"unhooked" poems
he drank wine all night of the
28th, and he kept thinking of her:
the way she walked and talked and loved
the way she told him things that seemed true
but were not, and he knew the color of each
of her dresses
and her shoes-he knew the stock and curve of
each heel
as well as the leg shaped by it.
and she was out again and whe he came home,and
she'd come back with that special stink again,
and she did
she came in at 3 a.m in the morning
filthy like a dung eating swine
and
he took out a butchers knife
and she screamed
backing into the roominghouse wall
still pretty somehow
in spite of love's reek
and he finished the glass of wine.
that yellow dress
his favorite
and she screamed again.
and he took up the knife
and unhooked his belt
and tore away the cloth before her
and cut off his *****
and carried them in his hands
like apricots
and flushed them down the
toilet bowl
and she kept screaming
as the room became red
GOD O GOD!
WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?
and he sat there holding 3 towels
between his legs
no caring now wether she lft or
stayed
wore yellow or green or
anything at all.
and one hand holding and one hand
lifting he poured
another wine
32.1k
824
[first version]
The Wind begun to knead the Grass—
As Women do a Dough—
He flung a Hand full at the Plain—
A Hand full at the Sky—
The Leaves unhooked themselves from Trees—
And started all abroad—
The Dust did scoop itself like Hands—
And throw away the Road—
The Wagons—quickened on the Street—
The Thunders gossiped low—
The Lightning showed a Yellow Head—
And then a livid Toe—
The Birds put up the Bars to Nests—
The Cattle flung to Barns—
Then came one drop of Giant Rain—
And then, as if the Hands
That held the Dams—had parted hold—
The Waters Wrecked the Sky—
But overlooked my Father’s House—
Just Quartering a Tree—
[second version]
The Wind begun to rock the Grass
With threatening Tunes and low—
He threw a Menace at the Earth—
A Menace at the Sky.
The Leaves unhooked themselves from Trees—
And started all abroad
The Dust did scoop itself like Hands
And threw away the Road.
The Wagons quickened on the Streets
The Thunder hurried slow—
The Lightning showed a Yellow Beak
And then a livid Claw.
The Birds put up the Bars to Nests—
The Cattle fled to Barns—
There came one drop of Giant Rain
And then as if the Hands
That held the Dams had parted hold
The Waters Wrecked the Sky,
But overlooked my Father’s House—
Just quartering a Tree—
19.1k
in the year 2462 those with nails protruding from their palms
will talk in ancient tongues
& sway the tribes of men to eternal love,
& endless ammunition
of the soul.
spiritus.
kin, galactic
& the golden fire.
throb the saga of man,
into hip ****** illusions and combustive color schematas.
we bury our dead in flower clippings
or skull bits.
[skateboarding rises as the highest form of intellectual sport]
thrum and plum-bum the sewers of electric babylon.
hive city reaching past gasp and wasteland,
her lips ruinous.
cement slabs and coils of fault with
vast artistic possibilities.
these skate-lords from their heaps, their clans, augmenting
& rattling bone masks
grinding themselves into meat-bit heroics
& death.
their teeth are yellowy awoken.
this is all seen globally,
via tele-cast-com-core-mind-warp-tech.
or video.
dreams impact reality
impact dreams
in such
that the cathode cortex filter, invented circa 2222,
evolves into a demi-god, a solar charged demon of unlimited knowledge.
& it mutates the psychosphere of our mainstream public mind
with countless projected memories.
