"thoracic" poems
to all my lovers,
please indemnify
the bits of myocardium
you borrowed from me.
you may return them to this address:
150 Mediastinum Lane
Thoracic Cavity, DNR
Apr 6, 2019
Apr 6, 2019 at 9:53 AM UTC
I lose myself in your orbitals
whenever they focus on me.
I want to bury my cephalic
in the crevice of your cervical.
I long to keep your brachials
around my dorsum.
You have
amazing scapulars.
Thoracic to thoracic.
Or our palmars intertwined.
Digitals tracing patterns
on each other's abdominals.
Press your oral to my buccal
and we'll see how this goes.
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 6:19 AM UTC
In my thoracic cavity is a clock
that rhythmically sounds tick, tock.
Pumping blood through my body
giving my hands an opportunity
to point out a good quality
And a fault.
It is good that you know I am with you
but a fault is found in this sad room
as sounds of this hospital's gloom
absorb into my aching brain
I almost miss your words full of pain
what you said will always stay.
"I think of days of old
days of gold
days that told
us to cling and hold
onto occasions
that you and I had.
Days I thought could not go bad
Days I thought could not go bad."
Your clock ticks, but it would not tock
arrhythmic palpitations hold your body in lock
arms turn into stiff, limp imitations of parts
your body can find out how to start
its own trip into that forlorn dark
with no comfort from a singing lark.
I'm no lark, I bring no comfort of dawn
but I'll stay up with you as you yawn.
Your soul's windows full of worry
build up this notion your light will go in a hurry.
I vow to you as your light grows old
that you and I had days of gold
that you and I had days of gold.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 12:35 AM UTC
I'm paying tribute to one of the finest Poets I know, Tony Hoagland. He recently passed away from Pancreatic Cancer at 64 years young. This is one my absolute favorites and I believe you'll love it also.
Romantic Moment
After the nature documentary we walk down,
into the plaza of art galleries and high end clothing stores
where the mock orange is fragrant in the summer night
and the smooth adobe walls glow fleshlike in the dark.
It is just our second date, and we sit down on a rock,
holding hands, not looking at each other,
and if I were a bull penguin right now I would lean over
and ***** softly into the mouth of my beloved
and if I were a peacock I’d flex my gluteal muscles to
***** and spread the quills of my cinemax tail.
If she were a female walkingstick bug she might
insert her hypodermic proboscis delicately into my neck
and inject me with a rich hormonal sedative
before attaching her egg sac to my thoracic undercarriage,
and if I were a young chimpanzee I would break off a nearby treelimb
and smash all the windows in the plaza jewelry stores.
And if she was a Brazilian leopardfrog she would wrap her impressive
tongue three times around my right thigh and
pummel me lightly against the surface of our pond
and I would know her feelings were sincere.
Instead we sit awhile in silence, until
she remarks that in the relative context of tortoises and iguanas,
human males seem to be actually rather expressive.
And I say that female crocodiles really don’t receive
enough credit for their gentleness.
Then she suggests that it is time for us to go
to get some ice cream cones and eat them.
Oct 24, 2018
Oct 24, 2018 at 3:14 PM UTC
In experience you have learned
which tunnel to explore.
You enter this
tunnel for promises of
"gold and precious things!".
But this promise
did not enter through ear;
but thoracic permeation
Well prepared having
spelunk'ed before;
light- your pack
light- in hand.
Climbing, scrounging to escape
the tight entrance with
jagged rocks and false paths
it's many turns and falls-
although you cannot keep
your flashlight straight
experience triumphs, as in
a maze done quickly
once done before.
One strong pull
emerging through;
cave's pupil dilates.
Ground so smooth and wet
though wise to walk
we tend to slide
why?
Faster to the gold
Faster for exhilaration
Faster because faster!
and... why not?
hitting rough spots mid-slide
pain in debt to speed.
You let your feet
gain some tract
as the tunnel
narrows
Solomatic mind; without
doubt- body complies.
A slight gust tickles
but this tunnel is not through...
Alas! A shining shimmer is seen!
The earth is rough
to navigate
difficult; (but shimmers numb the sense)
pain soon saturates and stops your
smallest movement, heartbeat, fidget,
thought... The light is moving near?
