"vicegrips" poems
**** You, Evangeline
I hated you in the seventh grade
When you were pushed on me at school
And broke my rib,
As I badmouthed you on the monkeyswings.
But quickly I learned
Not from mom or sister
That to be a man is different than
Hollywood and Disneyland
Nothing Loves, Actually; Forever calls—
Very quickly
It seems
That I go from adorable to expendable
Serendipitously,
With a bit of mandated mail
And affairs with Eros’ bureaus of State
Back then I played with chitinous bugs
Baiting them fluffy placentas
of budding trees
And stalked them back to their cave
Before I knew my felonies
But I was a baby,
A child—I never could have known what it means.
But of course I do,
I’ve seen
the running of the bulls
The utterance of men
They are angry and gouge *******
with cold vicegrips around their ******
And are kicked
Mercilessly
Spurned to wrathful affectation
To be murdered in the evening
With rapturous spectation
“But they are bulls!”
Of course they are
"These feelings are only natural!"
No man can equate
With the pleasurable temptations of the state
Not bird or bug or steer or doe
The only Hierarchy permissible
Is of the animals
And of that we hate
I don’t see you woeing
About that steak on your plate.
Or the Glue in the soles of your shoes.
Stroll a bit
Sniff the trees
Whiff the ********
When it’s in the feed
He runs in circles shouting, chanting
“Oye, Oye, Aye Piche Cabrone!”
As the solo mothers cut his lengua
for the starving Ninos
In an apartment complex
off Oxenhoof Lane
Where
Papi got iced
By I.C.E or the like
And the kiddies will never know what it means.
You’ll never know what it means
To be a bull
Muster your might for this—demand with laughter you die
I am an ant in the ever-washed hive
Of sterile kin who have no lives
They give for their queen or infectious despot with wings
Despite all the kindness they've given me,
I am not ready to be meat for the feet.
In every blade of grass I've faith
That no bird or sin will ****** me from my place
And into the sky or the unsatiated mouth of the various
Disunified highs
For now I share the toil and vitriolic
Callous
Jowls of those who hate themselves
More than me
And try to smile and bring food for the queen
But deep inside
I am an ant
And that is all you will ever see.
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 1:46 PM UTC
There's an ominous melody playing in my head.
A kind of uncharted echo only heard in melancholy tunes.
Splitting and splattering against the walls of my soul.
Skin, skin is all we see,
not the depth of a vast ocean of emotions.
Every fiber and molecule taken forgranted.
Hearts are a dime a dozen in this ****** up world.
Bleeding hearts ooze broken fragments out of glistening veins.
Tearing up paper,
rewriting line after line until these words have been defined.
Defined to spell out emotions to a broken society outside of this vessel called a body.
Concrete cyinderblocks cemented to these feet,
casted out like a fishing line into the abyss of a never-ending sea.
Drowning metaphorically, gasping for air but no one cares.
Painted faces in a culture full of clowns.
Intentionally hiding pain but the paint is starting to crack.
Vicegrips continuously squeeze this life,
harder and harder as light fades.
A tear weeps across the moons face.
Icicles sparkle,
melting a desprate soul and the rain falls like shards of glass.
Searching for a trail to follow,
walking with many others down this road.
Yet walking empty and alone all in the same moment.
Nothing more than a shadow underneath feet.
Silence saturated with malingering grief,
torment residing deep within.
Memories clawing through nightmarish dreams,
barely describable.
Mired in debris from the past - ****** into quicksand.
Dreams filled with hope; dashed and dimmed like a flame from a candle.
A life extinguished,
a void created where a future ought to reside.
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 1:52 AM UTC