[streamed alternate realities]
fills the belly and the brain,
but all those unhooked are skating.
sweet meat market.
ghost harddrives.
poor leftovers called children of the once-was-men
& their poolside parties.
they leap the rubble of centuries old plastic icons,
their boards, their weapons, their seeds and spit.
they hang chains from their necks
& spew black flame from their sunshaded boot-click
lickings.
they drink from large bottlesof elixer distilled
on old flowers
& worship archaic cassettes.
cults of cyborg women with gem-tipped-blade-additions
carve wooden planks from
groves of great oaks.
great oaken powers.
their creators chew gummies and bend time
to uphold
a proposed history of perfection.
they master pong from their crystalline towers,
& hire mathematicians to write
conceptual skate-deck algorithms,
solely for fun.
non-profit.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 5:49 AM UTC
These clothes, they hide
These clothes, conceal
And when these clothes slide off
There's nothing left to reveal
Unhooked clasps
Undone buttons
Just unwrap this body
'Til absolutely nothin'
My raw self for
Only you to view
Removing this fabric
Is saying that I trust you
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 1:23 AM UTC
Etched in a lilies bloom
Tastes of him were born;
Beneath an attic sky, a sleeping heart, listens to his tune,
Her hands, small cathedrals, catching the heat of his dark...
Summer, shimmered beneath a midnight sun;
Flooding moments,
Feeding his mind through her tongue,
A vibration, milky blue ....notes rubbing softly upon her skin,
Oh! how her pores sung his finger tipped tender.....
A half light of fingers, stroked memories through shadows,
A skin of kisses, shivering on starry pillows, fusing the jet velvet;
Gauze, skimmed a ghost, un-woken between light and body;
As the flute of larynx, unhooked, softly in shadows of reflection,
Spilling amber
Upon a necklace of optimism...too delicate to wear.....
His heart, cradled the curl that fell across her face,
It danced in his fingertips,
Endless ribbons of tender Love, dripped from veins upon
Her skinny jeans,
Scarlet stained
Ripped...
He whispered "baby", and rocked her with his hips;
The ache in her thighs missed him,
The sweetness of him;
Breathing silence, upon her pelvis,
A cat's cradle; scented with orchids;
Upon a canvas of aching skin...
Ravaging, raking needs, spoke tongue's
In the drape down taste of heartbeats,
Arousing the fire of Summer's gentle slope;
The spiral of her heart, cornered, wild;
A quiet suffering, soothing her breast,
In a moonlight of dark songs...
Heartbeats, she thought,
Are but night whispers..... fading in and out of time,
Lingering on the edge of now, to
Fall softly, into a misty world of someday;
Somewhere, in the stillness, his voice whispers her heart,
Beyond forever, washing wishes in the sea........
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 2:42 PM UTC
There's a certain kind
That holds you hostage
Way up there in the bleachers
In a red-light district
Cold and cheap
It lures you because you're lurable
Attach and you're stuck up there
In a certain kind
Of dilapidated ivory tower
It's only later on
When you're broken
When the nights have woven
Their history and the light
Has drained
Only when you're pushed out
Only when you're shoved off
Only then does the truth
Begin to talk
Until then it's been silent
Though gradually loosing appetite
For despair, denial, dilemma
Only when unhooked
Does that fierce, quite dismissal
Begin to beg for something else
Only then does
A certain other kind
Begin to go wild for itself
You wonder how yourself
Moldy and molting
And mad with lies
Had so deceived its own
You wonder how
If there is a god
S'he coulda watched you bleed
With self-betrayal
And sat there idle
While you slowly crumbled
But admit it
You were terribly cocky up there
In the pink and belly-full
***** and hookered
If G O D woulda spoken
You woulda spit in the face of divinity
And you probably did
So that certain kind
Watched and waiting
For another
Certain kind
To choke the bejasus outa ya
'til you slowly faded to full stop
And dropped to your knees
To a certain other kind
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 6:12 AM UTC
life choices cast in iron skillets,
presented choices that possess no flexibility
twice, she asks me today
morning fruitage, on offer,
peaches ripe to rip real sweet perfection
from your eyes to the remembering salivating mouth,
or
sweet but just **** enough
strawberries that will wince your tongue buds
intolerant of either, but perfect together
acorn squash,
over roasted to be the violin section
to your barbecued chicken orchestra serenading,
but which shall be the sweetener,
honey or maple syrup,
similar but different
the kitchen floor explosive shakes,
pans to the floor fall, eyelet unhooked all,
spices from cabinets burst forth,
kitchen mittens slapping each other
in utter disbelief
when I reply,
let us choose both!
