"synapse" poems
a desire to know
every muscle
governing the movements
in your face
that bring smile
from lapsed synapse
explodes from my meridians
with your name
on the lips of every
captain to my ships
in hopes that my tired thoughts
could find a home
in a harbor not far from your heart
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 10:43 PM UTC
Thousands of years I have lived
And now I feel like little bacteria
My heart is filled with pores
And people call it ostia
The night's are glazing with pleurobranchia
And thank God I didn't get ******* hemiplegia
Solitary I feel in my animal kingdom
I wish I could do something with my boredom.
How amazing are these euplectellian shrimps
Dieing together imprisoned
Symptoms of true love they show to me
Together up to death they are known to be.
Maybe I am the class imperfecta
But by birth I am a mammalia
I wish we could both be mycorrhiza
And get hallucinated with amanita.
Someday we would make a synapse
And get into the love with mitochondria
And there our nervous system stops
And there the impulse will walk .
No special organelles I have
I'm just 70s ribosome
My heart is incipient
With foldings of mesosome
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 4:41 AM UTC
Check back soon to resume and consume
every tight-lipped, slack-jawed fool in the room.
See, it's all what you know
as the fires start to grow
and the future burns slow.
Keep your eyes on the ceiling,
and your antenna feelers feelin',
for when your senses stop reeling,
you will finally start believing.
Kick-back to the basics,
not too far from the basement,
and close enough to show
that **** really isn't basic.
It's another mid-west, ******
******** freak show.
Another evening drinking whiskey
with the seedling's peep-show.
So, it's time to relax and relapse
into acidified broken synapse.
The lights keep flickering
and the couples keep bickering:
***** I am not above homicidal snickering.”
I steer clear of these diversions,
and wander past the sermons,
just to chew up all the crooked talk
and spittle out inversions.
I shovel mockery to hypocrisy,
pin-prick the empty *****
whose passions lack predicates,
and in the background, I'll be complexifying my medic-kit:
ketamine, morphine, ecstasy;
marijuana, mushrooms, LSD.
Watch those ******* jitter-bug college *****
procreate while sloppy drunk,
but keep an honest eye
on the flies that will rise above –
then fall back down in existential angst, like:
“Dear God, why must I be free?
Oh, God! Why is every universal eye on me?
I'm just another acid war veteran,
sneakin' through these gutters
with pestilence and bitter sin.
When they reach the promised land
of golden clouds and holding hands,
I'll be underground with the slugs and the spider band.”
Yet here I sit, sick of sippin' poisons with illiterates.
So, let the skies fall and the buildings crash,
as you stand on the wall with a fist full of cash.
I'll be on the front lawn,
picketing for dawn,
while the night around me slowly ambles on.
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 12:23 AM UTC
a silent metronome,
we know exactly when,
when sleep pleads us enter,
and when it bids us adieu,
when we growls for sustenance,
or begs for plenty of the mercy
of emptiness to cleanse our void,
when to compose,
when to repose,
when to dispose,
and when tempos dictate
lay down child,
fallow!
*but its greater feat,
when sounds the bells of alarm,
when need is greatest,
for arms embraces,
wet lips to refresh,
bodies to synapse,
eyes require delight,
when needs be greatest,
for that very first infant step
to what can only be ever felt,
but is otherwise undefinable,*
for another
+to make us complete,
a unity, an,
us+
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 7:21 AM UTC
You are the systole to the diastole
Of my four-chambered cavity
You are the pulmonary rhythmic control
That fills air to my capillary.
You are the Pituitary Gland
That drowns my bloodstream in dopamine
You take my brain to a wonderland
Drunk and overdosed in Seratonin.
You are the only Mitochondrion
That powers all cellular activity
My Cytoplasms are in motion
For the sexiest Golgi Body.
You are the ultimate synapse
In my every granule of neuron
That gives an involuntary prolapse
To both my dendrite and axon.
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 9:27 AM UTC
If you can invite me
Wholeheartedly
Invite me to your thoughts
And with all my might
An aesthetic senses
Let me be
In my own way
In all the sulci
And the gyri
Synapse the nerves
Of sensory delight
Transcendent realm
Of heart, body and mind
Cross the elemental avenue
Where solely
Soul resides
With the sacred worship
And the exquisite conscience
Let me lighten up
Letting your spirit high
Nothing much....
Immerse yourself
Like yesterday
And always
If you can invite me
Wholeheartedly
Invite me to your thoughts
Aug 13, 2022
Aug 13, 2022 at 6:13 AM UTC
In deep thought
The fabric of existence is explored
Beyond the quantum darkness
The blind spot of source
A jolt of synapse
And the heart is intrigued
But to search even farther
Is an existential gift...
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 8:44 AM UTC
Riding the air
In dark morning
A steady current of rain
Descends
Upon everything
The fir tree
The house roof
My dogs fur
The empty Ash tree
The fallen leaves
Brown, red, yellow, orange
The bird feeder catches the water As does the bird bath
The puddles
The street
The cement
My head
My ears hear each
Multitude of patterned drops
In apparent chaos
Reminds me of the
The synapses in my brain
Circuitry, each drop a connection from
Dendrite to dentride
Messages of the unknown
Of falling to earth
Of vulnerable life
Unprotected.
The unhoused, in the cool soaked air of December. Will you remain blessed?
Will you spread your joy in the patter of rain to those who bare the rain in their skin, on their dampened clothes? Adding a chill.
Will today you find some without a home
Bringing tarps, blankets, source of heat, to those who listen
To the same rain
While they shiver
And you stay in your glow with your tidy wood burning fireplace. Stay comfortable? Risk giving for giving sake. What floods of love can you share in December rather than giving to
Your precious family, the left overs, the excesses
And give to charity that make each day another day for breath in rain from the heavens. I choose the rain. I could be the one in
The open now, soaking as I pen these words.
Hoping words of love, neutrality, non-judgement and altruism be the "church" we reside in. Drop by drop.
Over a hundred different sounds of rain brought to earth by gravity, in my receiving ears, and the tiny sparkles of light reflected upon the light from the street lamp shining upon concrete saturated by this extended morning rain.
Dec 3, 2023
Dec 3, 2023 at 9:10 AM UTC
Where is the seat of psychic pain?
Are MRI's made to trace the vein
To neuron neighborhoods
Sealed, yet synapse connected,
One to another
By chain link fences?
Nov 20, 2010
Nov 20, 2010 at 9:44 PM UTC
Roaring in my ears,
Fire in my soul,
Deafening, all consuming, treacherous:
The violence with which my body trembles
is enough to make me want to collapse.
Every nerve in my body is raw
raw to the synapse,
down to the electrical impulse that jumps
the gap and creates
a chemical that induces
some kind of process
that I have little control over.
Happy, sad,
Lust, love,
Confusion, pain,
Pleasure, resolution:
All just chemical reactions of the brain to stimulatory catalysts.
There is no light at the end of the tunnel;
for there is no tunnel.
Yet if there was, I would be too afraid to travel through
the dark to get to that supposedly
Desirable end.
Electrical impulses that control every thought,
every feeling, taste, touch, smell and
how they have an effect on us.
Simple yet complicated beyond understanding, and yet we breathe,
Continue our lives with only the faintest idea
that we are controlled by the chemicals contained within us.
Perplexing. Deeply thought provoking. chemical producing.
Apr 4, 2010
Apr 4, 2010 at 11:50 AM UTC
I am the spawn
Of a defective *****
And a reluctant egg
If there is a God
I'm sure he took
The utmost care
With his needle and thread
Because everyone will reap what they sow
And all I am is flaws
Stitched together
With good intentions
Because all my life
I've only ever had
Good intentions
And my heart is so full
Of love for other people
That there is none left for me
Let's talk Biology
There are over 37 trillion cells in a human body
That's ******* amazing
And every single cell is working with
A common purpose:
To keep you alive
So knowing that
Why do I so often find myself
Crying until I fall asleep
With thoughts that It would be better
If I didn't wake?
I also know the brain itself
Cannot feel pain
So maybe
My brain doesn't know
What it's doing to itself
As wicked thoughts
Dance from every synapse
Maybe it just has
Good intentions
Maybe my words could change someone
Maybe the letters I stitch so carefully
Could have some ounce of an impact on someone
And that's all I've ever wanted
But my thoughts will remain like hermits
Locked in a cage with no key
While I continue on with my good intentions
Because the road to hell
Has always been paved
By those with
Good intentions
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 8:34 AM UTC
Explosion of the white tree,
A synapse in the damp air.
The fluid around the corsair,
Ambassador of the secret;
The perfume of a comet
Descends upon the wetland.
A goosebump stretches my hair;
Ripples forming across the sea
As nostril and flowers meet
Miles and miles without end.
The green flame always return
In a frenetic haze, a burst of fire,
As the solar wave caresses the earth
At welcomed glances, so soft a fur.
A last effort renewed forevermore;
Delirious poison continually brewed;
An elixir against the veil of dusk;
Cause and effect from dust to dust.
As the mind steps out back further,
It finds itself returned at the core,
Til all of Spring elapses.
