"underlining" poems
split the atom an we get fission
mass becomes energy
but can we split a second
enter the essence of the present
what would it mean to us
to be that mindful
ask your self doesn't your mind
only occupy past future
abjectly incapable of living in the present
in the true present there could not be even a ghost of a thought
theres no time to think
can we enter
an incalculable split second
and totally take in that instant
with a forgotten organic technology
is it the big bang in perpetuity
yet quiet as a mute
a raging ever expanding sea in a connected
but distinct dimension
if you entered it
would it not utterly erases all of history
the thinkers and doers along with it
the step beyond the alpha and omega
the great underlining reality
imagine the penetrated moment
an all consuming unimaginable
trans-mutational merge
omnipotent
yet forever imperceptible
to those among us
time locked
an irreducible limitation
like an ant in a closed paper bag
a fixated reflexive machine
wandering aimlessly
with an unknowable mission
and a relentless survival mechanism
with no chance of survival
time as a cosmic metabolism
its medium space
a vast cauldron
an infinite vessel containing endless points of light
everywhere
myriad phenomena
its terrain and the temporal creatures that inhabit it
both exquisite and hideous
an incalculable zoo
histories victors and victims
one and all vanquished
by the curse
consciousness of dis-juncture
a merciless countenance of limitation
yet could time be an illusion
rooted in a narrow awareness
bereft of an eternal
inexhaustible self effulgent now
the rapture
an eternal ******
if we could only penetrate into it
would it swallow us
and blot out the drama of creations theater
is the
now
conscious
illimitable
ecstatic
a perfect meta moment ?
we hear from sacred texts
like the Vedas... Bhagavad Gita.... and Kabbalah
that we may enter beyond the veil
passed time and its ravages
passed mind and its distortions
not to the heaven of religion
in its endless
closed system precepts
anthropomorphic metaphors
theistic gobbledygook
and
sophomoric social engineering
a kind of cliffs notes
god for dummies
we can enter
the eternal abode of the divine
a point between
the splitting of seconds
revealed through the simple act of mindful breathing
pierced by the effort of a focused mind
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 8:09 AM UTC
I stress sometimes
For the dreams Ive missed or left behind,
The fine line of reality, and or individuality
Never have I ever severed the bridge that binds us together
But you have
My breath, heavily resting upon, her breast
Underlining her eyes, beyond the unseen sky
I wept only for your hands
Intertwined in the time we’ve wasted
Satiated with love and in all the wrong places
She will be loved more than ever
I wept only for her lips
I miss more than just the kisses, she would give
Tapering my heart to a shallow bliss
No longer will I hold you, In my arms I have none
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 11:03 AM UTC
I wonder restlessly if underneath that encouraging and brillant smile is as hollow a soul as the ones of those you try to help,
I wonder restlessly if underlining each word of praise and love you preach is a bitter sorrow of an unrequited love you seek,
I wonder restlessly if underneath every gallant action is a shallow thirst for self-righteous fulfillment,
Most of all, i wonder restlessly if underneath all your perfectly structured walls lives one who also; wonders restlessly
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 2:57 PM UTC
Today we have the labeling of people groups.
Yesterday we had the suggestion of an inherent disposition to dishonesty and violence in some groups.
Tomorrow we will have the careful counting of individuals and the placing of individuals into each people group.
But today,
today we have the labeling of people groups.
For those of you who are new here, we recommend this period drama underlining racial differences with a subtle suggestion of inferior intellect in some groups indigenous to warmer climes.
And here we have a persuasive and tabloid friendly research paper that hints that children of mixed race tend to struggle in school. You'll be relieved to see that it hasn't any distracting data.
And on the shelf beneath you'll see there's a picture book version for younger children.
Over here is the arbitary divide between us and them, with a useful circle of arguments to differentiate ourselves from others.
Here we have colour coded lables to more easily distinguish between people groups. Yes, that's correct, we have three labels: white, black and, a recent addition which is now available for added distinction, rainbow.
Oh yes, when engaging in any discussions, for your own safety please ensure you wear these ear defenders.
To ensure a free flow of visitors we have erected large signs in three languages marking where charity at home ends. Yes, after rigorous focus group testing we have selected the English language in three font sizes.
We are coming to the end of this orientation tour. Please note the subtle but effective shedding of compassion for those who appear or sound different to us. This underpins the necessary disregard for the rights of others that we assume for ourselves and for those like us. It is almost imperceptible I think you'll agree.