As tunnels break space and time
and especially direction
feel as though you've lifted up
and the cave, the light, and all
rushes to you.
The sound of breathing relocates,
oh, yes that's you.
gun to back, hostage of Aphrodite
running, sprinting, breathless
you seek this precious shimmer
soon to realize it's coming
faster, harder, alarming to
you.
Looking ahead-
Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap
the sound the light bequeaths
not from ten feet but maybe
five, you realize it's you
heavy- pack
heavy- darkness follows
sprinting, pushing through.
And the entrance could not be any farther.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 5:24 PM UTC
(i am my only captor)
i've missed possibility
and the 3.15 to ecuador
won't quit its wreckage
nor its descent, a mist,
wistful through glass
i'd rather shatter
in a fit of impulse
in a fit of anything
in the fit of a blue bottle in your hand
or mine (either way i'd feel concussive)
and the fit of a moldavite splinter
in the palm of the kneeling woman
accepting your absinthe-stilled rage
so her little ones' heels wouldn't
and every time you walk through my door
i'm tempted to say welcome home,
but the way you hit the pillow at night
itches my fingers to report abuse
and none is meted but to you,
so i write my greatest love-letter
upon your thoracic vertebrae
and whisper security through
your cell window pajamas,
and wait 'til hours before
first light to do it all again
when you wake.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
she'd been placed
on a missing persons register
she was last seen
walking to the shopping precinct
her whereabouts didn't get solved
for some time
police had no positive leads
from the public
a full scale search was conducted
but nothing new
came to light
she'd just disappeared
like a wisp of air
some twelve months later
a jogger happened upon her
upper torso in amongst
the Taylor lagoon's
reeds and muddy sludge
this discovery was something concrete
for the police to go on
a forensic unit scoured the area
in the hope of finding further body parts
and other evidence
a state by state missing persons
search began
to try and identify the victim
who'd met with a ghastly end
in the autopsy report
it stated that she'd been
sawn into pieces
with a chainsaw
as the marks on her thoracic cavity
and neck
indicated this...
the detective sergeant
complied the information
he had on the lady
for a brief in court
as luck would have it
she had breast implants
and on them was found
a code number
by tracing this number
and the hospital who performed
the surgery
pay dirt was hit
she was a resident of Kentucky
who'd gone missing
in July of two thousand and fifteen
a chainsaw murderer
did the deed
as six female victims
were found
across three other states
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 8:11 AM UTC
Your spine is a holy place
From the tip of your neck, to the cradle in your pelvis, it is baptized in your waters
Starting with cervical, a lucky number of seven sections
The number of days it took god to create the earth
Greek mythology tells me, Cer is the personification of a violent death
Vic means to substitute,
Therefore this section substitutes itself for your violent death
Holding up an unlucky number 13
Pounds.
Of skull, and flesh and
Blood. Which it facilitates the flow of
It has hollowed itself out for nerves
Hollowed itself out so that you may feel
Everything.
Thoracic.
A dozen protective pieces,like the disciples foundation
Hammered in by thor himself
God of the sky
The horizon within dotted by a heart, some lungs,
Spleen, stomach, diaphragm
Stars in your very own galaxy
Lumbar
Five little graces
Luminary
Holding enough weight so
that the sun could settle down
right between your hip bones
root within your nerves
Apollo has come to visit
Showing you just how much holy light you can carry
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 4:44 PM UTC
A bone meets another bone
And you have a joint !
Joints are allright !
Cartilage !
Without them you couldn't possibly dance !
Imagine only your sacrum and your ilium
and no sacro-iliac joint
And no innominate bones
Imagine just a second a pelvis without coccyx
And your seven cervical
Your twelve thoracic
And your five lumbar vertebrae
Hanging loose !
How could you possibly swing your pelvis
From one side to the other
Without your pelvic floor ?
No more grand plié
No more passé développé à la seconde
No more attitude en avant on pointe
Farewell penché
Farewell attitude derrière !
See what I mean !
That's why I always say
I'd rather be with no bone
No skull no heart
Ï 'd rather be a hurricane
Wind has no skeleton
Wind needs no joint
Wind goes naked
No shoes, no underwear
And despite of all that
Wind is a ballet dancer, a danseur étoile
With no dimples in the back.
