"unsanitized" poems
Part II of "Got 0 Followers"
aim high
to keep
it low
expectations
such an
Awesome Awful
curse
others infect
you with
don't, yada yada,
ya wanna be like
Tom, **** and Jane,
even Harry, a transgendered
friend and fellow (ha) outcast,
all with a good job
prospects of a
goodly tented long life?
so ya write poems
to nobody
about nothing and
you are pleased
to be pleasing just yourself
in writing you have
nothing to prove,
so read them
like keepsakes
ya like,
keep 'em & me hid,
in the shoebox
under the closeted
pile of ***** clothes,
special designer outfits concocted
so they keep my remains,
privatized and unsanitized,
my equity,
hidden,
disguised as disgusting
but for god-sakes
don't follow me,
unless
you want to curse us
both with
Expectations of Expectations,
then comes with
illiteracy of
Affection
then the literary
pre-tension
that always follows,
leading to
Affectation,
the first derivative of the infection of affection
yeah,
then comes
caring
and it instantly it's too late,
you're *******
right up the mental heine,
lost condemned
ruined annihilated
crushed subverted
crushed into
mental death camp suffocation of more, please ma,
can I have some more?
crap, why did you have to go and follow me?
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 8:14 PM UTC
~
Bala^ comments:
"alignment - any which way one can if possible to make
****** and *********** simultaneously happen,
without any best position plan"
~
*may all the gods bless you, Bala,
for waking me at 4:33 with this poetic induction
coaxed from my spinal fluid sanity
with perfected clarity
my own circadian rhythm masters internal,
the most reliably unreliable human container technology teachers,
semi-skilled in the entrainment arts for this impoverished body mine,
deem it appropriate that early morn messages of
propitious possibility be greeted immediately
entrapped, awaken me at four AM with great glee,
because these elusives^^ know exactly what stirs
this being's cochlear cockles into birthing a
poetic cookie ******** ***********
your message meme provoking, inducing,
be honest man - simply seducing, my within
by your teasing words from without*
"without any best position plan"
*not to confuse the mere appearance of a routine
as worthy of the entitlement of "plan,"
much as the poem's own vanity chooses it own alignment
the relationship, the relativity -
always the
flexing flummoxing freaking insatiable pleasuring
when your thrusting unplanned message
****** and bests my brain,
releasing a fully formed, instantaneous parrying poem
from an aroused, passing, unsanitized, second of sanity
for no better *** than this...
as per the unplan?
this tissued life,
this in and out
of punching and counterpunching continuous,
but rarely contiguous,
for we are never aligned for more than a moment,
the moment that almost always goes unnoticed,
for the heart's ***** tissues,
are mostly torn by how life
uses us roughly
so here is an aligned confession fecundity
this poetry gig, my salve,
to tenderize the daily redness,
the irritation residual of having no plan
however these fingerprints decided for you,
to present, upon completion,
this soft-spoken loud ***********
a peaking, not a leaking,
** ** ** - a screaming
hallelujah, i'm aligned!
the man found albeit briefly
a beat, a plan and its verbal, herbal,
best solution
may all the gods bless you, Bala,
for waking me at 4:33 with this poetic induction
coaxed from my spinal fluid sanity
with perfected clarity
the man and his plan, for a mega-second
his best,
unplanned but got and given,
in poetic planetary alignment
positioned
as are you and I -
the thousands of miles of distance tween us
as you read this
collage collapse
into a singular synapse
of ****** and ***********
hallelujah, we are aligned!
~
**disclaimer:
anything you say to me, can and will be used
for a poem**
~
5:55am
April 1, 2017
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 4:16 PM UTC
I have hope for the little black boy and girl.
These Mars to universe-colored,
golden-eyed children of the sun.
Some of them sprout up
out of cracked earth and concrete.
Their root-minded growth being spurred on
by the nourishment of the sewers.
These are tiny black flowers
pushing out their pistils like tongues,
and licking the unsanitized water
like nectar.
They
take everything you throw away.
Watch them make tree houses out of
trash cans, and spaceships
out of discarded cardboard boxes
that smell like beer, and *****
and sweat.
The sprinklers are on
and they slide down a hill
covered by a plastic sheet
the size of a whale's tongue.
Their smiles
open wide like zippers,
and their teeth are coconut flesh.
The milk of their laugh contains enough calcium
to mine happiness
out of overly-injected fructose bones.
When they tug at your pants
and ask you questions,
they just want to know
where the moon came from,
and how to get there.
Feb 18, 2012
Feb 18, 2012 at 1:00 PM UTC
You cut me,
with those sweet ***** dissecting lips.
Shredding every remaining shred of integrity I once believed I had,
you ***** my virtue with your unsanitized hands.
I bleed,
iodine in hopes that it will cleanse me of your disease,
rinsing coarsely through already torn layers of raw and blistered skin.
Alchemy may claim to turn lead to gold.
But what of you;
you are gifted.
Metaphysically fit,
you remain untarnished,
as you **** my virtue with your unsanitized hands.
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 8:10 PM UTC