for there is no bifurcation,
no line of demarcation
on our taste buds
this a truthful -
our lives a perpetual blending,
both will login lead to a
the right and proper ending
Jun 30, 2019
Jun 30, 2019 at 5:34 PM UTC
I think
that your touch
could be the death of me
and you would have no idea whatsoever
because i'd smile and repeat over and over:
"i'm okay"
I know
that your hands
on my skin is a form of poison
but it's the most addicting drug in the solar system
and no amount of therapy could possibly get me unhooked
from you
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 5:28 PM UTC
I want to touch you–
just one innocent touch,
dripping with desire
and coated with love.
I want to touch you–
my lips onto yours,
glazed with a passion
that can't be unhooked.
I want to touch you–
just my hand in yours,
enveloped so softly
we forget we've been hurt.
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 1:47 AM UTC
You either know me, or you don’t.
I’m your best friend, and worst enemy.
I’m bought, sold (new and old),
sought, found, and tossed around.
I get twisted and turned,
mimicked and gimmicked.
I lead you here, I lead you there,
I lead you just about anywhere.
I whisper in your ear, and boom across the sky,
feeding off echoes, savoring my cry.
I’m overlooked and undercooked—
raw as sushi just unhooked.
I’m encrypted and coded into complex clues,
hidden in books and the daily news.
I’m hacked, chewed, shredded and burned,
analyzed and synthesized at every turn.
I’m stronger than ever and growing each day,
collecting, connecting, and creating the way.
Information’s the name, and if life’s a game,
then I’m one slick player with zero shame.
Dec 2, 2011
Dec 2, 2011 at 5:47 PM UTC
I have felt like an outsider
Ever since my childhood ended
When I was left with a gaping
Hole carved by the one who loved me.
And I know he adores me still
But he is too far away now
That I cannot reciprocate
His feelings. Though I do admit,
I allow myself to succumb
To nostalgia once in a while.
My true friend gone, I bounced around
Different groups of people trying
To find my place in a sea of
Jealousy and competition.
I'm so thankful I got to know
The ones I did because they were
Beautiful and fascinating
In their own distinctive manner.
For a while I thought I found one
But I soon began to realize
That I had been brainwashed into
Thinking that I loved these people,
When really I didn't know them
And they didn't care to know me.
My world shattered and so did I;
Frantically trying to pick up
The pieces so I could be whole.
But my memories and thoughts of
The past eighteen years were too much
For me to pick up on my own.
One day while blindly moving in
The dark, I ran into one of
You who found a part of me on
The ground. You seemed to recognize
A shattered soul so you grabbed some
Glue and you called your friends asking
For help reassembling me.
Together, you made the cracks not
As obvious to those who looked;
But every time I peered in the
Mirror, there they were distorting
The image of myself and those
Around me. But before you could
Repair that, we all went away
To separate places and I had
To try and fix the cracks myself.
But I only had so many
Hands so I built an elaborate
Device to keep me intact as
I mended each imperfection.
And that's how he found me, trying
To fix something he was convinced
Wasn't broken in the slightest.
He unhooked me from the device
Then set me down and forced me to
Look at myself in the mirror.
For the first time in a long time
I saw my face and all of yours
Smiling in the reflection as
If to say "Now do you see us?"
All that's left is to remember
I must check the mirror every
So often so I can see your
Faces full of love and support
And see that I am not alone
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 10:17 PM UTC
Wind
unhooks her dress,
the dawn slips from her skin,
clocks falter at her parted sigh,
desire.
Sep 7, 2025
Sep 7, 2025 at 6:29 PM UTC
Out of everything I saw, I remember
the thumb.
Swollen and lopsided.
There it was, conquering the wires--red, blue, and green,
commandeering the clear tubes coated with stomach bile.
And the nail. What a healthy nail.
A pink rosebud with cuticle trim. Piqued with a white crest, curling.