Wind can lie supine and stand upright
Feet parallel, legs stretched
Wind has no greater nor lesser trochanter
Wind has no right gluteus maximus muscle
No feet flexed, no ****** femoris muscle
Wind never gets pinched, stuck nor jammed
Wind is constant ricochet, yo-yo, meanders
Gulf Stream !
Wind is a catwalk model
Dancing its swinging walk
Aug 27, 2019
Aug 27, 2019 at 6:50 PM UTC
your cephalic is now distal from my axial
posterior when you used to be anterior
missing our deep talks, instead of superficial ones
your orbital region all but glances at my mammaries
tilting your mental up and away from me
ignoring my lateral buccal
I miss our manus's clenched together at the median
your pollex rubbing my digital
palmer's together
my thoracic lunges at you
trying to grip onto you using all my pericardium
my umbilical region hurts
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 12:07 PM UTC
sitting in my seat
all I do is think
saving every breath
counting every blink
thinking fashionably about death
I watch their eyes begin to wander
up and down each others’ bodies
I close
stick a hand into my thoracic cavity
and pretend it’s a clock to wind
backward through time
like they do in magazines
and in front of well lighted storefronts
and downtown mini malls across America.
any beauty column will tell you the tricks
and what you have to trade,
every weight has a balance
and every product has a price.
hands in your pockets
chin in the air
eyes on the pavement—
almost there,
almost there
button your buttons
string your shoes
"I think I can,
I think I can”
you can’t, of course,
but the emptiness of cleared out commercial blocks
and brown brick buildings
and wide streets that are empty in the night
they all call out
antagonizing you with imposing angles
narrowing density
constricting construction
walk away from it all
hide your naked figure alone and cold in the crippling dark
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 3:48 PM UTC
Icy burn, an ache
both dull
and knife point.
Am I going
insane?
Cervical, thoracic,
lumbar, and sacral
tension, or
is it
elasticity?
Am I going
crazy?
Dark days, I try to run
away from myself,
just to sniff in circles,
distracted, burning
daylight.
Good days, I practice
all the basic moves
a mixture
of modern living
and disregard
made me forget.
Guess I'm pretty broken.
Isn't the concept of
properly aligned
posture fun?
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 1:58 AM UTC
I feel this pain;
A familiar spinning in my chest.
(I'm almost certain it's called the thoracic cavity)
It happens whenever I think of you,
and when I think about not thinking about you.
Sometimes even when I'm not thinking about not thinking about you.
I think.
I want certainty.
I want to know when it will go away,
I'd even be happy to know that it'll last forever.
(At least I'd know, you know?)
But, I've felt it before,
And I know that it'll eventually go away.
Well, not go away.
More like a young man that visits an elderly woman.
He visits her everyday,
Then something comes up where he can't visit her one day.
He visits her the next, but his absences begin to accumulate.
Then, one day, he just stops visiting her,
and eventually forgets her.
The point is I guess,
I know it'll go away eventually.
I just don't know when.
And THAT is what kills me.
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 11:44 PM UTC
My face is numb from smiling like I found the whole truth
My heart’s your tiny dancer, all pirouetting around its thoracic cage
All lit up like New Year’s Eve, all twirling and careless like a rich girl
If we dance slow I’ll whisper you something epic, a stolen Shakespeare quote
Cameras rolling over our shoulders for a glimpse at the panoramic love
Because it’s all about to happen, like a long awaited legalization, a celebration
I lay out a stage for you, an invitation to make me a star
Because you’re just so smooth, Smooth like it comes to you naturally
Smooth like you know something I don’t, like you have it all figured out
Like when you’re standing front and center in your slacks and blazer,
Seeming like you’re so much older
You wield our tender attention spans, and prey on my weakness for romance
Like only you know how to do.
My mind is your magnifying glass, faithfully interpreting every bit of you
I have seen in you my every need from the existential to the animalistic
I’m hungry anxious and unpredictable as unlit fireworks
I just wait for the day.
