"sutures" poems
A lifetime ago, I was younger like you,
before my dreams faded and life was still new.
I wish I knew then, all that I know now,
I wanted our life but didn’t know how.
I settled for less and tried the right things,
and cashed in my soul for all that it brings.
I’ve made my mistakes, like others before,
forgiveness more fleeting, ‘til you closed the door.
Waiting for answers, I went into shock,
you left me no choice but to turn back the clock.
I walk this new path while finding myself,
forgetting our past is best for my health.
As I move along, a decade removed,
my body more fit now to go with my mood.
I realize by now we could have had more,
alone I will see what life has in store.
I so miss the comfort of you every night,
kindness from others, brings love at first sight.
Each new encounter, just gives me a shove,
reminding myself not to fall back in love.
When, where and who will be the right one?
I’ve so much to give, just let it be done.
I may never take them, to become my wife,
but I need embraces to sustain my life.
Addiction exists with drugs and affection,
I’m itching for love at each intersection.
How long must I wait to rip out the sutures?
Pleasure Delayer, indefinite future.
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 5:48 AM UTC
What is freedom?
Freedom is the ability to choose for yourself.
Freedom is a choice between what is,
and what can be.
Freedom is empowering others to love themselves.
What is your government?
Who are these impostors who speak about the need to breath,
but won’t let us?
Who fights for freedom and equality?
No one.
These men fight against us for the slice of a pie,
lining their pockets as kids in Africa die.
The people shouldn't fear their government,
the government should fear its people.
What is the value of a dollar?
Is it the freedom to eat?
Or the cement wrapped tight around your feet,
water forced between your teeth?
Who is freer?
The Baker Boy?
Scraping by on a dime?
Or old man flush with pedigree?
Drunk with greed and the taste of fine wine?
Freedom is being faced with two equally infallible truths,
and choosing deftly between the two,
which sounds better to you?
Who is freer?
Those who choose to drop f-bombs on stage,
or those who drop bombs of wisdom in its place?
Don’t be discouraged when the one locked down is you,
when the wicked wage war in your home terrain,
when you struggle back and forth,
with the pain of being raised a Jew.
Who decides your fate?
Who decides your fate when your rent is late?
Who decides your fate when you discover your son is gay?
Who decides your fate when the crest falls flat?
Who decides your fate when the tumor is malignant?
Who decides your fate when your sutures fall out?
Who decides your fate when you find you've lost your way?
Who decides your fate when the embers die down?
Who decides your fate when sorrow silently drips across your face?
Who decides your fate when the voices inside your head can’t seem to agree?
You,
your life is yours to create.
What bars our freedom?
Oppression,
Persecution,
Indecision,
Doubt,
Hatred,
Contention,
Jealousy,
Addiction,
Pride,
And most importantly of all,
(Silence)
Fear.
Yes!
Fear is no friend of freedom,
Antithesis to the dream.
Fear is a struggling shadow,
Cast behind us as we gleam.
Contrast,
Darkness exists through the brightness of the sun.
Our predisposition isn't for failure,
But bursting forth grasping for freedom’s sake.
Don’t settle for sickly shadows,
Accept only warm smiles between friends at the end of the day.
Do you hear that?
That’s the sound of freedom,
The march of liberty.
Fear isn't the courage to stand up for a friend,
Fear isn't the strength to share what you believe in,
Fear isn't holding a friends hand when they've lost their sight,
Fear isn't within a friend’s victory finding only delight,
But freedom is!
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 4:26 AM UTC
birds alight upon
sutures of a licked-thin night—
tree branch at sunrise.
Sep 28, 2021
Sep 28, 2021 at 8:13 AM UTC
a bottle of scotch had bad dreams.
bullets twitch, junk sick
in 3 inch thick
mustard ****
toe nails clipped from yeti
lay strewn about the **** stained corpse
of a motel six dixie cup -
root canal trophy,
next to
a black fez
with scab tassel
upended.
down in it. belching apnea
propaganda
and belladonna
waiting for curious george
to find a shotgun
and a yellow
hat
and a brick banana.
blowflies inhale the rank damp
of a fresh ****
the odd dog whines
like a clown in -
a blender.
