerous growth of humanity should be cured
its a pessimistic way of looking at things , I know, but I cant help but feel this
short ride of ours on this planet is careening out of control
I'm not a nihilist or an anarchist or an environmentalist
nor a ********* for that matter
I'm not afraid to die because I believe I will no longer exist when I do
but the pointlessness of it all and the blatant disregard for others,
other species other lives other kinds other minds
disregard for the future for cleanliness leads me to these thoughts,
that a septic surplus has arisen on this singularly magnificent gift
of life in this one and only known universe and we sit here ******** all over it...
I sometimes think it'd be best if we all just left
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 8:51 PM UTC
.
and your mug shot's shining through
it's a vision true (but the subject's taboo)
all ugly here
morning sunshine breakfast table autumn cool
you're poised to speak a fly lands on your lolling spoon
then i stand up merry
i make my vital move the table backs away distressed
your eyes raise
i flop open my faminous mouth and let the fumes draw in
Surprise !
(no time for you to hold surplus breath -
- form an expression - make any objection)
mechanism disjoints like the raw riches
i whip the plumb weight of my head and strike
mouth-chomp-grip over your scalp
and i am working you in
with swift jaw shifts and hingery
i **** on you with a smile and gullet
(past photos of you shuffle glaucous before my inner eye)
yap sock muscle i operate gumming on your head
(ours was the world ; we got so lazy)
budging in your hair dampened by my saliva
(our timid first meeting at a bar)
and airway and my teeth softly folding back
(us in bed-us in bed-us-in-bed)
and whole hog jaw agog
(the tourist we made as a couple)
i dilate and distend crouch low to take your weight
(the rise and falter of your sleeping chest)
upend your hands panic typing in the air
(the eyes of your investment in me)
your feet flinging the heft back and forth
your shoulders break in and forward folding
my chest cracks and wells
(gifts we gave that touched heart and others that fell short)
a complete engulfing meal of you
(your childhood antidotes and teenage feelings we discussed)
down my soft disposal
(all my memories of us in a fizz
and all the inaccuracies)
...and then i head off to hibernation
ferrying an idea that ' i have you now '
that perhaps you were my enemy
all this time
and i am digesting the beast
(what a feast !)
Sep 16, 2024
Sep 16, 2024 at 9:39 PM UTC
Yong Marx, yet to die, jumped
out of an air-conditioned car, a
journey Berlin to Bombay as the
Dream merchant of Utopia
metamorphosed him into a subhuman
white bearded national bourgeoisie.
The third world girl who was climbing a
tree without Motorcycle-
Diaries hung to her clothe looked
like an Engelian mistake possibly
not from Cuba, Zambia or Bolivia,
certainly not a Soviet artefact.
Alienation, self-affirmation and all
unlike modes of production confused
his surplus brain. The dichotomy
of imaginings and reality with the
girl proven anti-thesis kafkaesqued
him an added ****** struggle.
A shift in his struggle with a smile
on her lips gave a hint of welcome to her
Animal Farm. He did get inside.
The moulded furniture, preoccupied sickle
and the lacking exploitation
left him a disappointing proletariat grin.
She opened her mouth, blue words
did not discharge. Neither the mid wife
nor the revolution pumped her conscience.
He got up, disappointed, alarmed,
cursed the chap who misdirected
to a class-less renewed pattern.
“Comrade” she said shaking his hands,
the blood did stir for a moment but
the fight less slant , **** suits and
her distant reality pained the rationalist.
The amusingly alienated young Marx
jumped into his car and left for utopia.
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 10:41 AM UTC
My temples pummel out
A throbbing skull
Drumming on my edges
Cracked bruises
Hidden underneath my hair
No one sees my pain
Feeling dismissed by perceived delusions
Neglect brings forth intensified loneliness
A mystery unable to solve
Potential brain damage
Resting in purgatory
Along the coastline of denial
Where I appear all right
Until another concussion
Drags me to this tide
Wanting to end my life
As I drown to the chilly depth
Wondering why my husband
Hasn't thrown me a life jacket
He tires of my imperfections
As do I….
