"tye" poems
Scraggly curl hair bounces in the air
wagging with whisky eyes breezy pleasing the eclectic electric hectic now mind
like finding a papaya inside an oyster
battery powered like a pomegranate passionfruit flower growing and glowing
around my trinity heart with the noise of a sphere's galactic ******
Crystal Citrine Mountains provide water fountains of sunlight
as so tye-dye t-shirt hip-cat hippos smokin' coconut shisha bathe in barrels
of bourbon.
Lion snakes spit words of worlds hurling nebulous timeline's spiraling
and crashing and splashing baptism ripples together painting Pollack Splatters
with the aroma of Byrd Jazz Jam on rye-whisky bread.
Fractal Berries served by the Far Out Faerrie Ferryman Skeletan with bejeweled emerald eyes
winks while I read in the reeds panting in pan-flutes while water rabbits scamper
into clay enclaves to bathe in pinecone designed sand-tubs.
The hieroglyphic phoenix twists and skip-scats neon green vinyl
turning the wind inside out to x-ray flames of fireworks.
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 8:01 PM UTC
Dit is die trane wat niemand sien nie
Die seer wat niemand voel nie
Dit is die koue gevoel in jou hart
wanneer jy van buite af inkyk *** almal lag
Dit is die eensaamheid op naweke
Die stilte wanneer jy skree
Dit is die afwesigheid van n warm hand
Die oorblyfsels van n gebroke sielsband
Dit is die spasies tussen jou vingers
Elkeen n herinnering van n tekortkoming
Dit is die koue winters alleen
Die somers spandeer onder skaduwee
Dit is die hinkering na "ek is lief vir jou" briefies
Die drome oor die "ek is trots op jou" soentjies
Dit is al die gebroke beloftes
Die "liefde met voorwaardes"
Dit is die idee van *** alles moet wees
Wat keer dat jy gelukkig is
Dit is die wonde wat brand wanneer jy dalk mag glimlag
Om jou te herinner van jou seer se mag
Dit is die donker aande sonder sterre
Jou dood stille foon op die moeilikste tye
Dit is die konstante bevraagteken van jou waarde
Die "gaan nie eers probeer" nie's
Omdat jy voel niemand sien jou raak
En skielik is gelukkig wees, n verbode taak
Maar dit is die leemte in my hart
Die swaarte krag van al die vrae
Die "Opsoek na die vermiste stuk van my legkaart"
Wat die hartste praat
Dit is die gewoonte om te voel jy misluk
Dit is die "minderwaardige" plakker in die plek van jou gesoekte legkaartstuk...
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 12:25 PM UTC
Late last night I saw something fall from the sky,
I happened to be in the kitchen making tuna on rye.
As I looked out my window it landed in my yard.
It crushed the pink flamingos, the wife took it hard.
I stood there at the window taking in the sight,
Bright lights flashing red, blue, and white.
Then suddenly a door slid open, I was seized by fright.
But my wife had gone out the door, in her hand a kitchen knife.
As the little green man stepped out, he was looking fine,
In a tye dye tee shirt, waving his hands in a peace sign,
Looking like he had come straight from the sixties,
I think he was expecting to find some hippies.
Thinking this guy might be peaceful, I tackled my wife,
As she dropped the knife, I yelled, "He might be nice".
The little green man then pulled out a bic and gave it a flick,
As he held two finger to his lips, I realized his vice.
As I had given that up long ago, I had nothing to share.
But the little guys face showed such despair,
I went into the house and got the beer from the fridge,
And grabbed the Nacho Doritos for this astorial kid.
We sat on the lawn chairs out under the sky,
drinking the beer, eating tuna on rye.
I asked where he was from, he just pointed up.
When we finished our beers, I said good luck.
Back to the spaceship the little man went,
his steps were unsteady, I think he was spent.
He got in the spaceship and closed the door.
As I waved goodby, the spaceship took off with a roar.
I heard on the news later that night,
That something had crashed in a field, lips were tight.
But I heard a rumor, that someone was found alive.