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 11:53 PM UTC
There’s a favorite culinary dish in town;
it’s known as the synapse shish kebab.
It’s high in protein as well as fat, and it comes
with a garlic-infused broccoli rabe,
available with a choice of couscous or rice.
The palate will most likely be enticed, just like
another common John who swears to us that he
again has done absolutely nothing wrong.
It pairs nicely with an eighties chenin blanc,
gray matter that’s grilled to sheer perfection,
smoked all day, and is guaranteed satisfaction,
seemingly like an old, rambling rolling stone.
The lights are on—but nobody’s buying homes.
An opera singer that is deaf to certain tones,
this is definitely not regal crumpets and tea—
“heart-healthy nutrition,” all our medics agree.
There’s a new critically acclaimed dish around;
it’s the slow-roasted synapse shish kebab,
moderately priced, and portions are family style—
passed-down secret recipes from west of the Nile,
and also numbers that won’t make your wallet sob
like a big, bad, dark, overly loaded cloud.
Give it a try, and then shout it out loud:
synapse shish kebab!
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 5:02 PM UTC
I need a
hair cut delilah
and a shave- but ephedrine?
endocrine? disorder
and testosterone soars
I am what chemical?
what neurological miracles?
an infamy
in synapse symphonies....
a biological fool,
short wired fused-
refused the complex misfire
when estrogen fuss
messes with my desires.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
You said you needed an extra pair of hands
so I took mine off and
gave them to you.
The sun set in my glass, darling-
can't you hear that?
coo-ee, coo-ee
oh the cockatoos
are jabbering philosophy again.
Sweet-talker,
I want to push my fingers into your mouth,
swirl it in all the honey in there.
My hands on the clock
pointing at quarter past five,
birds swing up into the air like
the half-beat of a pendulum
lungs filling up with water-
we're all romantic fools here.
Sometimes I think of time as fluid
tick tock tick tock
my glass dripping into
yours.
We're all running dry,
quickly, before the night ends-
ask me to dive off
the edge of the world
with you.
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 2:48 AM UTC
To live is to research happiness
and homes for the pleasure of ending.
People, through illusions, can shape
happy possibilities from speech and position.
Don't write it out.
A life more useful than tragic
is original in a moment,
can transcend as well as
fall into mistakes and experiences.
To get your body to lean
as far forward over the
insurmountable bubble as possible,
Is to create magic that consists of gateways
and actions -- the outcome of which
can place a thinker with only few
leaps stranger than your enemies.
Always forgive.
Magic sometimes longer than a pause
between morality and naked minds
influences the two ways a relapse synapse will run.
The true temptation of safety can be
carpeted by play dough and play grounds.
It's better to not sustain interfering manufactors,
to not pirate the lies a man historically risks
on quality of thoughts,
But instead depend the nature of your virture
on exploration at the heart of echoes.
Why should you quit?
A human's greatest obstacle is finding the principles
we don't discover with the jailer listening and
men afraid to rock the boat.
Give better than you dare have.
Reset the age of the mind and give parallel
truths at the point of sweeping tides.
To understand the laws of popular drifting,
compromise the art of part establishing,
occupy an ambitious ideal;
You will lose an elevation over not being, not remembering.
Sometimes treading water becomes a nuisance,
and you'll lose a choice in the dungeon.
Don't abandon your force.
Don't regret the pursuit of circumstances.
Don't delude a reputation of bridges and evidence.
Empathy is traveling the world for imagination and salvation.
We are here for a spell; one equality
shreds the ears ready to get you in trouble.
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 10:21 AM UTC
I dream in synesthesia…
Every synapse a new white breath of creation,
A universe spinning free from entropy’s oblivion
I dream in synesthesia…
And see a warming freedom that no body can measure,
A movement of thought erupting from nothing
I dream in synesthesia…
And taste life obliterating reality’s edge,
As it bursts into the expanse of forever
A beginning no body can destroy…
I dream in synesthesia…
And feel the grace of infinity giving way to split atoms
As femtoseconds expand to light years speckled with dust and gravity
I dream in synesthesia…
The sweet smell of passion pouring forth
Riding vehement pulses of fiery red light
I dream in synesthesia…
And hear the heartbeat on my skin,
As creation goes forth and breaths white once again…
I dream in synesthesia…
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 1:14 PM UTC
I am
In a word
transfixed to a moment
the epitome of evolution
the pinnacle of creation
I laugh triumphantly
As my knife pierces the medium rare steak
So civilized
I am
that rare breeze
that has traveled the distance
of so many sorrows
a physical force
borne of the contradiction
between warmth and the abyss
I am
very respected
I adjust the tie
the trapezoidal patterns hide so coolly
the noose around my neck
a lynching of estimation
in a two part drama
I am
leaning against the wall
the flesh pressed against the graffiti
my being transposed against someone else's thoughts
its all a happenstance
an accidental meeting without a gaze
but for that commonality
we have nothing in common
I am
a synapse
I pass on the sensations
of pain and pleasure
without discrimination
my free will
in all its glory
succumbs to a chemical reaction
yet I must be more
or maybe just maybe
the knife I hold can pierce more than flesh
I am
floating on a stationary platform
I choose my destiny
I rearrange the order of confusion
a train screeches to a halt
a sea of ties and heels
self assured smiles
of the precise menu
may I have the check please
I am
a random canopy of emotion
I flutter in the breeze
the clearest expression of being
of breathing
of wanting
of feeling
a rare glimpse
a subtle smile
a delicate touch of flesh against flesh
its all too fleeting
transparency and no more
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 8:27 AM UTC
~
Bala^ comments:
"alignment - any which way one can if possible to make
****** and *********** simultaneously happen,
without any best position plan"
~
*may all the gods bless you, Bala,
for waking me at 4:33 with this poetic induction
coaxed from my spinal fluid sanity
with perfected clarity
my own circadian rhythm masters internal,
the most reliably unreliable human container technology teachers,
semi-skilled in the entrainment arts for this impoverished body mine,
deem it appropriate that early morn messages of
propitious possibility be greeted immediately
entrapped, awaken me at four AM with great glee,
because these elusives^^ know exactly what stirs
this being's cochlear cockles into birthing a
poetic cookie ******** ***********
your message meme provoking, inducing,
be honest man - simply seducing, my within
by your teasing words from without*
"without any best position plan"
*not to confuse the mere appearance of a routine
as worthy of the entitlement of "plan,"
much as the poem's own vanity chooses it own alignment
the relationship, the relativity -
always the
flexing flummoxing freaking insatiable pleasuring
when your thrusting unplanned message
****** and bests my brain,
releasing a fully formed, instantaneous parrying poem
from an aroused, passing, unsanitized, second of sanity
for no better *** than this...
as per the unplan?
this tissued life,
this in and out
of punching and counterpunching continuous,
but rarely contiguous,
for we are never aligned for more than a moment,
the moment that almost always goes unnoticed,
for the heart's ***** tissues,
are mostly torn by how life
uses us roughly
so here is an aligned confession fecundity
this poetry gig, my salve,
to tenderize the daily redness,
the irritation residual of having no plan
however these fingerprints decided for you,
to present, upon completion,
this soft-spoken loud ***********
a peaking, not a leaking,
** ** ** - a screaming
hallelujah, i'm aligned!
the man found albeit briefly
a beat, a plan and its verbal, herbal,
best solution
may all the gods bless you, Bala,
for waking me at 4:33 with this poetic induction
coaxed from my spinal fluid sanity
with perfected clarity
the man and his plan, for a mega-second
his best,
unplanned but got and given,
in poetic planetary alignment
positioned
as are you and I -
the thousands of miles of distance tween us
as you read this
collage collapse
into a singular synapse
of ****** and ***********
hallelujah, we are aligned!
~
**disclaimer:
anything you say to me, can and will be used
for a poem**
~
5:55am
April 1, 2017
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 4:16 PM UTC
You will be argonaut
one more of the supernumerary
trodding upon the cindered ones
come before you
limbs wooden and somite
encircling a moon
tumescent and blue
in permafrost garrote
on constellations edge
tottering over synapse
mocking
like a mime on highwire
your guilt
lupine in its longing
sawtooth timberline in vivisect night
down promontory
to frozen wave
the broken spoke of your step
on sleetslick carapace
past the preterit
embalmed hide of the world
into the silent millstone
berserk
to return emptyhanded
and changed
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 2:36 AM UTC
Reaching Inside
to Center Mind
and further still
past Grey Matter
past axon and dendrite
through the synapse
Once more unto the breach
and further still
into cell
into nucleus
into gene
into acid amino
and further still
into particle carbon
past electron
past proton
into neutron
and further still
to Reach
The Void
and reside within
and wait, still
Being within Nothing
as the World Serpent
tail-in-mouth
consumes itself
Wait
and Hold
Still
Wait
and
Hold
Still
Now gently Returning
Up and Out
tugging softly at The Void
with wish whisper touch
softer than Light
pulling
bringing Nothing
Up and Out
into Everything
into Center Mind
Up and Out
leaving neutron
past proton and electron
leaving carbon
Up and Out
pulling No-thing
Up and Out
leaving gene, leaving nucleus, leaving cell
Up and Out
bringing The Void
Up and Out
through synapse
past dendrite and axon
through Matters Grey
Up and Out and Into
Center of Mind
the Hole in
Your Self
the Whole within
the Holy
You
Now Wait
and Hold
Still
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 4:56 PM UTC
Driving off onto the 101 rush hour concrete jungle, there are no exits,
only obligations to stay stuck in my mobile cubicle moving at the speed of slow.
Hidden flowers on the hillside bloom away mocking my insanity,
they cheer me on to see beyond these gray prison bevels.
Gray blocks hollow until they're filled with my humanity,
making me take the choices reaped with devils.
I feel like I've lived a day in one hour, it's so early it could be midnight.
Twisting and turning in my brain, the sun suddenly ridicules, feeding me a fresh case of insane.
I'm at a point of sorrow, sorrow of an exceptional quality, Grade A-farm raised, take two tomorrow.
The raven croaked nevermore, Juliet is the sun, dangren-burang1.
We have to go. I'm almost happy here2. Complacency rots insides, then refills with fear.
So - Listen to them - children of the night. What music they make3. Clamoring for sight.
There's no flesh or blood within this cloak to **** There's only an idea. Ideas are bulletproof4. Filled with truths, synapse salvoes, loves, and drugs. We love what we eat and eat who we are. GERManic germs looking for psychological thrills. You work the guns, I'll rattle the hills.
Smoking cannabis to an over-extent, hope lost, old kung-fu and 80's movies won, I eat smoke for breakfast.
This sun is still mocking me, “Start your day, be productive, make a baby, then expiry.”
Stepping into society, I'm a satanic leaf-tailed gecko wanting freedom, abdicate, and let go your kingdom.
Halfheartedly half washed dishes in my sink; this entropy roller-coaster of highs and lows drives me to drink and think, then drink and smoke, making life one strange syrupy green swirl of mammarys and calamities filled with brevity’s of rarities.
5,000 images, 2 comedies, and a numb right arm later I've turned into dark matter, invisibly pulling all that matters together into a forever stretched infinitely, literally making synergies out of life-energies.
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 5:01 PM UTC
Living life for the sounds.
grind i mind
absolute audio-rhythmic beats pound a dance through an etching ring.
beats box across the field and further across a synapse
fill up my cup to the fuzzing auto-metric top
meters into yards into miles into years zoom fumble into wall and leak without gravity.
naked.nude.phat.spat you out like good stat.( ic.)
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 2:06 PM UTC
Is
The confirmation of the superstitious
The skeptics permutation of chance
The guarantee of the paranoid
The communication expected of the spiritually transcendent
The nothing [at all] for those who never penetrate the surface tension of their world
The intuitive see
An allusion to
The creeping deep synapse connecting
[thickly binding]
The breath of the world
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 12:04 AM UTC
Words. Work.
Getting old. ***** shirt.
Exhaustion remains after washing away stains from dirt.
Lower back hurts,
..but this mindstate is not where I'll stay.
Meaningless pay spending my hours when I just want to create and play.
Heavy body, cat nap after embers hit the ashtray. Astral stray.
The most nutritious are sometimes the first to decay.
Get up just to lay.
Easy to see darkness when there's no heart in the frame..
So I'll adjust how I see, and remember to breathe,
because all of life comes to us with ease.
Gonna physically release just to come back and share my dream
Yes yes, nothing less.
Do what you love
is all I can confess.
Limited time, I see that we're blessed
Hope to make the most of mine,
before in peace we rest
Death sentence. Moral Repentance.
In the age of remembrance blinded by pyrotechnics.
Embody the calisthenics and honor further than aesthetics.
Depths beyond measurement kissing anti-venom lips.
Tethered to the weather within our steady blissful trips.
The clock can tick all it wants but the hands are losing their grip. Proving nothing to be more beautiful than this present-tense eclipse
Intuition is our intangible compass
Creating a compassionate instance that can't be diminished
I am hear forever to play with the trinkets and parade those that listen
Love is all encompassing, not just a mission
Thoughts come to fruition
Extending what you envision
The Synapse fires like a piston
What you've done indicates your current position.
Think now my friend.
You are the sun shining at the podium speaking at the perceived end.
You are the sum dictating everything yet to come.
Thank you for praising the vibration connected to one.
Take a deep breath, smile, and have fun.
This strong web we've achieved can never be unspun.
Reflect your true self and know we've only just begun~
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 7:52 PM UTC