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 12:11 AM UTC
it is often in the face
of adversity that people
flourish, pushing past
cement and brick to bloom
or so you are told–
the lion you find is not
filled with honey,
and only sand scrapes your tongue
its ribs do not yield at your touch,
they do not fall apart
in ivory waves as you
crawl into its thoracic cavity
no, it is but a decaying relic of god;
a carcass left in the dirt
and you can’t help but wonder
how such a thing ever roared
you are no samson, but you
let your hair grow out anyway
and hope to coax strength
from the maw of the forgotten beast
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 7:08 PM UTC
My chest is heavy
like there is a burden that I carry
so I feel a bit weary
and my eyes are a little bit teary
But I needed to be strong
To cry I felt was wrong
Instead I just sang a song
To forget the pain I've endured for so long
But what I didn't knew back then
For every single time when
I held back the tears I should have cried
by those tears my heart was drowned and died
for every tear that didn't fell on my cheeks
accumulates on my thoracic cavity, where my heart is
For every "I'm okay" lie, done by my lips
locks my heart deep into the abyss
In that abyss
filled with every tear I wasn't ably to cry
I drowned my own heart.
It was I who killed it,
It was I who made it die.
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 8:01 AM UTC
I got loadbearing feet.
-18 wheeler legs.
drag my demons and devils
in the tanker behind
I stand tall,
Oh this weight.
"She's a good one,"
they'll say,
not understanding
How fast I can leave.
"If you catch her-
there's cement foundation
under the moss that
grows over her faith."
Hurricane glass in my ocean gray eyes
I've got steel framed thoracic spine
that holds my haul steady.
I tied down my baggage
with bungee and coil.
I've got road ready feet
as there's asphalt that's burning.
I've got weight bearing soul-
and spare beneath the hood,
I've got to keep it moving though
As I'm just passing through.
Sahn
2/9/15
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 1:08 AM UTC
I don’t need you,
last time I checked,
there were two lungs
in my thoracic cavity,
a heart that pumps fluid
at 2.13 psig,
eyes that guide fingers
with forks to my mouth,
and feet that parked me
in front of the food
in the first place…
…So I started popping
one of your lungs—with that fork—
so I could help you breath,
clamping arteries
and ventricles, poking out
an eye and cutting off
your feet, but
that’s a lot of work
breathing, pumping,
seeing and walking
for two.
You know what,
I’m gonna go try the dip.
Mar 25, 2011
Mar 25, 2011 at 4:55 PM UTC
when the spoon bangs up against my teeth i feel it reverberate through me, like my frequent spasms that wrack my entire body. it goes down hard. i am hacking up pulmonary blood and half-digested puzzle pieces in yet another failed attempt to **** my system. it feels like 1,000 needles trying to enter a single spot on my skin.
apoptosis; programmed cell death. it's a poor god that can't save everyone. when i press my eyes i see colors, and shapes, and stars that slam into me like a tractor trailer. my thoracic cavity caves underfoot. i bruise like a peach. i'm like a peach in a lot of ways, actually. don't ask me how. that's disgusting.
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 5:05 PM UTC
Discontentment always be
knock, knock, knock!
On thoracic diaphragm.
All cavities get filled
with emptiness and the brain
It sees this anomaly, does its great job:
"Fill the emptiness!";
Ironically keeping to the heart's shadow.
The blind leading the blind,
blood is boiling up inside.
Voices keep repeating
Same old eulogy
Attendees deserted the ceremony
Muscles convulse
One last waking breathe
"Wake up!"
As if this some dream before
The the soul floats above, observing life.
The tangibleness of time:
<Fear>
<sadness>
<anger> <surprise>
<happiness>
<disgust>; now reprise.
"Take this drug for medicinal purposes."
$Paralyze
$Numb
$Tranquilize
$Dumb
$Petrified
$Stump
"Why don't you wake up?!"
One loud shrieking gasp
Ooh-aah!
Heavy pants
Agh
Agh
Agh
"That was a close one..."
The dark matter shifted away.
The brain followed its cue;
What was the discontentment?
It hasn't got a clue.
