"umlauts" poems
I'm staining your raiment with blood while rolling my tongue to create a sputum so that I can wipe off that blood from your raiment. But, you know what I don't want you to clean your shroud because it is a paradigm of our potential—blood. This blood is so potent that it will remind you of me because it is our dark side where we encapsulate. It is something which makes us distinct in our privy shell. Smears of this blood can create revolutions. You know how? Its redness denotes the umlauts of our love and its states depends upon the crests and troughs of our relationship. When we are reaching the crests, it gets brimmed with oxygen and give rise to a new life but the best part is that our troughs don't boost up the mortality rate, instead bring us back to the life. See, how such a small drop of red liquid is so significant for the two of us. It's because it's not a drop of 'liquid' but life. Blood is life, life is blood. We are blood, blood ARE us!
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 4:25 PM UTC
Elsdorf, Düsseldorf, Erbendorf, Greiz
Gengenbach, Hilchenbach, Kelsterbach, Schleiz
Siegburg, Lichtenberg, Wesenberg, Jülich
Schnackensee, Radensee, Dillensee, Munich
Delbrück, Kindelbrück, Bersenbrück, Sußen
Eibelstadt, Diemelstadt, Glückenstadt, Stößen
Traunstein, Taunusstein, Uffenheim, Zwönitz
Ziegenrück, Innenbrück, Osnabrück, Zöblitz
Wietmarschen-Schwartenpohlerbruch
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 2:10 AM UTC
I
God Nine ***** his thumb—
the one with the garish topaz ring.
Even if you don’t know where to start,
you can pick him out of the circle.
Look behind each one’s ear till you find the tattoo.
II
Showing off to junior high school girls,
the skater fell
before he could commence the final turn
of his figure eight.
God grabbed his blade.
III
God prefers nine
The small girl watches traffic passing her house.
She estimates, in her childish way, the incidence
of accidents at one in five thousand fourteen cars.
On the bare, smoking engine block of the most recent wreck
she reads the serial number: G-O-D-9.
IV
We can train a hungry pigeon to scratch out anything—
God,
Lagomorph,
9—
given enough sunflower seeds and horses
V
The first thing I taught my son
was knitting. Then he learned God.
After that he was on his own.
He never could spell “Charles” (C-H-A-L),
and counted “... 6, 7, 8, 10.”
VI
In Corsica, they write the number ‘9’ on its side
to confuse it with ‘6’.
This pleases the Barbary apes, though
god knows the tin whistles are loud enough.
VII
... a hail of symbols. The stir-crazy physicist
hung from the groaning lower bough of the ash
pelting us all with umlauts and nines, shying
plomets, as the Herr Gott
sings through fibre optic cable.
VIII
Answer: God takes tin and fishbones.
Theme: the best inzulation against disappointment
in love.
Query: 9, as a hat with a lost finger?
IX
9> God< Opera > Charles < 9.
Which I hate, being left-handed —
I drag the flat of my hand across the tail.
The wet ink blackens the clean page.
And no, I will resist pencil unto death
Sep 17, 2016
Sep 17, 2016 at 7:36 AM UTC