But the priority for today, as I say, is the labeling of people groups.
No questions.
Shall we begin?
Oct 19, 2017
Oct 19, 2017 at 2:16 PM UTC
The census is a gun
and every ten years for a bit of fun
someone
pulls the trigger.
The body count gets bigger all the time because once a decade's far from fine,we all know that we want a little more
but just who is keeping tabs on us and what's the score?
If you're more than willing to fill in and tick the boxes one by one
we'll carry on the same and be just a figure getting bigger
reviewed by counters
mounted in the book
and taken down
looked and read
underlining, numbered in red ink and thumbed,fed into ,computerised until algorithms
drip from and dot the eyes with postscripts slipped upon the page which mention dates of birth and gender
this is the age of the want to know
and we're being counted
like sheep we go through turnstiles,smiling,clicking,sickening in the need to feed the ever growing need for information,technology will be the death of me and in a census yet to come
or when my numbers up
I will be done
shot full of holes the census gun is indiscriminate but there's no fun or sense in that,they'll tamper with the workings,lay them flat and reassemble parts until we're part of some vast assembly
in a Wembley stadium,the gun's the game
we'll be numbered until the final whistle blows and someone goes to tally up the score
and in the counting they'll count more and more
as if in some final lunacy
the lunatic accountants see there's numbers coming out of their ears
and say,
'thank God it's only once every ten years'
Data will as data does and do
and who would count the countless where the few are many and any mistake means you have to start again.
Censuses
another pain and millions more
and someone will come knocking on your door to give you forms and envelopes
all hope's lost
so be counted and don't count the cost
let the ones who get paid for this
kiss their sanity
goodbye.
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 11:38 PM UTC
I am writing to you from this deep dark abyss
Searching and searching to find the source of this grief and deep sorrow
I feel so shameful so ungrateful
Dear mind I wish to put you to rest
So insecure so self hated
I can't seem to make sense
Everything feels like its falling
Concrete pushing down on me burying me within
It's heavy extremely heavy
The only way I know how to fight this sinful creature
Its Ironic fighting pain with more pain
They say you can't fight fire with more fire
But don't you fret This is my way of fixing my affliction
Where you see crimson red ***** blood
I see the rightful ingredient that will wash away these flames
Take out the internal fire with the external fire
But hush now my dear reader I don't deserve my dream to live on
For I am heartless and just a sad pathetic unhealthy soul
For I don't matter for I am just one of the billions
For I have no right to feel this, its all a figment of my sorry excuse for an imagination
For there are billions of unhappy souls on this earth
More worthy of, help, hope and happiness
So don't fret I don't need help I am perfectly alright
There is absolutely nothing clearly faulty about me
So don't try to find an underlining meaning with these words
That I am searching for understanding and peace of mind
Because I"m not
The only thing I wish is that my words were magic ropes
Ones that could be thrown overboard to that great deep dark abyss
Ones that reach down, down, deep below the surface
Could pull Each Unhealthy sickly sorrowful soul out of this deep unforgettable hole
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 11:53 AM UTC
smiling sound; sonar driven
echoed back; always smitten
leave my body; floating mind
feeling sound; every time
bass vibration; settles me
simple lyrics; deep meaning
easy spirit; noise unveiling
underlining; concentrating
out the window; intently gazing
there it goes; my favorite song
the perfect chance; to sing along
Mar 1, 2012
Mar 1, 2012 at 1:42 PM UTC
Do they value quietude
as we do?
passing through their cul de sac
with the same red blood causing through
our veins ?
The cold stone buildings are arcane
clematis seemingly choking.them.
A wider sentence permeates.
The nightingale squabbles with the swallow
and all is not as same it seems.
How peace was wished for
but the inhabitants are loathed to admit
an underlining struggle re emerges.
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 3:58 PM UTC
Like placing a Sitar
I placed you with care,
On my lap I dare,
On my lap, till I fell asleep.
My fingers ran over those dots
Came to know the plots
As I felt my cracky sneaks
Smiled on turning the leaves
On sensing your corners
Understood the creator's pain
The pain of adorning those leaves
Those leaves that have thorns and veins
You contained dots,
Dots, six popped out,
six punched in.