Prime for at least fifteen more back scratches.
A drawerful of button-ups.
Pockets of heads and tails.
You can do it, Grandma.
One, two.
Heads, tails.
Up, down.
Up for braid, down for bun.
Braid? Yes. Braid.
And then there are two small thumbs bumbling through foreign terrain.
The braidee now braiding. The baby,
aging.
Tucked in, lulled by echoes of strange mothers. Bleeping pressures, sugars, drawing lines and colors.
But you have me.
And I have this thumb,
hidden under mine.
I’ll keep it safe for you, here in this shadowed palm—sanctified, secret dome.
I’ll protect it from the unhooked jaw.
From placid flesh curtains, over a damp backstage.
White light hanging over the insect—splayed on a lightning-gleamed car windshield.
I’ll hide it away.
Intermission.
Hush now.
Quiet, you. The show is not yet done.
And ****** it won’t be. Not with this thumb.
Not on my time.
I bite it.
At you. Skyward you.
Elusive and slippery. Shiny, rubber-like, all but new.
A blank belated card, lost in the mail.
What it might have said,
had I left a forwarding address.
But we’re here now in this dark hand cavern.
Tucked away, safely in lines.
Those of the palm.
Of tree rings.
Of love songs, and
Pretty things.
Lines, like wires
red, green, and blue.
They bring me closer
And closer
To the thumb.
Fat, with shiny aged skin,
stretched new.
And suddenly, I’m
Old.
Numb along one side.
Useless and dumb.
A limp puppet
plunked down
during intermission.
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 3:38 PM UTC
28 strings hanging from above, teetering and creaking with each of my steps.
The wood below feels as if sand seeps into my skin, making the next heavier, and heavier.
When did the world decide to become so clever?
The marionette is unnamed although the disease is written clearly across the fogged bathroom mirror.
I avert my eyes from the truth as though I could never decipher.
A slap to the face and a fluid ounce of love is all it took,
two floating hands to fix my gaze upon all I could, my own life book.
I suddenly could hear the willows whipping and dripping wet in the rain outside the brook, I was no longer deaf to the pain I caused and took.
The mental games we play are never far from the outsides the lines of our life's coloring book.
Climb to the tallest line of the page with your grappling hook.
It only takes one outside and unbiased look and the keys to the castle are unhooked.
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 3:34 PM UTC
The chance to blossom, the fear
of failing,
weighing so heavy
on,
my broken,
encapsulated heart
no return, only the
desire, lust
to prove myself, worthy
a candidate,
of caliber, meritorious of
praise,
the extremes, of this
bipolar,
express, they named
it,
would surely bring,
a cast opened
soul,
drinking blood, vampire
of this night,
inspiration from
constellations,
midnight skies
feeding,
pleasure, gluttony
Tell me,
am I laudable
is this,
my true calling
or, am I yet,
again,
fooling myself,
even you,
squirrels in the attic,
batty,
deranged,
maniacal,
unhinged,
unhooked,
berserk.
© Sia Jane
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 9:31 AM UTC
THE WIND blew and touched the leaves
With his gentle seductive kiss
He promised a paradise abroad
More beautiful than this.
How irresistible was his caress
How captivating his charm
Soon leaves yearned to travel far
In their new lover’s arms.
In dreams like a newlywed bride
The leaves resolved to start anew
And readied soon to ride the wind
To old friends bidding adieu.
Quickened now the wind’s speed
Once leaves unhooked from tree
The romance showered ebullience
As leaves floated carefree.
But suddenly the wind swayed
Away from the promised land
Drifting close to a naïve daisy
Telling tales from a wonderland.
The leaves fell down and laid forlorn
Soiled, dusted, thrown away
Soon joined them a somber daisy
As the wind rocked the hay.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 1:11 AM UTC
As the beer somehow kept spilling
over the edge of the ping-pong table—
as its cascading luxury of foam
called to mind, for some reason, ruins
of imaginary Babylonian gardens
and the girls began to unravel with the night,
besotted with spume, gradually untwining
their spooled effervescence—
as our volume rose, and our thoughts clacked
against our teeth, the laughter silly—
as we unhooked ourselves for a time
from the existences we ourselves had stressed,
kneading them—and I smelled euphoria—
I, half-drunk off something
other than beer, turned to my friend and let out:
but what do you say to the doomed?