I guess I should have told him not to drink and fly.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 3:40 PM UTC
A good girl
That likes to sin
Kneeling with a grin
His finger on her chin
With hands clasped
Behind her neck
Arched back
Head slightly tilted
Feet apart
No slack
Knees spread wide
elbows aligned
With her shoulder line
Red collar
Silver lining
chained linked leash
Tight grip short reach
The pressure enticing
Her body writhing
His body coinciding
Like a tight fit outfit
Mid-cut tye-dye tee-shirt
With matching
******* g-string so tight
They look like they don’t fit
And it’s the dopest
The moment feeling like
Hocus Pocus
Silky smooth skin
******* Satin thin
Slippery fingers
Sliding in
Hips gyrating
Her space
Penetrated
By him
Fingers Saturated
The way she moaning
You would think she is
Singing a hymn
Jan 10, 2020
Jan 10, 2020 at 1:32 PM UTC
Ek skrik die 10de Augustus wakker.
Iets voel verkeerd, so swaar, so leeg.
Met 'n knop in my keel raak my gemoed swakker.
Min het ek geweet, dat treur so swaar kon weeg.
Vaagweg **** ek, "I look to you"
"And when melodies are gone"
"I hear you in a song"
Ouma was ons eie Whitney Houston
Haar sterk gees was ons rots.
Al het ons met tye lekker koppe gebots.
Sy was my vestiging, ons familie se trots.
Mag die rose in Bloemfontein altyd ouma se naam onthou.
Die pragtige rooikop dogtertjie in liefde toegevou.
Ouma se omgee het my soveel keer gered.
Die dankbaarheid gekoester in my mooiste gebed.
Mag die voëltjies altyd bly sing
Terwyl ouma se stories mooi herinneringe bring
Ouma was altyd bereid om te help
Vol genade het ouma, harde harte versmelt
Mag oupa altyd verlief bly
Sodat ons verdwaaldes, ook die regte prentjie kan kry
'n 53 - jaar, onvoorwaarlike liefde verhaal
So opreg, en eerlik, die mooiste mylpaal
Dankie dat ouma my aanvaar het vir wie ek is
Al sit ek heel wat die potte mis
Dankie vir alles wat ek by ouma kon leer
Dankie vir elke drukkie, vergifnis, keer op keer.
Dankie vir elke koppie soet tee
Vir al die miljoene trane wat ouma moes afvee
Dankie dat julle vir my alles kon gee
Dat hulle harte net liefde kon skree
Dankie dat ouma my veilig kon hou
Ons verlang alreeds, en sal verewig onthou.
Ons bly, onvoorwaarlik lief vir jou.
Ek gaan ouma mis, al my liefde, Thomas.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 2:52 AM UTC
Buzzing emerald jungle swoons—
hip kitty soul eyes embrace the red wanderer.
It’s a tactical chess game,
both aware of the other’s presence.
Nebulous black perched in shadows,
desert red fool skips like a rock.
when eyes eclipse each other
an electric hummmmmmm buzzes
as their hearts start glowing like a peridot ember
the wind whizzes and twists
through their perfect curly hirsute
rushing luscious aurora energy pulsing
to and fro like giddy hearts exchanging notes in class…
Their blurry bodies bound forward
fox scorching ground while panther burns branches
lightning leg movements paws calls thunder
sun red hot fuzz lunges up
midnight cool moon goddess panther slams down
colors collide and crash and cling and clap
spines ignited in tye-dye holographic rainbows
their claws singe each other’s skin
their eyes swirl black holes
holy howls and breath coalesce
as one love
as one sight,
all encompassing
mythical tail told to all
through campfire gypsies and artists canvas
panting the dancing fox and panther
the bhavacakka.
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 7:49 PM UTC
niemand behalwe ek ken die krag van jou hartklop van binne. dus die eerste ding wat ek gehoor het. dit het my gekalmeer en gese moenie bekommerd wees nie ek is hier, altyd. gevolg deur 'n rustige stem wat die wind kalmeer. die het gesing en gebid oor my. gesondheid was die meeste gevra. die stem het baie gepraat. dit was goeie tye vir my. al wat ek graag vergeet is die tye wat jy en die ander stem gestry het. dan het jou stem verander na hartseer en bedroef. trane het jou wange gevul terwyl jou arms my omvou het. al stywer en stywer. so belangrik was ek.
die groot dag, jy het gese jy gaan jou hare eers was, maar toe versnel die hartklop en dinge gebeur wat ek nie begryp het nie. jy het ernstig siek geword en nog alleen by die huis. jou arm om my hospitaal toe. ek is gebore saterdag 25 mei 1985.
skielik was ek alleen en weg van my geliefde klop. jy was in 'n diep slaap. mense gehardloop om ons om als weer reg te maak. ai opwindende oomblik. Maar geen arms wat omvou en rustige stem wat bekend is nie. net vreemdheid.