Heartfelt heavy for sure
On analysing the torture
The torture of oneself
Shed tears on knowing the revealed fact
The revealed story.
Slid within,
Felt the essence of love and life
I didn't want to harm
To harm by a pen
By a pen by underlining the passage.
Hats off to Louis Braille
A blind man
Felt the essence of a novel
Though those eyes were at rest
Though the world is black
Lived the moment of colours
By the warmth of which the eyes fell asleep.
Dated: 19.10.2014
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 7:51 AM UTC
Ambition drove me to hell
Where I stood in the torrential downpour
Waiting for a hero of some sort
Maybe it would be him
Maybe it would be the sight of his license plate
Or the whiff of his cologne
Hopefully two abrupt hands covering my eyes
But no, I was alone in the rain
My laptop in my bag
Only to get wet, along with my copy of "The Sun Also Rises"
I had nowhere to go
No one to see
Or no one who wanted to see me
My family was away
My friends had all dispersed into cars full of life and spirit
And then I saw a friend
no
less than a friend
...someone I know?
I was stupid enough to go with her to a house rampant with drugs
Powder perfectly lined up
Broken up ****
Old prescription bottles
******* and marijuana and oxy and everything that feels like heaven but tastes like hell
FALSE
tastes like heaven but leads you to hell
**** my stupidity
So depressed that I couldn't make a simple decision
a decision so simple, all I had to say was "no"
Because stupidity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result, right?
Same result
Stupid because my actions are counterproductive to everything I work for
Endless hours of typing and reading and underlining words that were already highlighted
Stupid because I was selfish
selfish enough to only want to get high
and not think about the people around me
So stupid
it's laughable
FALSE
it's painful and terrible and everything I dont want YOU to feel
And I consumed the substance
that altered my mind into a kaleidoscopic whirlwind
Of blackness and white dots
one minute I was there...
the next I was home
and then a coffee shop
and then my house
My eyes were as glazed as a krispy kreme donut
excuse that deliciously disgusting simile
POuNDs of led were on my eyelids
and nothing mattered
until it did
until my HIgh became a lOW
until my mother walked into the room - - unexpected - - danger
until my mother said "you're gone"
until my mother cried because her brother was addicted to coke and her dad would shoot up on painkillers
until I was a reminder
it matters
I think it matters
I am the downpour
they say "When it rains, it pours"
and ****
it's been raining a lot
everyday theres another thunderstorm
literally and figuratively
just imagine
REALITY
who can riddle the thought of reality
not me
not me at all...
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 9:08 PM UTC
undo the rusty bolts
underlining
my frizzy hairline
the crummy ones that hold
volatile turmoil
within my scalp
the erratic lunacy
playing
with my aging brain
using the untangled strings
to jump rope
and play
sorrowful tunes
for the weeping
to harmonize
i want you
to stick your hands
in my heavy head
as you would
in a flower ***
freshly filled with soil
dig into the moist compound
with your pliable fingers
amend
the corruptive leakage
that toils
within my own deceit
i want you
to avidly turn
the soft claying matter
how ever you please
as you would
turn into roads
that lead you
running
straight to me
i want you
to breathe
igniting hope
born from the fumes
of cigarettes
you smoked insensibly
into the seeds
you wish to discard
in this potted cavity
i want you
to pour oceans
of poetic sentiments
tainted with gentle kindness
from those isolated tears
held back in the sockets
of your eyes
to water
my wilting corpse
so it may flourish
from your light reflecting gift
of life (you resurrect me)
i want you
to trust
in your
captivating presence
to make me
unintentionally smile
from your caress
will selflessly sprout
inflorescent buds
of rich purplish-blue flowers
with conspicuous green calyxes
and even though their coloring
is rather insignificant
and they can be easily overlooked
i want you
to know
that only you
hold the key
to this secret pasture
that
without you
there would not be
such garden
for us to hide
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 7:40 AM UTC
Alphabetical Order
amazing are the stars, that fill the eyes of a woman in love,
broken is the heart of a man, who has been turned away,
crowded are the stairways of the souls, searching the ****** glove,
dichotomous minds each separating, between month and day,
emulating the desires, that never seem to be quite filled,
forever left behind in the wake, of the steamy encounters,
gratification comes so close to the edge, of tears that spilled,
humbling the spirit of drive, as she casually saunters
in and out of her trances, thus requiring a special technique,
just as your about to capture, the flag of your quest,
keeping your head above the line, you get just one peek,
lovers separated, never owned, still merely a guest
might as well step into the path, of an oncoming fist,
never was any remote chance, that this would be resolved,
over and over the words are repeated, like reading a list,
permanently bringing injury to the dreamers involved
quietly, you grab your bags of lost promises and regrets,
resolving to the facts, that are right in front of your face,
securing the one of you dreams, don't be placing your bets,
trying to hard, seeking too much, another time, another place
underlining the failures, that are displayed on the page,
verification of these unwanted responses, we certainly don't need,
when oh when, can this heartache release built up rage,
xylem pumping the fluid, will it finally bleed
you're standing there now, with nothing to show for the time,
zanyism is quite commonly blamed for the entire episode.