[ the ]
house wins
with a marked card; jabbing fat fingers
into acned rosacea
bloated with sleep lack
and mortgage
back stab
chasing twenty ******
with a hollow point
pull from an acid
flask
while hailing a black cab.
tinsel sutures
stitch eyelids as a mercy
shattered bone knit
hand-grenade
cozies
old glory, at half mast
half wasted
fifty stars, no light
dragging on
the grounds of immunity
to do a line
of coke stock
with a basset hounds'
finesse.
your taxes at work
in columbia,
hiding from a lost farm
in Idaho
your american dream
turning tricks in shanghai
for a counterfeit
egga roll
your meme, devoid
like an ice cube
tombstone
your freedom, parking cars
for italian escorts
smoking skin flutes
for ferraris
and white teeth.
your integrity, sold to a hedge fund
for astroglide and a pez dispenser
packed with prozac
pressed by ' Jose the butcher' s abuela
in a narco slum
that ain't seen radio
since cinder blocks
had wings.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 2:40 PM UTC
I'd follow you
To the ends of the earth
I'd sell you my soul
For what it's worth
A sign for the blind
And brale for the deaf
You told me you loved me
& then you left
Theft!
An OxyMoron
Stole my heart
Found my sutures
& picked me apart
A blow to chest
He rattled my cage
Took my paper heart
& turned the page
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 11:41 PM UTC
In west Virginia, they do things different
they don't want to advance too soon
if you don't believe me let me take you
to a west Virginia emergency room
deer hair sutures for stitching you up
then a duct tape bandage on your wound
redneck responses by physicians
doc needs a break to spit in the spittoon
this one is in critical condition
this poor feller has run out of luck
doctor redneck turns to mention
"go get my gun out of my truck"
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 9:00 AM UTC
"There is a stillness that floods the moment"
a sky full of stars
***~~~
for you, poet, you
~~~***
*there is a stillness that floods
that exact moment,
the cutting chord moment,
that oddly has no
resounding chords
~
a stillness
that, simultaneous,
happily, sadly, accepted, lost,
all immediately,
by its very knowing
released acceptance,
for that is when
depression and joy,
a 1-2 punch of
raging quietude floods
the exactness of that moment
~
this shock of the calmness,
albeit brief,
jolt of kind,
jolt that slow mo's
pulsing prior air gasping
~
it comes when thinking*
done,
*it is done, yes done and I am undone,
having surgically cutting off
a limb, never bloodless, but
still relief waters flush the wound,
a granted, gifted joy floods,
permitting its escape tween the sutures,
in exhilarating exhalations
~
throw it down,
your extracted best,
lift up,
the fleshed out silhouette,
present it to the court and corps,
a farewell glance push,
finger caressing the send button
with ****** anticipation
for the lovely loving,
a vintage of the pre-regret
of completion
~
the poem is done, gone, ****** eliminated,
the light of eyes so peculiar to that moment,
when you have birthed a new born poem,
an acknowledgement of the stillness of a
closing loss,
the parting, the coming,
of a
peace of you
must too, be noted,
all deserving of equal rights*
~~~
July 12, 2015
NML
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 9:06 AM UTC
I am ready
to ring your rib
around my wrist
in triumph—
the faintest of relics
enliven me. My lips
still layered
as in the night you lost them.
I hope to hammer
your heart
& stuff its soil
in the sutures
of your skull;
I want to call that
the shadow to
kintsugi;
I want our memories never
to seep; to set
them up for decryption.
Unloving is a study—
consider an archaeologist’s
tentative hands
demystifying an artifact
once treasured for its secret
& leaving no spots
behind.
Apr 25, 2021
Apr 25, 2021 at 11:24 PM UTC
**Society, the embodiment of human securities
Is in reality the stark confirmation
Of a conglomerate of screaming insecurities
Begging….its leaders….fervent introspection **
*Bending logic is an art perfected by all
Regardless of creed class or stature
No wonder the walk is seemingly a hard laboured crawl
Culminating into deep exposed…psychological sutures*
**Beings are bedevilled by a roving myopia
Craving a farfetched grandiose utopia
That’s why a bespectacled cynicism
Is ironically of essence…to neutralise a deep rooted parochialism**
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 7:28 AM UTC
Why attempt to claim the moral high ground
When your pathetic argument holds no sway
Why march to war with the rebel bound
In the uncommon disposition of yesterday
Why hold pretentious personality
When acceptance is based on adaptation
A pyramid scheme brings fatality
To your pseudo-martyr nation
Unwarranted non cooperation
With the voices of the future
Speak without brainwashed sedation
And unravel your poisoned sutures
Your self proclaimed image of authority
Is unwanted within the confines of freedom
You back a mentality of all encompassing conformities
When the generation of today can't see them
Your hubris lacks the willingness to act
Yet you call yourself Ole-Times-Hardened
And the simple depressing fact
Is that your ignorance cannot be pardoned
Leave while you hold a handful of passion
Before it is lost in the folds of time
Because dignity with age is not everlasting
You are but another one track mind
Whether or not you care to move forward
The world turns on an invisible axis
There is always a new world order
And living life requires emotional taxes
So be willing to express and voice opinions wholly
But like many lost souls before you say
Wander unknown territories carefully
Because the past is lost with today
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 8:50 PM UTC
"You tempt in me…so much…
a sparrow...a lamb… a tenderness… and the captive heart… that beats against my palm…
the bonds…. of trust.. surrendered"
to the silver nepenthe of your voice,
stricken upon the thick red heart
I've pinned to a map,
See, it emits grace
beneath the molten glass,
strung through harp strings and stretched
as sutures ,the solemn musculature of ecstasy
bound in golden ropes and belladonna dreams,
Let the white darts fall
where they may
This silence belies the song
in my throat, hovering
like a silver bauble, your face
is dark, back-lit, harbouring
the terror of words that burn...
