"transfusion" poems
i must give you a full physical exam
to fully grasp my prognosis and plan
of treatment for you... dont be afraid
i feel confident, no need to debate
i can satisfy
and gratify
your pre-dic-ament
in the richest succulent
as a specialist, to some degree
my healing hands work expertly
but to receive full and complete treatment
you must partake my honey rather frequent
for a better plan of action
i require a full body transfusion
a chemical mixture of center fuses
a delicate blending of our juices
this may require several procedures
over time it provides many features
healing properties of your most vital *****
however worth it, even if, it cost a fortune
to this a can guarantee success
but first you must fully undress
i work with energy transference
your help required for successful convergence
of the best possible results
between two consenting adults
bartering is certainly a viable option
for your long term medical condition
providing equal services for each other
helps maintain balance to one another
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 1:01 AM UTC
The feel of the pen
on the paper
the poet grabs a verse.
the dripping of morphine
the flow of endorphins
flow of electronic lines
across the monitor
let’s hope we don’t flatline
this mere mortal
needs a portal to the stars
this mere mortal needs
defibrillation to the heart
the way the poetry forms
in the lungs and the mind
the way life needs beauty
is sometimes unkind
I am the blood transfusion
the illusion
of poems
bells chime
Electrons flow
Radioactive X-rays know
Poetry opens doors
I am the emergency poet
I will take flight
in flames
never shall I be tamed
But I will make that heart beat
and get you out of your seat
And on the road to recovery
and discovery
Because poetry heals
and steals back our songs
what could go wrong?
Dec 8, 2021
Dec 8, 2021 at 2:54 PM UTC
You run through my veins,
I can't live without you!
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 1:59 AM UTC
a future promise
a hard on like bundled gym socks
in stuffed blue jeans
a future threat
a shriveled phallus wrinkled obsolete
she remembered fondly
being beaten drum chatter
and seized like slow roasted
fall off the bone pulled pork
****** raggedy Ann
catapulted beyond Euboean heavens
ravaging scrotums Gordian ******
with her wild fiendish mouth
drinking a river of
haloed golden showers
spit and ****
in a runaway hot house of glistening pink
buttery spires
engorging her macerated orifices
half eaten radish
chocking on hordes
of big do do *****
a ****** face; cross eyed
Babylon abalone
bashed Ashly mashed
begging for
a face full of swinging *****
like caped chandeliers
trotting faint giggles
in a constellation
of ruptured arteries
and thick sparked ****
on her knees
milk glitter faced
scared with happiness
she counted one smiling bruise at a time
her badge of calamities
black and blue silhouettes
grinning invitations like party favors
without a crease of shame
her skin rapturous
spackled patchworks
bled like torrential fountains summer tide
while every body had fizzy red ice phlebotomies
and steamed through her drooling tumble pie
lust ***** totem
house of winding labyrinths
honey pumped transfusion
flush on blush
opera of tangled limbs
red pulse wedding flowers
slick ***** palace
blood tongued orchard
caressing knotted mooned
**** spill
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 2:22 PM UTC
I say **** kanye **** kanye **** kanye yea yea eeeee
I say **** kanye **** kanye **** kanye yea yea eeeee
I say **** kanye **** kanye **** kanye yea yea eeeee
I say **** kanye **** kanye **** kanye yea yea eeeee
So many sellouts claimin' they real when they only want a mass stage appeal
****** swear they be down for the hood? but how while living lavish in the white neighborhoods?
This ***** turned scooby doo ****** where the **** are you? You loosin' ya black views
How the **** you gone say slavery was a choice I remember when you had a voice
Ever since you called Bush out it seems like got drained out
Gallons of blood a spiritual transfusion ***** ya loosin'
Ever since your lips ****** on that white ******* **** **** them Kkkhardashians say it louder once the mic enter my hands enemies get the sweatin' cuz of my verbal weapon
yeah ya been coming out makes me doubt
No wonder why they call you gay fish half of them ******* is really *******
In the celebrity world where boys is girls and girls is boys seduced by the evilness that swirls life ain't about diamonds and pearls
Pandoras box dusty as **** so no need to throw a fit Kanye I got a black polished AK' forty seven ready to send you to heaven
No ladder leaning on a stagger soon to end up a plastic bagger
Coroner's dinner deaths the winner while ya visions growing thinner
**** what ya stand for I take you back through the "wire" throw gasoline all over you then light a fire burning your empire
**** your kids and ya legacy none of us admire
Your coonery I'll crown you with thorns full of barbed wire til your soul transpires
Yeah punk ***** so
I say **** kanye **** kanye **** kanye yea yea eeeee
I say **** kanye **** kanye **** kanye yea yea eeeee
I say **** kanye **** kanye **** kanye yea yea eeeee
I say **** kanye **** kanye **** kanye yea yea eeeee
Also **** them white ***** kkkhardashian once again letting you know how they do brothers in
****** go crazy or end up in the pen or another gender trend
**** making friends **** chasin' ends
And if you wanna join kanye ya casket ready soon to be tucked in ....
Night night you ***** ******* die slow
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 10:31 AM UTC
so you're dying.
I don't want to believe it,
even though,
I see it.
I see it in the agony of your smile
and how much it hurts you to do so.
I see it in your shortness of breath,
with the weakening of your step;
but the strength has not left.
That blasted leukemia,
why not somebody else?
Someone who doesn't give a ****
about their health.
It's unfair.
Seeing you there.
Chemo after chemo
one transfusion after the next,
your body is giving up,
the ability to heal has dissipated,
although your spirit has illuminated,
****** you gave it your best!
Don't ever stop breathing,
please just take a breath.
Don't ever stop breathing.
Don't.
Ever.
Stop.
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 11:13 AM UTC
Tasting the cold rain
of her lullaby dreamscape
I floated through
her open streets
like open veins
where we carried out
our transfusion of love
such was
the umbilical cord of trust between us
such was
a long night's passions
not a drop wasted
she swallowed
the waters that were spilt in open corridors
rivers wide and winter white
ever fluid as they wound their way
into her dreamscape
spinning webs of reality from potential
and on nights
like this
I dream of who would have become if she loved me
but she dared not
and the cobwebs never spooled again
never cast their wide net
out into the hungry world
where babes go to die and ne'er do wells
eat breakfasts with smiles
I waited for her
and she never came
it was then I knew the brutal cruelty of the world
how
promises age
like foul eggs
wherein one thinks oneself soon to be fed
cracks open the vault of life
and goes mad
from the sight of the bitter truth
that all men die of heartache
long before their bodies give out
long before they never heard "I love you"
from tongues not forked
and lips not peppered
with the winter wonders
of myriad men
to whom love was also promised
and never made manifest
Sep 18, 2022
Sep 18, 2022 at 12:24 AM UTC
Prayer is said to be powerful.
Well this soul begs the Grandest Force in this universe
to place love in this being's life.
A flower of one's own that radiates with one's soul
and reciprocates the actions
to nurture it beyond disbelief.
This spirit is not sully
wondering into such ways is only dangerous.
If this heart has already been dismantled
by the only flower who received the transfusion of one's love
the being cannot take that back.
Reconciliation regarding the breathtaking
and impossible cannot be taken back.
Chunk after chunk...that part of the mechanism is falling to disrepair.
Oct 3, 2011
Oct 3, 2011 at 7:25 PM UTC
I feel the weight of nearly a hundred moons upon this suggestive flight deck, overtaken by transfusion in a high formation rhythmic way. Fluorescent headphones—neon red, rotate around neutral zones. Push in, pull out. Swim under the pink, towards some aerobatic link to mother earth. And still, we're not in orbit yet. Your dawning glow you blow into my lungs. Will you catch me if I blast away?
Mar 1, 2023
Mar 1, 2023 at 12:28 PM UTC
precipitation's anticipation of change
diffused morning light
the mustiness of first rain
a misty visibility hiding distant hills
a graying of the cityscape
skyscrapers in clouds
construction's crane quieted
in the mix of old and new
a slow rush hour
washing the street's grime
a coolness to my eyes
a slight chill in my bones
Autumn colored leaves swaying with breeze
on half empty trees
slanted raindrops incessantly blustering
a beautiful day
where only seagulls dare to fly
eight peeping eyes with healing hands
too good to help her to the restroom
"I'll call a nurse"
they just poked in to take a peek
feel her leg's edema
and inform me of possibility's progress
a colonoscopy?
a transfusion?
time keeps asking for more time
morning meds
an IV
a blood draw
a blood test strip
another trip to the restroom
a kind older gentleman's help
he thought I was her father
it's raining hard again
gutters like rivers
storm drains splashing white water
more skyline has gone missing
umbrellas wrestling wind
raindrops rilling down a picture window
as afternoon sheds it's light
as I watch sleep's breaths
her hunger awakens and feistiness returns
"Don't they feed their patients here?"
they never told us to call food services
another blood pressure reading
another blood draw
another trip to the restroom
and it's all good
a colonoscopy evaluation
maybe Thursday or Friday...
looks like time got her wish
Oct 9, 2011
Oct 9, 2011 at 5:53 PM UTC
When the fat ***** spat in my face
and called me a hippie,
I wasn't sure if it was
better or worse
than being called a hipster poser
in the city.
The fat ******
the ****** poets,
the lesbians,
and the saliva
are all the same.
Pointless plot twists in
a headache of trite storytelling.
And you can ask Plato if his
"is-ness" really meant all that much,
and you can ask Bukowski if he
found the celestial kissing the ********
and you can ask the drunken Catholic dukers
if the clover has a **** thing to do with it,
and you can ask the caterpillars that
don't want to be butterflies,
and they'll all bark the same interwoven tune:
nobody is right,
God is a coward,
my boss owes me reparations ,
and any dumb dog spouting off superiority
needs a steel muzzle and a molecular transfusion.
Dec 18, 2010
Dec 18, 2010 at 8:45 PM UTC
The color of death is not black, is not white.
Not red, not gold.
Think: ashen skin.
Think: where did the blood go?
Think: pale, so ******* pale.
Bruise again. He’s going to bruise again.
Mottled red and purple and blue and green and yellow.
That’s what the body does after death. Blood runs down
to the lowest bend of the body and bruises the skin.
The rust of cerebrospinal fluid as it sloshes
back and forth
in the bag hanging above the bed.
My mother’s hands:
white knuckled and gripping down on washcloths
to prevent her from breaking the skin of her palms.
The constant hum of telemetry,
the soft whoosh of the ventilator.
The human body has roughly 7% of its weight in blood.
The human body has no ******* idea what to do when
there is too much or too little of really anything.
Think: blood vessel bursting.
Think: cells mutating.
Think: proned patient coding after intubation.
Bruised. His hands were bruised from all the needle-sticks,
from his lack of platelets. And a single transfusion only goes so long.
Goes three weeks long.
The hands on the belly, laid so gently, so carefully are
covered in makeup. The hair is parted wrong with a cowlick.
I know how they created that soft smile on his closed mouth.
I’ve read the books.
I’ve heard the talks from morticians.
They’ve made my grandfather tan, but
I know what’s underneath the foundation:
grey.
May 9, 2021
May 9, 2021 at 10:55 PM UTC
The heart pumps borrowed blood
a celestial transfusion
Banished to terrestrial life
One step from outer darkness
Prophet, Liar, and Revelator
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 1:14 AM UTC
(be-tween and be-twixt)
———-
the most precious but precarious item
in our possess, value far above rubies,
this love overflows, but it drowns me
from within, for it has no home for
pleasured sharing and goes wasted, excreted
in tears and exhalations without destination
condition incurable, and the doctor advises,
projects, a life span rangebound from
***be-tween
and
be-twixt,***
imperative that this love be
disbursed, pressure relieved,
fluid and gases shared,
send it forth,
Doc behests,
nay,
begs,
you’re a decent human,
tell your tales,
follow your motto,
write those love poems,
always leave them laughing,
and give them love in smiles
all-the-whiles
bringing joyous relief to your clogged arteries,
all this the bare minimum,
for you must moreover grasp and clasp
your body to another, for this
the best transfer transfusion
of all your needed love needs
go be needed, be great, be lessened,
be all three
and never walk alone,
with just hope in your heart,
for the heart, automatically refills,
and this the best, medical opinion…
for all those with too many love poems
requiring expulsion and extrusion
Jul 22, 2023
Jul 22, 2023 at 9:14 AM UTC
Oh so I guess it was infected
On so many levels
Probably my fault for loving
an angel ****** Scorpio
who gives ******** like a greasy exhaust pipe
who swaps ****** fluid
like a last ditch transfusion for a cure
done in an ally in Mexico
I thought you could save me with your shameless passion
The vibrating underwear at dinner
The dare to straight face in public
You were *****
And you were *****
And I was trying to make a mess
So cleaning myself up might look drastic
You were an adventure I can’t shake
The kind of adventure you can’t catch twice
Until you catch it twice
I have been told
Learning is a change in behavior
Learning is finding ways to not make the same mistake
Over
And over
Clearly
I am still learning
Still infected with
With the self-inflicted wrong decisions
Of loving people who don’t love me back
And filling holes
With the parts of myself that are designed to do that
Hoping mine will be filled too
I’ve put a pillow in my open chest wound
So you might still think it’s safe to lay there
So you won’t hear the heartbeat race of hope
That things won’t hurt so much later