Gomer Lepoet...
Mar 25, 2010
Mar 25, 2010 at 8:39 PM UTC
I keep it closed and locked,
In an imaginary, leather binding,
With its many pages compressed,
So that memories far apart
Are easier to retrieve,
Like scooping pearls
and shells on the sand.
There are stories of great adventure,
Tiny incidents like crystals
Shivering in the sun.
Lovers I knew in ancient times
Sleep among the pages
But come to life as I read,
My eyes caressing them as
My hands once did their skin.
Colors of eyes and hair remembered
Leap to paint the air around me:
Yellow sunlight and bodies moving,
Both electric and languid
In tangled sheets or long grass
After passion passed.
Some flashed like fireworks,
But others burned long and slow,
Not ready to love, nor to let go.
Smiles across a playing field,
Surprise midnight visits on holidays,
Costumed for Halloween with tiny stars
That shimmered on the stairs next morning,
Or inebriate feasts on the Fourth of July,
Tanned in the water and soothed at night.
There are short liaisons with friends
And long affairs, living with lovers,
Imagining it lasting forever
And battling the serious and inane.
Thinking everything will say the same.
And underlining all these times
Is the solidity of just one true love.
Finished November 14, 2021
Nov 16, 2021
Nov 16, 2021 at 10:06 AM UTC
Each beheading holds
The truth of Justice
Now, when the arch light
Flickers at Dawn
We see the Repear holding
The underlining of the fat belly
Of Free Verse
When there was nothing
You complained
When You had Everything
You complained
Instead of Fortitude
Births Arithmetic
Pushing rose petals
With the tip
Of your chapped tongue
Every rain drop
Slows me down
I step as if it is
The last one
I will ever take
Naive hesitation from
A mother who elapsed in Love
As water builds on my chandelier
I hold nothing in my hands
I am tired of these
Sick, enjoyed, hipsterites that
Praise things they have
Never even touched or seen
A bitter taste
Holds
For the soul
Of the pigeon
They say things
That hold nothing
That praise nothing
That say
Nothing
As am I lost
I will stay
In the meek and
Desperate
Gutter
Flipping pennies
As the seagulls mock me
Having flight
Where I
Do not
Desperation hangs
On their nouns
Humorlessness spills
From their verbs
Showing the Fear
That somehow they know
Nothing
Is Near
The Prison Light Moves
The Beat of the Heart Folds
A telling affair of
The rich, priceless, and snared
Reading you
Brings out the absurd
In
All of this
Apr 12, 2012
Apr 12, 2012 at 4:11 AM UTC
Separation does weird things to the body.
It causes a continental divide
between the mind, and the heart.
This divide– it causes doubt,
distorting three truths,
for three lies.
It shifts a millimeter
each moment,
till one day, there's been an earthquake
fantasy, and reality, are indistinguishable.
and you no longer can tell them apart
due to the irrevocable damage.
You realize
the memories
aren't really memories–
they are perceptions of events
gone wrong,
this cataclysm of love allows it.
You see, the sweetness of words once whispered
now have an underlining
bitterness
now have a certain
edge
enough to question their legitimacy.
And now you notice
far too early
the warmth from their embrace
just... leaves,
too quickly.
they just don't hold on like they used to.
Its ever so subtle, but ever so notable,
and its enough to make you worry
You'll worry about the things you see.
You'll worry about what you don't.
And finally, you'll both believe...
.... that separation
does weird things to the body.
It causes a continental divide
between the mind and the heart
and the realization that there's no healing
when you're miles and miles apart.