Teeth clacking.
His eyes heavy at me for having wrenched
at this. His eyes fading behind a film of alcohol.
His eyes silent.
Then his cup to the air, firm, salute-poised.
Then his cup to his mouth, quick chug
amid clamor of enclosed mirth—small,
clanging against walls, girls’ skirts—
as if you could only salute, then wash down
the aftertaste
with imaginary Babylonian gardens.
Apr 2, 2012
Apr 2, 2012 at 8:20 AM UTC
I used to march past the days,
Now the days march past me.
I used to shape and mold the clay,
Strange,
- How the clay mold’s shaped like me.
There used to be a song about me,
Now I’m the only one who sings it.
Last April’s trap was set for me,
Strange,
- How I’m the one who springs it.
I used to be less lonely then,
But now the world’s too crowded.
I won’t see Sun in the rain again,
Strange,
-Now the summer’s clouded.
I used to dream of things to come,
Of all the words yet to be said.
Now I only dream of what’s been done,
Strange,
- How waking makes sleep dead.
I used to live a happy life,
You can measure it in tears.
If you can still weep you know not strife,
Strange,
- Now my eyes are clear.
I used to fill the air with sound,
All the while saying nothing.
Silence now seems more profound,
Strange,
- I’ve had enough of bluffing.
I used to look at Stars above,
And wonder on their purpose.
A dot of light: not hope or love.
Strange,
- How blessings turn to curses.
I used to live inside a book,
Perhaps too much, I feel.
The book inside me’s been unhooked,
Strange,
- What truth fantasy reveals.
I used to have an open heart,
Poorly partnered with closed mind,
What’s left open soon falls out and apart,
Strange,
- Their position reversed now, I find.
I used to love a fiery girl.
I know that love was true.
Now I chase the past in a broken world.
How Strange,
-To say adieu.
Aug 30, 2010
Aug 30, 2010 at 4:08 PM UTC
scurrying to the lavatory
frantically fumbling
belt unhooked
button fly, de-flied
hook thumbs against the skin
and drag the bottoms down mid-calf
feel the cool breeze on your
recently freed junk
bent at the knees ya’ll
and set gently
the plastic cap to the porcelain god
diligently protecting your **** cheeks
from the cold damp germ-laden white
doom tube….
relax, don’t push too hard
this is a natural as the rain
buzzing bees
but more like a waterfall
after a flood
debri passes
logs fall
mud and grime
crash down
down
down
reach over and begin to gather your specified amount
of toilet tissue
go ahead, don’t be scared
be sure to cover your hand skin
we don’t want a poo finger
then
wipe!
wipe, again
wipe until there’s nothing left to wipe
we all want a clean bootyhole
don’t we?
grab up those trousers
or elegant gown
and reattach or fasten
the button, zipper, or belt
straighten your gear in the mirror
and wash
wash
wash
we don’t want a poo finger
do we?
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 2:26 PM UTC
Logically, I know sugar on the occasion
Is healthy in moderation
Same with pleasure
I am viewing life in extremes
The pendulum swinging
Side to side
Never finding
Middle ground.
I am ***** for fooling around
And a ***** for only holding hands
I am fat for having something sweet
And rigid for measuring
Fear is what keeps me stuck
Rules I created are what
Keep me leashed
No better than an animal tied to a post
Waiting to be unhooked
To take a decent **** in privacy.
Is that my life?
Tightly leashed to my insecurities
How else will I grow
Unless I loosen the reigns?
Out of control!
The voice shouts
Just a little looser please
I feel suffocated
And I am bored of the same old scenery
I need a change
And these chains
Are beginning
To dig into neck
Peirce my skin and flesh.