"I only want more"
Said the voices in the brain
"Of life, that is"
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 6:48 AM UTC
I felt the pain in her eyes as the train waved goodbye we will not get the chance to coexist the way we are used to for at least a few years
As the train moved more further than near I can tell her eyes welled up in tears everything that we've grown to familiar with will be less frequent and more "valuable"
Not that your kisses and soft touch were never valued now I will be able to fully appreciate your fingers against my skin like an artist painting it's canvas I will cherish the touch of your lips gently pressing against mine I felt the words "I Love You" transfer without making a sound
Our anticipation will build with each passing moment longing for the moment when I get to looking into your beautiful eyes and fully express my heart to you
The fist sized ***** beating in the center of her chest is fuelled by the energy given off by the one pumping inside of my thoracic cavity
I just want to defy the laws of gravity and ride on my cloud to be where you are so I can sweep you off your feet toss the broom so I can catch you from falling because that's not how we got to being in love we jumped together
Idk about you but I feel like I'm floating in air like a feather
22 years I've been on this planet and I have yet to meet anyone remotely close to make me feel the way you do
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 12:54 PM UTC
There will be
discontentment.
Every now!
And then, knock...knock
Knock! It likes to,
on thoracic
diaphragm.
Capillaries
become filled with
emptiness, and
the brain knows this.
"Fill the empty!"
How it must feel
to know but keep
the heart's shadow.
Blood is boiling,
Blind is leading.
There are voices,
keep repeating
the eulogy,
and attendees
all deserted
ceremony.
For one last wake-
ing breathe, "Wake up!"
Muscles convulse.
Some dream before,
Soul floats above,
observing life
in control of
playback time.
Fear...Happiness.
Anger...Surprise.
Sadness...Disgust.
Another reprise!
"Take this drug for
medicinal
purposes, please".
Paralyze...numb
Tranquilize...dumb.
Petrify...stump.
"Why don't you wake?!"
A shrieking gasp,
Oo-oo-oo-Ahh!
Then heavy pants,
Ahh, Ah ha, Ahh
"'twas a close one",
The dark matter
shifted away,
the brain in cue.
What was it then,
discontentment?
It hasn't clues.
"I just want more",
said the voices
in the poet's,
"of life, that is".
Reprise!
Jan 6, 2017
Jan 6, 2017 at 2:34 AM UTC
I'm planning an Everest hike
You told me you like types, like your sister's barbie before she burnt the plastic, ******* melted lighter fluid candle light
You told me through your sinuses, you wanted to mutilate the plastic
Bisphenol A gets bored on scent
Now you want to smell raw meat letters
Thoracic vertebrae
Sacrum
Femur
Pieces of you, yourself and her
Pieces you can **** the harrow out, intake samples of soul
You were made to look like a human being
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 1:58 PM UTC
There are days
when I can still feel the agonizing ache
in its accelerated beats
as your image reveals itself
behind my lids,
when I think the threads
of those stitches I sewed
four years ago
(has it really been that long?)
haven't yet dissolved
and are keeping me closed,
and when I can feel your breath
against my cheek
and eventually my rhythm
keeping time with yours.
But these words are not
unfamiliar to the pages that I bleed onto
every time I briefly feel broken again.
So, this is a letter to the last person
who broke my heart:
Not you,
but myself.
To this day
I don't recognize the eyes that stare back at me
every morning when I rise to soft beams of light
that creep their way through the holes in my blinds
as I make my way down the hall
to look into the reflection in the bathroom mirror.
You see,
sometimes
when someone tears you apart repeatedly,
you just start to view them differently.
There are times
when all I want to do
is reach into that image
and clasp my hands so tightly around her throat
until her skin grows blue
but her fight grows red,
and if she would listen to me,
I would tell her to quit sprinting
from anything that makes her feel,
Because every time I hear her feet press the ground,
every time her leg muscles bulge in flight,
I can also hear a glass heart shattering
against her thoracic cavity,
but I still feel nothing.
Let me raise a glass to finding the solution.
Take a sip.
Swirl it in your mouth.
Feel its bitter taste against your tongue
until you unlock the door
to the invisible brick wall
in front of you.
Let someone else break your heart for a change.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 11:45 PM UTC
Cervical Thoracic Lumbar
The natural curve
Supports all that life gives.
It withstands gravity
Wears and erodes with time
Dignity and poise when life is light
But heaviness of life burdens and bends
Life humps drag and pushes down
The spine fights the forces
Fighting the creep weighs dead
Muster muscles and thought
Natures law wins
Jul 14, 2021
Jul 14, 2021 at 8:08 PM UTC