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 2:06 AM UTC
Sometimes you just gotta smash
your laptop against the wall
Tear and gnash your your canvas,
burn your pens and paintbrush
into a colorful tye-dye fire
**** on the kitchen floor
and smash the whisky bottle
across the glass wine rack
kick a hole in that guitar
spinning with lighted matches
spinning with a numb-reckless-abandon
toppling over bookshelves
laughing like a monkey
tossing the toaster
into the bathtub
break the mirror with a head-but
and take a 2x4 to the porch light outside
smiling like a python
stomping on the oven door
taking a knife to the floor
because carpet angels are totally in
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 10:07 PM UTC
she has taken a long term parking spot
in my heart
she is tye-dye in a three peice suit world
she is a grip of smiles in a stash box
that looks like a naked girl dancing in the rain
she leaves footprints everywhere cause she hates shoes
she has never owned a bra
and she will be glad to show you shes not wearing one
she just showed me...my oh my
shes carnival fun
and summer camp happy
she saved my life when I had a heart attack
and has a longterm parking spot in
this old geezers heart
she is a robust thinker
and a deep ocean of stars when she is romancing
she has a love in her for everyone
and such high hopes for the coming days
shes a grip of smiles
in a long term parking spot
is this old geezers hairy old
malfunctioning heart
*she bounces into my hospital room
and jumps up ontop of me
infront of four medical students
grind grind grind
woman is gonna make sure I go
with a smile on*
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 7:28 PM UTC
Recently
it seems
every time we talk
our cacophonous
voices don't sing.
The harmony's off--
lost it's charming ring.
The tye-dye mind's eye melody
is mellowing into a gray spring.
And I'm wondering why?
But...
I think I know.
Only asked cause
I was hopin' you might hum some other musical notes,
ones that won't turn this song into a black swan dive
forced to call the huntin' dogs to track
back to a time where you and I laughed freely.
But there's this feeling
that this is how your other he must have felt
while you and me were undoing our belts--
yelling & screaming
as my parents were sleeping
upstairs above--
we played each other like saxophones
to this grand Nirvana relaxed crescendo!
But as this poem progresses
the tempo stiffens--
your voice lessens--
as the harmony's off-key
and the melody's riff softens.
It's not hitting me hard like a gong-
feels like two people singing
different lyrics into the same microphone.
Someone with synesthesia can see
our colorful speech atrophy
instead of pirouetting in turquoise dreams.
If that sounds harsh,
sorry, that's the reality I perceive--
we don't want each other to leave,
But our avoidance of labeling
what we are also established what we weren't
and now this playful...thing? we had
feels like a breaking carafe as it hits the floor.
I want to continue writing you more poems and songs
but it's hard when the harmony's off-key
and losing it's charm.
This new lentando^ tempo's like a left arm going numb.
I want to keep composing
but it feels like water
instead of kerosine pouring
on the fire that was inspiring
as this mournful melody dilates throughout my being.
Feb 12, 2012
Feb 12, 2012 at 12:37 AM UTC
it takes a real proud man to make a girl cry hard. most things a girl can cry off in ten minutes. Tough things. Like giving birth to big *** babies with their big *** heads and **** But that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the deepest cries. Ones that come from the most hurt-felt part of a woman's soul. Ones that make your eyes close and your stomach sick. Ones that make your whole body freeze, and all you can think is, "i am responsible for this unbearable pain, on such a gentle woman's soul."
i am a master of this art. i have learned the call of the lone woman; almost a swan song, of a dying gentle soul begging to be heard. Begging, for the one who can save her to act before she drowns; to do anything but stand there and stare. Anything but let her die this lonesome death just out of reach of his arms.
i have a recipe for hurt. tested and tried thoroughly over the years, i can now say it is perfected. i can hurt beautiful souls and shatter their wonderful dreams, then so simply turn it around to make it sound like it was their fault. one may say this is a fine delicacy. i say it is the recipe to feed lost souls. ones who will be lost in limbo for all eternity because even in death, their pride was still too big for the afterlife.
there is a special talent i have that is unique for mastering the art of hurt. like x-ray vision it is a power to bring out, in other people, what they don't want anyone to see. i can bring out the worst in a beautiful soul faster than you can look in someone's eyes. i can make monsters of magnificent beings, then call them crazy and be on my way.
Leaving behind a faded tye-dye that's left to hang dry in the sun, knowing that her colours will never shine as bright as they once did, ever again.
.