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 3:04 PM UTC
June eighth:
That random warm summer day
I heard
That in the hospital, an hour away
There was a room where my father lay;
Surrounded by doctors and nurses,
Conscious as they pushed, a wire up and into his brain;
To remove the thing, that awful thing
That could take my father away forever.
A blood clot that sat unaware in his vein;
One stroke that minimized everything.
From the time of the phone call
I sat in my room
Isolating myself
Coping with my thoughts as best I could
I wondered if he was ok
We went to see him for the first time,
On Father’s Day:
My 11 year old little sister and I
Balloons and cake and presents.
All smiles so as not to make it worse.
When I saw him I bit my lip,
That warm coppery taste filled my mouth
Instead of the tears that would have been.
When he talked his words slurred, uneven
He saw the pain in my eyes and tried to seem more himself,
He tried to sit up and straighten,
But he had lost much of his strength and could not.
I sat with him, next to his bed
My mind numb and afraid
The only noise the underlining sound of the TV
After a time he reached over with his good arm and squeezed mine
Just like he always does
But his voice wavered,
And something new became clear to me.
Even as he was still my father and alive
He was no longer the father
Made to be immortal to a small child:
Someone that is always there
No matter what, never going away,
But that is not an immortal idea.
It is but what it is
What people want it to be;
Its not truth.
For, at any second anywhere
My father can be taken from me.
Now life tells me that my father is mortal.
Just like any other
He works to regain what was lost;
Step by step,
New things return.
But still some evade him
And he sometimes saddens,
Mourning his taste, or strength in a hand or finger.
Ideas are immortal and ever changing
Their creators however, meet their own end,
And one time or another are taught why…
Perhaps for my father this is but a life lesson.
And perhaps he will learn from it.
Perhaps the lesson wasn’t only for him.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 11:01 PM UTC
Warm apple
& pumpkin spice
Its mid summer
but you're still burning
Fall scents
You bury your head
in your pillow
and twist your body,
all wrapped in sheets
toward the wall
beneath the window,
*"It still smells good
so I dunno... whatever"*
You're always laughing
at the most
insignificant things
and making eyes
with inanimate objects
like your guitar or my notebook
You say you fall in love
with the art I make
and then you kiss my forehead
and twirl my hair
between your fingers
You're the only one who really cares
to consider
all of my rants and hurried scribbles
'art'
Most of them have been
about you
for the past year or two
I wish I could still
show you
I know you'd pour
your eyes
into every word
Underlining all of your
favorite parts with the
tip of your pointer finger
& choosing one stanza
to sing like an other one of your
pretty songs,
strumming your thumb
against the page like the
strings of your tired guitar
Just like you did
on that patient day
last summer
Lying in your bed
Counting ceiling tiles
and making homes in each other's chests
I miss you
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 3:33 PM UTC
Beguiling
Would you like to know the picture God carries of you first fired in his imagination then bathed in light
And the final element water I know the power fire has to loosen the quiet tongue the flame dances and
Leaps your mind and imagination falls in step recall marches in with abundant expansive dialogue the
More you talk the more thoughts rush in as where the final viewing is in the clearest pure water at first
You don’t expect your change of mood when you approach any size of water it can be just a pool or a
Tremendous lake and more favorable is the small setting with water present a peace will descend like
Misty silk it bellows out and gently descends engulfing you through this silky sheen you are the supreme
Vision of loveliness the male is never more handsome the woman is never more beautiful can it be any
Different to look upon a face through green sea colors that occur when the sun shines through the
Rolling wave’s silkiness is nothing but the master’s delightful touch God sees his
Daughters as true princesses of the mysterious desert and there was a reason that Valentino played
Sheiks of the mysterious desert land it made him incomparable and the women stood on equal footing
In character and looks spellbinding that is what you look like to God we love with all of our heart but his
Capacity is so far greater than ours every church around the globe would be busting at the seams and
More being constructed if people really knew God and his love that is the greatest cry of the human
Heart is to be loved it took a master deceiver and the greatest hater of mankind to wreck the havoc that
He has accomplished well why doesn’t God do more the artist sized it up when a broken bloodied savior
Was shown on Calvary with his arms outreached with the underlining words he loved you this much
You’re the whole of his existence there is master piece after master piece that hang in museums but
They pale and are considered inferior botched art next to his longing pleading eyes that say come unto
Me my treasure and know everlasting pleasure come and be seated around my throne your rightful
Place that was always my plan for you only death and sorrow awaits those that turn a deaf ear to
Perfect love
Jan 31, 2012
Jan 31, 2012 at 10:23 PM UTC
To partake of a strange feast where the price claims haughty
too, bits of sanity
or decline.