Severity thrown under
The boat of exaggeration
No one understands my head's sensitivity
Not even me
The judgements of being weak
Of not being careful
Arguments against enjoying life
I am brought to a surplus of cries
Aching sobs swim
In my damaged head
I'm confused and lines are blurred
I'm scared and can't remember
Noises storm
Inside my ears transmitting corruption
Comatose movements
Ambushed by swelling spastic vibrations
Blinding light
Striking serrated razors between my eyes
Weighted head
Seeks detachment from its guardian
How I wish people saw this concussion for what it is
© Jl 2016
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 1:46 PM UTC
May we question, may we wander
Out illustrious dreams may cause us to blunder
But fear not, do not give in
Even though the night's mistress may lure you with her skin of porcelain
Today, tomorrow might seem bleak
And tomorrow when you look back, you might think of yourself as weak
Volcanoes might erupt under your already tired feet
Leap away with all your might, don't wait for winter to bring along the sleet
Look into my eyes when you speak to me, she said
I fear doing so I say; for a single moment of pleasure, too much blood has already been shed
Speaking the truth you might think you are
Open your eyes, dreaming you were in the back seat of the car
The tin man becomes human once and for all
Only to be thrown into a tin can, "When you press this button, it shoots a very heavy ball."
The seconds pass and yet no light shines
Always in a hurry, you fail to appreciate the wind chimes
In an age where there's a scarcity of surplus and a surplus of scarcity ,
People no longer wander aimlessly around the city
Structure, form and order
Just another question, Why these borders?
Stop. Look. Ponder.
Don't always do, take some time to wonder.
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 12:09 PM UTC
The Kingdom of heaven is like unto a merchant man,
seeking goodly pearls; who, when he had found one,
sold all that he had and bought it.—Matthew 13.45
I know the ways of Learning; both the head
And pipes that feed the press, and make it run;
What reason hath from nature borrowed,
Or of itself, like a good huswife, spun
In laws and policy; what the stars conspire,
What willing nature speaks, what forced by fire;
Both th’ old discoveries, and the new-found seas,
The stock and surplus, cause and history:
All these stand open, or I have the keys:
Yet I love thee.
I know the ways of Honour, what maintains
The quick returns of courtesy and wit:
In vies of favours whether party gains,
When glory swells the heart, and moldeth it
To all expressions both of hand and eye,
Which on the world a true-love-knot may tie,
And bear the bundle, wheresoe’er it goes:
How many drams of spirit there must be
To sell my life unto my friends or foes:
Yet I love thee.
I know the ways of Pleasure, the sweet strains,
The lullings and the relishes of it;
The propositions of hot blood and brains;
What mirth and music mean; what love and wit
Have done these twenty hundred years, and more:
I know the projects of unbridled store:
My stuff is flesh, not brass; my senses live,
And grumble oft, that they have more in me
Than he that curbs them, being but one to five:
Yet I love thee.
I know all these, and have them in my hand:
Therefore not sealed, but with open eyes
I fly to thee, and fully understand
Both the main sale, and the commodities;
And at what rate and price I have thy love;
With all the circumstances that may move:
Yet through these labyrinths, not my grovelling wit,
But thy silk twist let down from heav’n to me,
Did both conduct and teach me, how by it
To climb to thee.
2.1k
i might continue on with that trauma
i might subside.
violation carries with it sensate boons of empathy
blue sky overrun with thanks
arched-back breath
you're afraid to ask me
are your tears painful
but i spear your question with a surplus love
shouting joy
as if there weren't a plea
tremulously groaned
share with me
it isn't just release
sweet freedom laughing out of doors
you and she regaled in bursts
iridescent meaning
hung in curve of lock
nape and open palm
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 10:00 AM UTC