My heart
holds the cinder of secrets,
and little poison idols of hematite
and gooseflesh...
Our dream box collects its damp light
from the dark corners of our prison,
as you coax a banyan tree
from its arousal...
A totem filled with marzipan,
and trembling, but to split
its lip upon glass cages,
wrought with jade...
Hold the sparrow face-up,
let the furrow of its wings, tempt
the fates, as it sings to the same scythe
that chimes against the dead angles of the soul's crucified geography....
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 12:28 PM UTC
My heart
has cracked open
like the most
fragile of
elusive
eggs
viscous fluid
drips d
own
upon the plate
filled with
fissures,
spidercracks that
threat to
quake into
seismic
measures
and eventually
piece off into
oblivion
and only when
I can finally
unfold myself
from these
underwater
embryonic bends
fetal stretches
and folds
that never end
only then my arms
reach out
into the night
searching
and,
in tiniest of beams,
in one fell stroke
of midnight kismet
I find you
around me
in colored chromium
wrapping me up
headstrong,
filling my
wounded sutures
with
liquid
gold
Dec 15, 2016
Dec 15, 2016 at 6:11 PM UTC
And I hope she’ll be a fool, that’s the best thing a girl can be, is a beautiful little fool.
To see no fault and see no cause, a demeanor that elicits the ceasing of qualms
She will drink mint tea while sitting with glee on top of a cloud above a raging storm
Her focus is precise and what she sees will be calm
I wish for my daughter to be one
She will live in a bubble, plated with the toughest material and doubled, and coated with rose-colored glass.
It will be her veil, disguising injustices too well, but her aura will always be electric
Her tears will be daisies growing amongst the lilies near a pond where there’s coy and fairies casting spells.
She will sleep and dream neutral, as the sandman began his sutures, to maintain her outlook that life is swell.
I wish for my daughter to be one
With her sway and her gallop and her nod and her twirl, she will please the sensibilities of the world.
I pray to the heavens, her angels and gods, that there will not be a crack in her armor.
For if she is to see how the world truly be, then her face will forever be furled
She is my joy and my love, a pearl necklace with a hug, a jewel that can never be matched
And I hope she’ll be a fool, that’s the best thing a girl can be. Is a
Beautiful
Little
Fool
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 11:18 PM UTC
Must you be here in such an interesting illusion?
Why must you sit in such... vogue?
Here though, you exist in fashionable cyst.
Bygone futures of blighted sutures
Youngster-stale and eight-hundred pale
Destitute pasts of layer passes present
Horses gather at the gates of heaven
Spitting at me
And in this way, I've given myself nightmarish feelings.
Yellow blocks provides battery-colored translucence a doubt of mortals
Tungsten belated harmony
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 3:37 PM UTC
Soft, soft this sigh upon the wind
When darkness
Falls...
Amaranthine love...
Misted lace, winding whispered veils
Of gold and blue;
Never-ending soul-lit perfume;
Pressed moist upon
The breath of summer's sky
So long ago...
Hues of yesterdays
When stars lit the sable'd night,
Dressed in ribbons of fire,
Their resonance,
Like crimson sutures
Across my heart...
Where whispers, soft, undressed me
To receive sacraments of desire
In sinews of nerve-ends
Burning loving breath
Across velvet flesh folded beneath
Your tremors...
In the light of your night
My body
Became yours...tender
... the curve of breast
Caressed by a silken pulse,
Soft...
...the eyes of damp surrender
Dissolving sweet as sugared petals
Upon your tongue...
And in this hour,
Surely you have heard my mouth
Part to ribbon your name in
The tightest corset of night,
Pausing only
To memorise the curl of
Smiles...tracing the lines
Of lips with closed
Eyes so that I might braile
This fiery feeling in the smooth
Shadowy halls of my spirit
always
Always........
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 4:21 AM UTC
Hellenic
Flesh and marrow
Raphaelite form
painted into life.
Honey hair
slipping through the vees between my fingers like
sand
conch-white skin
You blind me
like the noonday sun.
Enveloping—
body wrapped in body—
ocean and sky
meet
at the horizon.
Peel my skin from me
like an orange.
Apple.