Courage must be the face to the lion
in a pool of fear
and recognize the unacceptable.
The scorpion waits, a grumpy nip the heel
going round, sprain in soft sand
dessication tripled, slip in butter.
The search via crumbs to secret root
underlining hefty conditions
undermining liberty.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 5:39 PM UTC
i looked across and down
and the man's feet tapped
out a rhythm into the dark floor
of the speeding, jostling bus
and the rhythm matched the music
that occupied my ears
and my fingers pressed the tune
into the depths of my pocket
and i looked outside
the trees, aligned along the road
filed past the window
one by one
and the speed at which they passed my vision
matched the even beating of my heart
and the drumming of the cracks
in the cement that hammered
through the wheels and into
the soles of my feet
and i closed my eyes
the words that echoed there
in that dark expanse of thought
were spoken evenly, echoing
into the cavern
in strong, reliant waves
and the beauty of their timing
matched the rhyming of their meaning
and the march of my feet upon the sidewalk
matched the space between the lyrics
marking every single breath
and hanging on each letter
and i opened my eyes
it's funny, because today
the skies were open wide
and the passing of time
was aligned
with every inch of my five senses
one rhythm underlining each word said
one rhythm defining the weight of it all
one rhythm combining the moments together
and as i went to bed
heartbeat thumping in my head
i said
today just felt to me
like a song
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 3:57 AM UTC
Alphabetical Order
amazing are the stars, that fill the eyes of a woman in love,
broken is the heart of a man, who has been turned away,
crowded are the stairways of the souls, searching the ****** glove,
dichotomous minds each separating, between month and day,
emulating the desires, that never seem to be quite filled,
forever left behind in the wake, of the steamy encounters,
gratification comes so close to the edge, of tears that spilled,
humbling the spirit of drive, as she casually saunters
in and out of her trances, thus requiring a special technique,
just as your about to capture, the flag of your quest,
keeping your head above the line, you get just one peek,
lovers separated, never owned, still merely a guest
might as well step into the path, of an oncoming fist,
never was any remote chance, that this would be resolved,
over and over the words are repeated, like reading a list,
permanently bringing injury to the dreamers involved
quietly, you grab your bags of lost promises and regrets,
resolving to the facts, that are right in front of your face,
securing the one of you dreams, don't be placing your bets,
trying too hard, seeking too much, another time, another place
underlining the failures, that are displayed on the page,
verification of these unwanted responses, we certainly don't need,
when oh when, can this heartache release built up rage,
xylem pumping the fluid, will it finally bleed
you're standing there now, with nothing to show for the time,
zanyism is quite commonly blamed for the entire episode.
Gomer Lepoet...
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 6:21 PM UTC
I never quite understood
why you wanted that girl,
the one who wore too much lipstick
and flirted with your best friend.
I never quite understood
why I never bothered to say hi
whenever you walked by
or picked me up in your car.
You see,
I never quite understood
why I wanted you to want me
and wanted you to forget about that girl,
who wore too much lipstick
and flirted with your best friend.
I was never quite sure
why you wanted someone
who didn't care
about your favorite movies,
or books,
or people.
I never quite understood
how I would never get to study you,
underlining the most important parts
over the softness of your skin.
I never quite understood
why I thought what I thought
or how I felt what i felt
when I looked at you
and you didn't look back.
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 10:31 PM UTC
I wouldn’t like this.
A class full of uncomfortable individualised strangers.
An over head projector,
prodding, obvious questions,
trying to ascertain the exact purpose or meaning.
The space for ambiguity is closed up like a canon eclipsed by an earthquake.
Highlighter and underlining of a spontaneous experience.
They are trying to make water into concrete.
I just want it be able to bubble and foam and languish
but they want to pin it down.
I would be sad and disgusted if I saw my floaty feelings
pin boarded up onto the wall for dissection
Do not treat my insides in this way
Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 9:46 PM UTC
The sun of astrology and the tarot card of mirrors
Tired reflection underlining the tissue of fears
A four-letter word that crawls through the years
Black works well with the mind it clears
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 8:50 PM UTC