"uninfected" poems
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I've had dreams by day
That brought the nightmares back.
In the daylights exposure it was dark
When the negative light was bright.
In the sea of people
I was the floating remains
Of a Great White's meal.
On the lonely roads of thought
My mind was in gridlock.
Comforting memories were suspended
Over a psychic black hole
By jagged and rusted
Medieval-type surgical tools.
My remaining senses
Were nailed to a cross-section
Of psychically atrophied grey matter
Along neural pathways
Guarded by gladiator-type tormentors.
Left with nothing
But the stinging desire to be freed
From a curse that had to be cured
And the hell of searching for a cure
When I was convinced there wasn’t one.
The powers that be come with force
To quell primal lusts & desires
Forbidding you of them
As they seductively
Dangle them before your eyes
Until you are so frustrated and unfulfilled
That you no longer
Care for your world.
This cracked glass remains empty
Even though it is constantly being filled
Then spilled or leaked on the floor
Until you learn to lap it up
Like the lapdog that you have become
For their amusement.
You remain with a love for freedom
But your cage is so large
That you think you are free
Lost in societal fantasy.
You think for a while
That these fantasies are real
Until you come to your senses that aren’t
As you join other fools
In comfort that you're not the only
Broken-back pack-mule.
But in spite of it all
And in the face of them all
Don't let these birds of prey
And powers that be
Deprive you of what they
cannot see
In that hidden corner
Of what is still untouched--
The real you
Uninfected by the world.
Take care of your spiritual affairs.
Don't let the global beast
And your primal hissing forces
Make you be your own pallbearer.
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 6:28 PM UTC
Between us lies
An empty space.
How could we know
How great the gulf would grow?
I carried the strain.
You would not share my burden,
Now find me
An unwilling host.
I have found a rare mutation
Spliced, we are perfection.
Uninfected, we evolve.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 9:06 AM UTC
Relative to every person,
comparisons of pain
between friends is immature.
The microscopic stabs
that I see in the world around me
may actually be atomic bombs.
If beauty shines in knowledge
then I am lucky to have the
most attractive people to call my friends.
They all possess what most others yearn for,
the chance to express thoughts
actually filled with a basis.
It is the roaming ill conceived offspring
of the mind’s theories that tend to irritate. Focusing on hope is the only way to unlock the door that leads to fortified walls that wait for destruction.
Strength defeats weakness,
so I must endure the nights that
cause me to remember any ruinous times.
Recently I have extracted my resilience from the heartbreak that creeps on my friends.
Not to say that I am ecstatic to
witness sorrow from the people
I care for the most,
just satisfied to know there are
others fighting the same war I am.
As I said earlier,
differentiation between people’s pain
is fictitious.
Although the experiences may alter
from person to person,
the wounds are all of equivalent sizes.
Not being able to fall asleep
because of the shadow that
won’t go away is unexplainable,
but words don’t need to be said
since it happens to us all.
Forced slumber only transpires
to those who know what it feels like
to ache in the crevices of the
soul once unchartered.
My suggestion,
find the nearest map and
learn as many roads in the
world of your brain as possible;
only then can you honestly find
the trail that gears toward uninfected bliss.
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 3:24 PM UTC
nightmare
in evening suburbia,
a piss-stained moon huddles overhead like a cautious mother
to guide rows & rows of carbon copy homes.
the moon’s glare stains the sky unsettling hues,
the air is like a blanket of bristles.
i am on the street, dry calloused soles
brush chrome cement.
i let my ponytail fall free, and feel hidden, pounding
streams of eyes, i’m uneasy like the moon.
as i pass an empty lot, the lot that is animated
with a rainbow of ripe fruits
on Saturday’s market, now grey and aching.
a soft murmur grows, closer,
i half-expect a wild fox to pass by,
but see Ania’s forested Suburu swarm
in to scoop me, her window lowers and i see her eyes,
held wide with fear settled in the irises, as if piranhas are secretly
gnawing her legs there, its not funny.
come quick, she squeals at me as I jump inside
onto the milky mildew upholstery, she
never stops driving,
(omit?: we are escaping some sort of madness.)
back on the street, a man expands, shapes
into a monstrous teradacytl like an Anamorphics novel
he chases us, I feel his pull from behind,
inside a dark matter,
as he rides atop a pickup truck and I am
latched to the back of the Suburu, surrendering.
the beast sprays this magical mist that
makes me feel like melting, like after a hit of a heavy ******
that sweet, dark, ethereal pull,
like a lovestruck teen on an apathy ride,
i become a useless solider.
the next scene happens in the kitchen of an uninfected family,
their pink lips warn us of grandmothers that wander into homes
with five-dollar bills, they ask you to take them to the theater--
but if you even gently caress the bill, they will become monstrous,
their white hair dissipating into scaly skin, the demonic eyes
won’t leave your memory.
they are innocent masks, similar to the stray streetcats
who shift shapes, turn
to bloodthirsty pedestrians.
perhaps suburban ***** birth tiny monsters:
the after-effects of the danger, the distortion of
finding comfort in apathy.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 11:35 PM UTC
He left me unkissed,
broken on the stairs,
running away,
this time no touching of my hair,
He left me unkissed,
dying from the inside,
now he found another,
the beginning of a new fight
ours was true, and meant be connected
but still you had the courage the left me uninfected...
-nene-
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 9:23 AM UTC
I rarely go out
do not talk to many
cook my own meals
don a mask on planes and buses
and crowded supermarkets
hoping to survive Covid
uninfected
Oct 6, 2022
Oct 6, 2022 at 2:39 PM UTC