Heal me
with hands upon thighs
Stitch my ragdoll body together with the sutures of your kisses
Stuck
by the glue of lips
Raise me like Lazarus
from the valley of death
from the orchard in Eden and the shame of skin
Reupholster me
like a dinette chair.
Vivid as the Sistine Chapel
your hand
outs t r e t c h e d
toward God
I find you in
pumpkin seeds
scattered
like tears
on the floor of my car.
They were yours.
Jul 25, 2011
Jul 25, 2011 at 2:29 PM UTC
I reached into my chest
To free these sutures of moonglade
Reaching deep into the pulse
That is sinking into this still water
My boat, tethered to my hands
Cuts its ties, taking this heart
Deep into the moonlit sea
Apr 26, 2022
Apr 26, 2022 at 3:12 AM UTC
We used to say " I love you";
Now we just think it.
The people we became
are an odd fit.
I will admit
I am no longer pleasant
to be around.
Constant scowls and frowns
amidst the silence.
The clicks of keyboards
divide us.
Define us.
Align us.
We used be to analogous
like Bubble gum Princess
and Finn.
Just like them we've become unakin.
Padme & Anakin.
My fear of loosing you has caused me to loose you.
Like an episode of That's So Raven;
attempts at the prevention
of the future
ripped open the sutures
in my heart once again.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 5:27 AM UTC
I see it in
shades of
liquid coal
slaking
my aching
thirst in
black ocean shoal
onyx crystals
washed up
in tides
of barely
peeking,
night-lava eyes
silently spoken
and through
the waters of deep
my soul is
waking up from
eons of sleep
weaving garlands
of darkest green,
seaweed tips
that I tenderly keep
strewn, in chlorophyll strips
across the stardust glow
of my naked skin
as I liquid float,
spirit whirring within
eyes bright
in illuminated
moonstone glow
picking up signals
of halted flow
This is needed here,
in this darkest of dark
waters abundant
with tight, broken sparks
shards of the living
and fragments of souls
a luminosity of darkness
making us whole
And pulsing next to me
in beauty's surprise
phosphorescent creatures,
a feast for the eyes
loving, gently brushing
my outstretched fingers-
bioluminescence divine
on my body lingers
from jellies to squid
to jet -hued sharks
knifing through layers
of dark on dark
within the
lush waters' quiet force
a dance in faded flicker
conjures the source
within the depth
of the depths
of my endlessly
wet
in my darkest of dark
between blood and sweat
penetrating the mysteries
that quake through
this heart
filling it up
as it tears it apart
smashing it
to smithereens
creating sutures
of ironic healing
until through the cracks
both wide and slight
shoots up
the flare
of my own
inner
light
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 7:28 PM UTC
stitches.
a stab taken for healing purposes
proof my being is but dangling on a string.
mental scarring turns out to be more permanent than the ones I gave my wrist.
self-hate, self-doubt, self-destruction
I'm a snake that bites its own tail
donating a venom transfusion into my bloodstream.
staples.
shards of metal punched through my life
in a sad attempt of composure.
running from myself as my life runs away from me
emotional damage runs deeper than any blade could.
self-medicated by the pain
and mistaking poison for a sweet elixir
my world turns upside down in a matter of minutes.
sutures.
a single strand of fiber
responsible for keeping everything sewn together.
I'm a pretty little cross-stitch
patterned to perfection but laced with nightmares and a handful of bad memories.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 12:43 PM UTC
All the band-aids used
sutures and stitches sewed
bandages and crutches too
blood and tears, that flowed
Massive the damage done
in the battle's aftermath
not to some, or just one
buildings crumbled on the path
We'll drag our dead and wounded
from the rubble and decay
rescue those who're stranded
or couldn't run away
Everybody knows the expense
of poets gone too war
words fired in offense/defense
in the end, wondering
what for?
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 9:53 PM UTC
with no maths for happy
i divided my ' why? '
by Zero
and fell in Love again
like a sceptic
with a wild falsehood
masquerading as
a plausible
X = " WHY ? "
but we know not.
better i should makes waves
in the cavernous
and strike wood
with earnest flint, and cheapskates
on golden ponds of ice
unfathomed, mostly
dark good
with sternest glimpse, for pete's sake
and i could go on, twice
as unaccounted, ghostly
numb soot
in the worm's mint sutures; an armour plate
of Unreal numbers.... kites
in the unfounded, frozen
in the floating point
of a Reason.
or I could call You.... hmmmmm..... ?
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 6:22 AM UTC
Masks hide true burns
With no futures
Take off your mask
Wounds need sutures
Try to stitch with drips
From a whiskey flask
Taste numbs cherry red lips
Whose all for another
If they pucker again
See me quiver and stutter
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 5:30 AM UTC