When did the collar get so tight?
There once was a time
I acted on intuition
Suddenly I am in this submissive position
By my own disposition
What a sticky situation
To be in.
I am no *********
But I’ve created and casted
This rule ridden life
That has forbidden anything good
This pain has lasted long enough
Almost three years
I didn’t think my fears
Could have such stamina
And it seems that things are getting worse
Lack any improvement.
I am waiting for it to die out
But it might **** me first
Unless I stick a knife
Into this demon of mine
It will continue breeding
Infiltrating
The sanity of my mind
Stealing away a chance for a better life.
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 2:04 AM UTC
-I like to look at troubles and break from disasta
-It's hard at times but I know I can masta
-I feel at times they got'a leash on me but leashes can become unhooked
-So from my past I unhooked from the loop and booked
-I got ghost, I shook, and I had the mindset of'a crook
-Though I never acted out like'a hoodlum
-Potential I never saw in myself or maybe I'm too humble but either way swings the pendulum
-In more ways then one reality can shock you
-It can prove you to be the biggest foo'
-Most people sleep with the fake and despise the truth
-Everybody now and then can use a warm touch but then again a cold one will do
-Cuz it ain't fake no mo' when the truth slaps you with the obvious
-Cheek on swoll and you know it is
-Hate me or not, you know its some of the truest...
-I know cuz I was best friends with misery
-Still cry when somethin' reminds me of an old memory
-I fight it cuz I refuse to let it get the best of me
-What do you wanna know? I'm an open book
-You just gotta read between the lines on every page when you look
-Just more things to talk about
-When people doubt me, I tell 'em "You doubt me cuz you took the judgmental route"
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 7:19 PM UTC
CLOTHES HAVE NO MEMORIES
Your most prized dress
must confess
that it
cannot
remember
the swell of your breast
the rise & fall of your breathing.
Clothes have no memory.
It is Winter now and your summer
frock has totally forgot
the sheer sunny shockingness of being
(underneath it all)
absolutely knickerless.
Kisses like butterflies
alight high (high)
on your inner thigh (thigh) !
Clothes have no memory.
Your bra
unhooked & unhinged
cannot really recall
the thrill of it all
as my hands caress
create your *******
Clothes have no memory.
Clothes have no memory
...but I do.
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 4:06 AM UTC
I can see the pain breaking through his porcelain shell and billowing out of his lips. Now he's lying with his back against the cold tile floor & his arms wrapped around his stomach just to soothe the empty void growing beneath his skin. I breathe his name in my sleep. I dream about him behind the steering wheel, the reflection of his shoulders unfolding in the rear view. We exhale a layer of smoke into the lifeless air that hangs over my bed. I can feel my lungs giving in & leaning tiredly against my rib cage. He does the same & it makes my entire body ache. Have you ever thought about how much you missed someone while lying in their arms? The vacancy in his voice shatters the flood gates behind my eyes. I'm crushed by the blankness of his stare. I remember watching his face morph into a playground when he was laughing out loud, but no pill can resurrect that expression now. All that's left are twisted veins, and worn out organs floating in a sea of champagne. I rest here, waiting for the day they sink & he gets dragged away. I spent 18 years as a calendar hung between a set of revolving doors, apathetically watching people come and go with every season that changed beneath my feet but he unhooked me from that place and whispered life into my ear every night. Now I'm looking at his shaking hands, a light shade of blue & every inch of me is weakened by the knowledge that it's his turn to walk back through.
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 12:04 AM UTC
I'm fishing for salmon
In a river of emerald green
I cast my line out into the current
And that immediate bite wasn't foreseen
I yank my pole upward and real in the beast
He jumps and splashes, trying to escape his doom
But later he will be a feast
I get him to the water's edge and see the beauty of the beast
He was green and silver, an incredible sight
His shiny scales glowed in the sunlight
I brought him up onto the beach after his courageous fight
Unhooked him, and let the beautiful beast free into the Skykomish river
The beautiful beast would not be a feast
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC