"trenchcoats" poems
They call me Subject B.
Belly full with the pills
they fed me, still hungry,
legs pumping
to pendulum this swing,
inside a playground
that ignores my miming,
shrieking and throwing feces,
at hairless beings who nox me.
Dreaming of melting
the swing's chain, I fly
feet dangling over
cages of sick chimpanzees,
to a distant galaxy
that grows banana trees.
Awaken I see
empty syringes strewn
outside the crisscrosses
of my cage, trenchcoats
storm like flurries.
I still cannot read my nameplate.
I hope on my swing,
pumping my legs
back and forth,
back and forth,
back and forth —
glassy eyes watering.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 2:38 PM UTC
I love bones.
I love skin.
I love lungs,
how they make a chest rise
as a person inhales.
I love dawn
I love running
as I pass through mist
on cold mornings.
I love coffee late at night
with a cigarette.
I love the little things
that people do,
such as how they move
or how they touch.
I love knowing I'm alone
consumed by silence
and the air is filled
with conscious thought.
I love dark things,
creepy things,
****** up fairy tales
and beauty in the most hideous
of creatures.
I love the colour grey,
I love when it rains in the city
and every man that passes
is cloaked in dark trenchcoats.
But mostly,
I love waking up
when you sleep so softly
and innocently
next to me,
and I feel
that everything is safe.
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 3:06 PM UTC
-
And as winter fell upon the river
The fish calmly claiming each droplet
There stood four, slow-footed men in trenchcoats,
Huddled around a grave.
From each hand a flower dangled
“Her favorite” one of them untangled
From each hand a subtle ****
“Always was,” one agreed
The fish retreated to their coves
Any left snatched by the crows
Leaving the men there, with their mother
Wind pressing them to one another
And as the sun reached to the snow
It was the last to see her go;
Whereas the moon rose from the shore -
Millions of snowflakes, millions more
-
Sep 19, 2011
Sep 19, 2011 at 4:38 PM UTC
They say,
"Oh but you seem happy... could you really have depression"?
Jeeze, my sincere apologies, I did not realize they made trenchcoats the shade of hopeless desperation
I should have shoes that count steps, to project my need to justify why I got out of bed
I must have forgotten to cover myself with war paint, to prove to outsiders my internal battle
But I will buy lots of velcro, so I can wear the words whispered and screamed by my depression late last night
Tell me, did you really believe I could show you by sight
The twisted demon that lives inside
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 8:30 PM UTC