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Donall Dempsey Dec 2018

Armed to the teeth

(all newly acquired)

you delight
in biting me

leaving little
indented marks

like moons
that glow on my arms.

“Don’t let her bite you like that! ”

Her mother scolds
both her & me.

I laugh.

“Let her practice! ”

My flesh willing to be

to ease her
teething troubles.

she looks up
at me

(all chortles and drool)

takes another
nip of me

“Naw...naw...naw! ”
gnawing at my flesh

smiling up at me
with all her little teeth.

I kiss her
on the top of her


adorned with
a classic kiss curl.

“Da...da...da! ”
she thanks me.
Claire Waters Aug 2013
so i sit here
with a hole in my foot
with a hole in my head
with a hole in this book
with the hole in her eyes
when she gave me that look
with the hole in my face
when i saw what he took
the hole in my heart
i still don't know the crook
paper is just too easy to tear
and you think i'm easy
when you see i've been shook
i think i need a hook

now there's a hole in my stomach
and it's feeling tight and queezy as she ties
me up in knots of my poor esophagus
her knuckles white from squeezing
i breathing like a snake trying to shed
the desert sun is hot so
please lift this mask up off my head
i try to offer a white flag
but she kills me instead
cause she doesn't like the things
that she can't understand

and so she holds her fists like
they have holes in them
holds me like there are holes in me
cavities of ample opportunity
for punishment and further tearing, no tears,
none of this teething willful jeer
i'll split and rewire, i don't need old fears

i am only tired at best
the pieces did not defy gravity
they fell right out of my ****** chest
but landing is a skill you see
tear me apart for free and be my guest
ripping down the wallpaper
wrestling with the messes of stresses
no one will unremember
looking for the emotions
you desperately want to render
but while i'm still soft
i'm no longer tender
so remember when you enter that
no matter what the temper of the sender
or persuasion of the vendor
i will not surrender
to all these social mind benders

there is a hole in my flag
my blood is an involuntary badge
no more flags, white stains
too easily
ali xoxo Feb 2015
this is the first thing among a million other love-things
i will pull from my skin
resounding yellowed memories of
soul from the streets
demon in the sheets
still got me writing and smoking and fussing—

i want you spread-eagled across my floor
telling me quiet things, scary things
anything that gets your blood going
**** you sure know
how to do mine
mean baby with
a gold ring on your pinky

i want you
in control of me
sit in my throat and take the wheel,
most days your storm is an infant
teething on the ridges of my dollar store sanity,
sometimes you're just so nice i think maybe
you'd take another chance on me

but i know
i'm just sprung
you don't feel me there anymore
not there
valencia Dec 2018
i am holding hands with a girl at a pet store.
i love how her voice changes for each of the animals, high and breathy for the calicos, round and bubbly for the angelfish, sonorous and slithery for the python. she loves them all, even the great hairy tarantulas that scare me beyond my age.

i am holding hands with this girl who’s halo of hair glows banana yellow beneath the heat lamps in the reptile section, a girl who offers a finger to the teething kittens.
“can’t we have one?” she asks, in the voice she uses only for me.

a voice i can’t describe without using her name, the kind of voice that makes all of time and space obsolete, oblivion just aftermath. i imagine joan of arc heard something similar the first time she picked up a sword.

she is still holding my hand, and i feel like im drowning in my affection for her, sinking into cartoon quicksand. i don’t want to let go. so i don’t.

“are you two...together?”

this is not unfamiliar, but the womans voice, the voice she has chosen, is strangely acdic. this woman has laced her tone with arsenic, without even a teaspoon of passive aggressive sugar to hide her poison. she inhaled, puffing herself up like a frightened lizard before her final words.

“there are children here, you know.”

in the future, i think of a thousand things to say. we are children too.

two girls holding hands after school, two girls holding hands in the movie theatre, two girls in a booth at tony’s pizza, two girls sharing akward first kisses while they hide behind the wall of a library.

two girls holding hands in a pet store on a saturday afternoon.

i know now they see us through funhouse mirrors: distorted, disturbed, our monstrous bodies taking up too much space, spoiling innocent spaces with our imposing sexualities.

our innocence never ours to begin with.
Robert C Ellis Jun 2019
Sediment weighs more than water so I sink further;
glasses clinking words
enumerated faces diluting history the pressure
of becoming so much underneath
my skin splitting at the seams,
bearing teeth.  There are these great turbines driving the Sea, the Will of comets deceased churning water at degrees
building gills and ribs from rusting. They rivet bent
backbones into a sister teething our parents for Memory.  
The streetlights trying to burn down Infinity
Robert C Ellis Jul 2019
I watch skulls stretch skin for expressions and
wonder how much Time they've borrowed
to appear human.  I
can't imagine we are so far removed from
the utensils we're twisting into meat
or the stars pinpricking the night
into Greek Astronomy.  And yet
with the breathing we generate Dreams.  And
foolishly Believe we are different from sea.  With
its creatures of battles
and infinity teething.
Donall Dempsey Jul 2018

She catches the London bus
in her fist.

Gnaws it...then throws it
through the window.

Lucky the window wasn't

She chews it  when

Chews its redness
- off.

She is amazed to see
the real thing for the first time.

For her
her toy has grown into a giant.

Then she discovers double-deckers.
Counts: "One double-decker bus...two double-decker buses

...24 double decker buses!"
It is unbelievably so!

Doesn't know she is counting
the same bus twice!

And now to add to her
amazement she

encounters a green bus!
Will the excitement never end.

"The bus has changed its clothes?"
she says unsure that this can be so.

But now confounded by a bus
all in white!

Even we have never seen
a bus in white.

It looks like it has taken
all its clothes off.

A **** bus!

But to her it's worse
far worse than that!

"The bus has taken
it's skin off!"

She refuses to go on
this skinless bus.

We wait for a "normal"
bus to somehow appear.

And appear it does
busy being a red bus.

The world of buses
restored to its proper order.
it was just a left over toy of a London red bus that a tourist would would fit in your fist. It was just around and when she was teething she would gnaw at became a security toy! She thought, I guess, that this was the normal size of a London bus so you can imagine her amazement when the real thing blossomed into being for the first time....the tiny toy had become a monster. She would gasp in wonder that things could be so. So just when she had got used to this then she saw a green bus for the first time and she equally couldn't believe that they could be any other colour than red! Then there was the time when the world went crazy and they're were double decker buses. She just kept coming out with the remarks and then the white bus threw everything she knew outta the window! Over 30 years later a white bus crossed my path and indeed it did look naked as a jaybird or as Tilly then put it- skinless!

I never thought of it again until now....there is no memory store I can go to in order to write a has to organically grow back into place and just the happenstance of a bus being driven to put on its paint clothes or to get dressed with logos kickstarted it all over again.

It the kind of thing a poet/father will take out of his wallet and show you an emotional picture of his daughter.
Eryri Nov 2018
Asleep in his cot.
Or so I thought.
I hear his restlessness
(No sleep for the rest of us)
I lie and wait for the inevitable,
His teething has been terrible.
He's about to start crying.
But the restlessness ends:

Silence is eerie when it is unexpected.

My tired brain seizes its chance,
Shutting my eyes on my behalf,
Forcing my body to relax,
Filing away my anxious thoughts,
But, no! Just as sleep takes hold,
My door creeps open.
There stands my son,
Or at least an approximation of him:

Doorway silhouettes are unnerving.

Then, a dragging realisation:
My son is just nine months old.
He cannot climb,
He cannot walk,
He cannot even stand.
The sleeping process reversing,
Adrenaline begins coursing,
The small figure approaching:

Staring and with spittle drooling.

I choose flight over fight,
Need to know my son is alright -
That he is not this thing of the night -
But the child-thing chooses fight,
Chases me, grabs me and bites.
It will not let go,
Its claws dig in,
Its breath stinking:

My son is my dying thought...
An attempt at something Stephen Kingy. Apologies to him.
The Guardian Oct 2018
Dear Death:
You became a fracture in my bone
I hate you more now, because you took something from me.
Do you really have to be this greedy? We could have come to an arrangement but you took your immoral ways and took them all.
You are like a thorn that keeps shredding my heart into pieces
You like it when I bleed, like a creature in the dark you like me on the edge.
You are a voice in my head that keeps yelling words I can’t pronounce,
You keep speaking a language only you and I understand.
I’m disgusted by you
But most of all I’m humiliated I ever let you close to me
The disguise cloth suits you well; you really got the best of me
You rolled a smile that bought me to ease
You consoled me when I was sad, you told me your teething troubles I told you my deepest secrets.
I trusted you, but you became a fracture in my bone.
You held me to the wall with a folk sharp enough to slice my vanity, I thought you were in performance but you were serious you left me there, you left me hanging.
You are so full of yourself; you didn’t even realize the soreness you left on my concise self.
You are a fracture on my tibia,
You deny me to stroll like a soldier of pride.
You are dirt under my polished nails; the effort was just a waste of time.
You miserable, ungrateful, arrogant, greedy *******
You conveyed darkness and steered it to my direction
I wish you decompose
I wish you get washed off by heavy rains of September and evaporate into thin air
I wish you get shot at a target practice, so I can burn your dead tissue
I hate you
I hate what you made out of me.
dania Mar 2019
i put my heart gently upon the water
        she usually grazes softly against each wave,
with the silence of a church nave
     mimicking that gentle pry  
of prayer-filled halls.

i unroll her scripture
   making sure to lay her out completely,
allowing her to speak at ease
she is fluent in its ebb and flow
and it is rude to interrupt
   i listen with curiosity, and some intent
hidden to myself
      i watch her agitation bubble and build
the  anger become apparent,
        her anger becomes a parent
kicking and
what they call the ripple effect

     of heavy breathing
or in other words, a young heart's teething

she ***** about, makes a scene,
      holds her breath
pouring into a voluminous body of water

the  endless volumes

of my body of     water

she pours in proclamation
this is all
my body
and all
my water

our emotional waters, out to sea
out to see

    the big chain of space

between our beings

keep in mind, or in heart
that if you
hold me closer
at some point
i promise
i will let go
[Adam 4 acquaintances who frequent
Foxholes with salivary soliloquy,
Usual suspects / no second helpings]

But dim is the ambience for active bedrooms,
On battery powered candles / Concorde lighting.
The carpet's edges chewed thin like
Receding hairlines
Then he uses me as bait..?

A neglected puppy's teething
Nesting under California
King / Mojo's hollowed cushions,
Keeps him gnawing these nights
Misters and oil burners.

I was mistaken, there are those
That revisit—reacquaint with him.
They must of shared a Starbucks,
As his Sasquatch hands
Rub wet platinum on his old fellow
Bears and their Cubs.
Silicone smooth pets, house boys
Fished from the deep web,
Plagiarizing with their eyes the pleasures
Of Eurocreme,
Bare back dreams, hours heave
The subtitled felatio scenes.

I tell the old man, they only ***
After and mostly when
the guested leave, guises, guilt…
There’s one hovering still
Round bouts quick to mount
To accommodate new daddy’s
Ginger manly worthless girth…

I'll be out in the smoking section
Out at the side of the house
Through the slider door, you know
From off the kitchen dining space
Where he had once
Replaced the table with billiards
For Less of a man friend
and pretend straight shooters
Happy birthday old trooper….

His Android vibrates every time
I take a five to breathe
Chain smoke my self defecating grief
He posts another ad. Pics of vehemency
On Craig’s and bb diseased.

If only you had heard
The vagrant shout / banshee in my skull
For these off the street urchins
left from whence they came;
Plugged in to the internet's latest
For a place to squat
For winter will be cold *****,
For them to just
****** off.

And here I go again,
Assuming that these were decent folk
Come for the holidays
Between taint and pocket rocket
Wallets drain
When one lets the desperate
Free range...

"What's there for dinner?"  
**** chicken heads again?
Same ole same old dope...
Revised final
The sound of her heart beating next to him kept him awake. In the dead of night he was alive with passion. As the minutes went on it grew thick within him, breathing and stretching and maturing in his chest. He was roused next to her as she drifted away far from the world they had shared just a few short moments ago.

He wanted her to stay. He wanted her to be awake and alive and wild with him, like the flowers that grew on the south side of a valley. But she wandered off into the distance and wouldn't return for the next few hours.

It was his fault, he knew that. She had told him once that his presence brought a sense of calm to her that she hadn't known since she was young girl sitting on her grandfather knee being rocked to the creek of his old rocking chair and that the pressure of his arms around her passively gave her a peace that could ooze a teething baby to sleep.

So, taking his punishment for wanting to hold her tightly, he watched her sleep. And allowed his passion to simmer and follow her into the nights wormhole. Caressed to sleep by the sound of her heart beating next to him.
no. 02
Robert C Ellis Jan 2019
Dandelion priests, fed
With honeysuckle and wild onion reeds,
They are me, still outside of Gravity, a page of
Campainstonomy:  Flesh as astronomy
Orion as a corpse sleeping by eternity.
Their such drunk parents laughing at the make believe.  
Their Christ, Bedtimes and dying Family

— The End —