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 11:51 AM UTC
The years of tye dye,
and silky straight hair,
of stupidity,
and insecurity fears,
of pro Ana scares,
and late night dares.
The years of coffee,
and menthol cigarettes,
anything to keep
the dial on the scale
from moving forward.
I remember those years
crystal clear,
girls wandering the halls,
books in hand,
feet dragging behind them,
bodies moving,
with vacant eyes,
and soulless attitudes.
I was one of those girls too.
I wandered the halls,
like a ghost trapped between
two halves of tainted glass.
I was dead inside,
consumed by insecurities
that hovered around me like flies.
It was hard
to be a girl.
It was hard
to walk those halls
with shame carved in
to porcelain skin,
to walk those halls
with eyes reading
the canvas of my skin,
the story written
between showing ribs.
It was torture,
to starve with a smile
shining on my face like gold,
but so many of us did it.
It was sink or swim.
It was four years
of brutal judgement
by peers hiding
behind blue screens.
It was four years
of petty remarks,
each one a pin poked
straight through the heart.
It was 1,460 days
of crying on the bathroom floor,
of starving just to make
the pain go away,
of chances for someone
to tell you
it was going to be okay,
eventually.
I remember those years.
I remember thinking
the pain was never
going to go away,
and even after
I left that place,
it didn't go away,
not completely.
It just got easier
to wake up each morning,
knowing I didn't
have to walk the halls
with all those eyes,
watching,
waiting for my demise.
It got easier to live,
to remember what it meant
to love who I am.
It got easier to recover,
to eat without feeling,
like I only deserve hunger.
It just got easier,
because high school is torture.
It's not worth it
to let it take over,
to let their words
linger in my ears
like a crack of deafening thunder.
It's not worth it
to be afraid of their thunder,
because I am lightening.
I hold the power.
I'll burn bright,
and make them
run for shelter.
Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 5:36 PM UTC
she begins to swing her hips
and flicks her bick to overload
her lips on fire with the words
her mind is a furnace comin unglued
see the images leaking out the seams
rivets slamming the walls
as the ***** busts a nut
she is full on now
aint no stopping
aint no slowin down
what are you crazy think you want her
spreadin roots in this state of mind
like unleashing a hailstorm in a paper cup
this version of the girl aint for bring home to momma
she swims out of her eyes
and bites the natural world
but she is an artwork on two fast feet
she is the cover of time pasted on a cereal box
eat that walter cronkite
any questions
his hand a tangled knot
in the handles of his life
and the he begins to bounce on his feet
as the tune rides up onstage
the crows parts to let the kid roll
they can tell this one is gonna burn the carpet
he calls out the things on his mind
the funky thing crawls down his mind
and out the dancing in his legs
heavy steps like rolling thunder
light ones like flashes of lightening
see the music speak with this
poor fools broken form bouncing
but see that ear to ear grin
that ain't painted there
its live and in person
cause this is living
when the music shakes to your soul
long into the night as the band onstage
plays through their list
plays all the favorite ones
and some for the silly little ones who think
its so cute to wear weekend Tye-dye
these two got the dance-floor sweating
these two stretching the flesh
and greeting the sky
one star at a time
people can you feel the heat
coming off her
shes gonna give birth to a lighting rod
and its gonna explode allover this dance-floor
all too soon the band is pulling out the encore
fare thee something
and her exhausted smile is filled with love
for every note she has made love to
this night
and his laugh is for the trails of mind light
that he has danced with and ran with
they wind it on down
they meet in the middle
and hold eachother
as the music finally fades
the rest of the world goes home to sleep
these two
will lay down to relive it in visions
for a lifetimes in a dream
goodnight prince of the river
goodnight princess of dreadlocks
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 5:24 PM UTC
a rush of chemicals
the taste of skin
a diamond in dust
the beginning sin
a tye-dyed mess
her itchy neck
a wolf's howl
she's a wreck
a worthless poem
a puppy's breath
an endless gaze
a bag of ****
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 2:24 PM UTC
foggy mornings,
we're tangled in sheets
two puffs of smoke,
three kisses on cheeks
i haven't felt this happy in weeks
she smelled like my favorite book,
with bunny eared corners and
underlined regret
her woodpine smile,
will take me a while
to
forget
she likes to scare you,
with tickles and feelings
a horror that conquers
creaking in the crack of darkness or
darkness
or
darkness
her eyes shine like Union Terminal
and her tye-dye smiles
are opaque
and clear
but my dear,
and my god,
and my God,
she is beautiful
she's the simple succulent,
no need for water
or commitment
but pleasing and
familiar
she's a polaroid picture
of the Queen City
and **** is she witty
she's the only girl
who mocks Lana
and gets away with it
she calls you "honey,"
in her perfumed sheets
with a snowy exterior
on the busy streets
because from carmel apples
to frosted sidewalks,
she asks questions
and questions and questions
and she has a
glace that leaves cuts
on your heart and
a sway that rips your
control
apart
but monsters are people too,
and we could fall from grace together
monsters are people too,
and right now i'll endure
this
weather
i don't care about titles anymore
i don't care about length anymore
i care about guitar vibratons
and laughing on foggy mornings
and a puff of smoke and a kiss
on the cheek
and do you know why?