Won’t feel like a film on my skin that doesn’t wash away
When I watch you leave me in the morning
And all I want to do is beg you to stay
Stay and pretend this is real a little longer
I’ve never been one to tear band-aids from wounds quickly
I pick scabs
I have scars
I am ugly
And I am still learning
Still trying different ways
To love healthy
So yeah,
I guess this is infected
Apr 20, 2012
Apr 20, 2012 at 5:25 PM UTC
What happens if you love so much
you give them everything
right down to the skin off of your back and
your organs and bones
If you ever leave me the plan will be to
drink until the pain is over
But I'm not sure even a never ending hangover
can rid my thoughts of you
Already I feel pieces and memories of you
becoming imprinted into my brain like Braille
I think I would be scared if it didn't feel like
the world is right when I am with you
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 7:42 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
drinking the red wine bottle
that you had forgot and left behind.
my olfactory bulb at an aglow
you’re
the Edison of my sense,
a Tesla to my mind’s currents.
a solemn sacrament
and communion of us.
remembrance and remission
of our deeds, with
the transfusion of you
into me
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 4:03 PM UTC
It clawed me first
Dangling the honest red loop
That loop from the shirt
That one they tore
That one I cried over
That lover that shamed me
A patient of mine
losing. blood with with
no single transfusion
and you bite your nails
And I listen
Click
Click
Click
Take me to where the leafs are
I need to leave our pizza
And yours
Hold my hand my van Pelt
Don't leave me
Weep and dry your eyes
On my new necklace
Kiss me and share my salt
Why scratch?
I wanted to pet you
Superficially of course
But is that ******
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 10:55 PM UTC
I open my eyes and the nightmare begins
I can feel the blood flowing in my veins
It's supposed to keep me alive, but is it?
I don't know, I wish it did.
They tell me I need blood transfusion
medicines and all those supplies.
All that is out of my reach for I belong to
a poor family and prices are too high.
I had dreams to be something great as well
but now I dream to just survive.
It's a battle hard for a kid like me
Is there someone to help me fight?
I close my eyes and the world seems peaceful
for the thought of dying escapes my mind.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 5:01 PM UTC
The nurse got me in one stick
A bed is ready for me upstairs,
just as my angry ER neighbor reaches higher octave
The blankets are heated
Most of the staff is kind
Trying their best
I’m losing blood
Not enough for transfusion
More often I find myself floating above the stiff hospital bed on a cloud of Dilaudid
I shuffle to the window in the morning
Stare longingly into the cemetery below
A well kept patch of grass
A smattering of carved stone
No needles
No wires
No tubes
No beeps
No yelling
Peace
Feb 13, 2024
Feb 13, 2024 at 1:04 PM UTC
Living in a world of confusion
confusing words of transfusion
transfused, with a simple conclusion
conclusive to living a delusion
it's a story of a new creation
created out of a liars frustration
frustrated without a new translation
translating to a new declaration
It must be just like an addiction
addicted to a life of fiction
fictional words, then a new depiction
depicting your contradiction
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 10:32 PM UTC
I’m too sentimental. I can’t wander back through the memory lanes without feeling like it’s bleeding out of me. All the tender memories slowly drains out my color at night, only for sleep to bring a transfusion. All these small things shouldn’t matter so **** much but still it does. I think, that's the cruel fact of being sentimental much.
Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 2:10 AM UTC
This is your life
leave a fire behind
to pass the torch
via karma transfusion
telepathically energizing
racing minds
You've got your whole life ahead of you
To come back around
minute by minute
racing you down
left in the inertia
of figuring yourself out
chase the light
it's passing through the floorboards
where your heart lays sealed
secluded until one day…
she came
simultaneously
slipping up the skirt
of synchronicity
somewhere in time
You had her
And You lost her again
Until you stared down fine art
To bring her back
At the right place
at the right time
of minds' projection
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 1:20 AM UTC