because
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 6:41 PM UTC
the way this hat feels
on my head
its such a soft wool
its creating a light pull
on the back of my hair
but in reality
warm are my ears
its a deep shade of violet
the color of royalty
i'll reach that shortly
it's knitted quite tightly
but the pull,
it's kind of light
it works with my outfit
my ex's tye dye t-shirt
with a button up
that just happens to be tribal print
i picked it up
the day after i had stayed
that shirt matches my shoes
i took the laces out not long ago
i felt like it would be a better show
they're more comfy now
that's how this whole room feels
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 1:41 PM UTC
Heard sirens
Saw lights
Another body for California St.
Another day in Stockton.
Wait
I know him.
Them too
Hey, who died?
Tagging in the street
R.I.P T.M.F.B
Wait
...That's me...
No, it can't be
I just came from down the street
from the burrito truck
I had to get something to eat.
No onions . mild sauce, carne asada
Don't forget the limes, $4.25? sweet
I turned around and hit the beat
Just grey sweaters, blue jeans
and vans, not sneaks.
Occasionally tye-dye
if I'm feeling unique.
greeting this day I say
this is pretty neat
The train went by and bird are going
tweet tweet
This sauce is still hot but my sweater
keeps off the 84 degree heat
cause i'm sweating and cooling
These shoes look cool against the concrete
Hearing music slapping
I think it's E-40
Smoke rolling from the windows
An arm reaches out the backseat
BANG
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 5:42 AM UTC
Sipping Red Wine
With
Disciplined disciples
Dining
With minds alike
Best friends,
Next of kin
I repent
For my sins
Then
Hug my worst enemy
As she
Kisses me
On the cheek...
"Here's my toast,
A final cheer"
I raise
Out my chair
Hold my glass
In the air
Final words spoken
In red
"Momento Mori
Remember the Alive
Soon becomes Dead!"
Lips stained
And wiped
With bread
My Body
And Blood
Portrays
The art
Of Me
Spilling my heart
As I talk
Of My Final walk
Remembered
For ages to come
The pages will turn
As nuns
Thumb
Through my revelations
Revealed
To show my appeal
For
Keeping it rea
lEveryone stands
Clap hands
I give the
Cue to sit
Then
Follow in suit
Before
The crucifix
Suited in an outfit
That helps
My family
Come to grips
With The Final dip
Into oblivion
Rest assure
The rest's assured
With a promised
That God keeps
Strenght
Will be
Bestowed
Upon the weak
Faith
Is best owed
To the one
Who speaks
"Let There Be Light"
And brightens
The darkness
Of life
I
Will take the pain
Of a thousand deaths
Take a thousand steps
With the wieght
Of the world on my shoulders
As I pass away
For my best freinds sins
As he watches me
Silently
Violently whipped
As blood drips
On a red shirt
Tye dyed
From the wine I sipped
The night before
I died
Oct 3, 2010
Oct 3, 2010 at 10:10 PM UTC
Mind a steel trap
stealing thoughts and memories
cars and high chairs
the Shang Dynasty of "The" great wall
never once said
"What if I can't?"
they only said ***** please
let's build a wall to the moon
Nepal wanted to join in on the fun
captured children like Hansel and Gretel
fed them their own feces they puked for weeks
no candy here
just cold hard abs
rippling
like the ocean
tye-dyed head stones
skipping graves rather gravely
could you spare some change?
Nah man just some odors
re-ordering from Fed-Ex
exponential increase of refraction
reaction
all base
tickle me Elmo
and give me strength.
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 6:17 PM UTC
Nog net een trekkie
dan nip ek hom nou.
Ek belowe voor skemer
sal ek ook ophou.
Ophou wat?
Ophou bid?
Ophou smeek?
Ophou om die maan te krater
-te breek?
Nee man net nog ene
voor sy kom.
Die maan en haar blinkers
en haar pikgiet swart blom.
Die rokie streel my kolle
en strepe ,- my seer.
Dan kan ek lekker slaap.
Nog een tretjie voor
die nag my kom haal.
Nog net een tretjie
voor ek moet besin
oor die moeilike tye
en vir my sondes betaal.
Die nag wat ons almal op
die highway van die lewe kaap.
Nog 'n ou entjie
voor ek ook gaan slaap.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 1:09 PM UTC
Exploded like
a roar bursting forth from
a lion's enormous mouth--
he's trippin' on shrooms and
blasting off to a Saturnalia party on the moon Titan
with bits of dangling zebra meat
on his teeth; full
from luxurious **** a few days ago.
And since I'm just making things up,
let's say this big hip cat is wearing a rastacap
and has tye-dyed nails.
But as the month
wore on; closing out--
this same lion became frightened
of his own shadow--
listening for the winning lottery numbers in a conch shell
because he forgot about the oatmeal in his kitchen.
But since he's staying on Titan, that's
someone else's problem now.
He'd rather just sleep in an uncomfortable
wooden bed that's too low the ground
and lick his ***** between naps.
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 8:38 AM UTC
Sy vra: "Hoekom is jy nou so n non"?
Ek sê: **** is mos eintlik net vir die lewendes".
Ek is my eie memento mori.
Jy is die oorsaak van dood.
Laat dit so op my graf geskrywe staan:
-Hier lê die skerwe van iets amper heel-
,want nou sit ek weer aan jou tafel
en my laaste maaltyd is n herkouing
van spoegsels vergete tye saam met jou
En ek kou en ek kou en ek onthou:
*** warm jou hande was teenoor jou hartskou
, *** gretig jy was om my vas te hou
en na die tyd toe te snou.
"Ek sit nou waar jy gesit het"
, grinnik jou wellus oor die porselein rand
en ek wil vir jou sê staan op en gee vet
want almal wat daardie stoel beset
wals met die noodlot en wink vir seer.
"Kom ons probeer , nog n keer"
Sê jou hand langs jou ritsluiter
, maar ek voel n veer
, want kadawers ken nie lustigheid nie
en ek is oorgebalsem met n gelofte.
Los die dooies dat ons rus,
Los daardie "ons" begrawe in die kis.
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 12:51 PM UTC
When I realized I had fallen in love with you
I slit my wrists to stop the bleeding.
I used threads of your hair I had stolen,
from a voodoo doll to sew them up.
But it seeped through my sleeves so I tye dyed
my shirt with phlegm, feces, and ****
After it was dry it looked like your face,
like finding Jesus or Mary on a pancake or in coffee.
You're my messiah and I would wash your feet
with my hair but I haven't any, cause I shaved it off
when you left.
I wear hats all day now, my head gets cold, and the beanies
smell like hair oil, shampoo, and follicles.
And sometimes I wonder what you would think,
of the way my hair matts down from the pressure and heat.
Kind of like the way you bedded me down with the same,
weight and warmth of blankets and body hair.
What do you do when you haven't eaten all day
and you're scared of being fatter than your significant other?
Paint your nails **** red and hope your heels are high enough on Saturday.
Oct 24, 2011
Oct 24, 2011 at 5:15 PM UTC
We roll
on the magic carpet into the outward reaches
to wrap abound bodies in communal hugs
atop magical tye-dye mountains and black and white rivers
of Peter Max the hushed whisper of
red bird hair ***** into a conversation
flying further into the horizon that is my dawn light glowing chest.
We roll
over each other on the floor sofa laughing,
like you see in the movies
of delinquent bohemians celebrating life with beers and
pills you swallow. Feels like the puppet strings
on our wings have withered; free to flail.
We roll
our bodies & eyes
backward-forward-sideways together with the music
wryly dancing as the world turns into a desert--
every molecule in our bodies warms--slowly,
like a hot bubble bath,
the earth takes its time spinning....
unlike our Sufi brains still rolling
rolling
and rolling like a stone down a hill betwixt a meadow
between two excited lovers in a cliched scene where
they are running toward each other--
naked with tattoos on their arms
and a smattering of neon orange and blue paint speckling their bodies
while they wear a native american headdress and Ray-Bans.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 11:05 PM UTC