"vivisection" poems
Unwind my body
Like a vivisection
And see if you can find
The real me
Unwind the code
Like pulling a string from cloth
And see if you can find
Humanity's reason
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 5:35 PM UTC
I will not talk about my losses,
where I neither gave up nor tossed
in the towel,
and still did
not come out
a winner, the winner.
Maybe I am not built to compete, I have no grit
no edge to my way,
maybe life is fun,
and we are to just play?
Maybe when you feel sorry for your self, you lose,
your edges now, are broken bits,
that makes deep cuts into your pysche,
a vivisection of the visceral.
Maybe thoughts like this are best bottled up and
tossed in an ocean made up of the tears
that rain down and pour like a wash
filled with
every dream, every goal, every first step of last resort,
I ever had that never left
the space. the gray space above my ears, which heard
my cry and my eyes which see but have no handles to turn off
the faucets that they have become, leaking saline,
while I pretend to understand Einstein.
I write and that makes me a writer and a winner,
what pray tell, are you a winner at...?
I am listening.
©DWE112013
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 11:24 PM UTC
what on earth is this feeling
(yellowing formaldehyde)
kind of like old heartbreak reeling
a vivisection, never healing
coat & spray on the insecticide
what on earth is this feeling
criminal butterflies stealing
the cogs & screws in my arthropod insides
kind of like old heartbreak reeling
heartthrobs come frenzied then unfeeling
my vague worries preside
what on earth is this feeling
whateverphobia; a personal ceramic ceiling
to myself, is how I've always lied
kind of like old heartbreak reeling
carcass littered webs are usually unappealing
my own web has much to elide
kind of like old heartbreak reeling
what on earth is this feeling
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 3:31 PM UTC
dance, climb me like a tree-
stump.
rip my heart with sharp teeth.
Tth-thump. squish.
pick apart my embarrassments
like you'd pick apart my bones.
like vultures would.
i get to watch my own slow death,
you get to kiss me to death. slowly.
it's all the same.
distance suddenly makes sense.
Vivisection: i'm
sporadic neurotic
erratic ****** i'm
the smaller wheel on a tricycle, so
we get to go in circles.
i'm the fungus you can adopt!
cutting myself open, i can see what
makes me "frrrrrick."
heartache hopeful, i'm walking into
what i know are traps, what i know
is sure to hurt. i tell myself out-
loud, eyes closed, "THIS is gonna
hurt."
and i'm right. and i want more.
any and every relationship is more
and more masochism. it hurts more than
it ever heals, winds and wounds and
it musics me back to melody. hold me
hold me
hold me like
the car's gear shift, you only use me
sometimes.
Dec 16, 2011
Dec 16, 2011 at 11:04 AM UTC
every word that comes tumbling out
of your superfluous lips
is loaded with wholesome irreverence,
weighing leaded and cruel upon my heart
by the pale recycled light of the moon.
déjà vu lingers before my bleary eyes
again,
as crumbs of flightlessness
slip through my fingers, again.
and I can see you unfolding us,
dissecting us, laying out all of the pieces
in a heart-wrenching vivisection.
and I know you can't really **** something
that's been near death for years,
but when do you give up
on resuscitation?
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 3:21 PM UTC
You and I have danced for decades,
Stabbing me on the warpath as I giggled along,
You taught me to hate myself the most,
Way down to the vivisection of my soul;
Am I just shifting blame? Didn't I hold the knife too?
You gave it to me, I made it serrated and poisoned,
Hence why I'm venomous, uneven and stubborn,
Am I chaotic because I am or am I just unhealed?
I held your hand as you plunged it into me slow,
I thought you loved me, why else would you do it?
To be so obsessed and devoted to my destruction?
Isn't destruction just the beginning of creation?
It worries me that you don't leave, you keep the blade in,
Are you worried I'll bleed out or do you enjoy the misery?
Have I learnt to love you choiceless and mistaken?
Like the compass points north, the tall child feels comfort;
'A child weaned on poison considers harm a comfort'
Was I after all designed to be harmed or do I have a choice?
I'm not alone anymore though, I have my moon now,
She'll guide me home across the dark and quiet :)
Mar 22, 2024
Mar 22, 2024 at 2:22 AM UTC
Did you get to sleep
Or are you marinating
in chemicals?
The nightcap pulled
you down
dragged you
with your breath
You cut deep
Did you figure your
insides out?
You're inside out
spilling your guts
again
off-balanced
like an unstable
vivisection
Combusting your soul
back to a black hole
Counted off stars
in your eyes
you swore were aligned
Do you know what's behind?
Or will you keep looking?
Out there the truth isn't
it's all a reality
hallucinogen
generation of
self-prescribed nomads
It's about the journey
somewhere there lies
a destination
Lying about it's age again
and you can't touch it
Yet
it was here
the whole time
this very moment
and it's so
*******
beautiful
if you can get out
of your own mind.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 3:04 PM UTC
We wrote our names on the beach in animal bones
as a vivisection, on our love.
there, she’s whispering into shells
into their Fibonaccian, trumpeted, dresses
and full-cheeked into a razor clam flute.
I, too, gave my blood to grease our domestica
and hung names on stars over the nighttime sea
always accompanied as I were
with the shark-eye, death, of her looks.
We dressed up the walls of home in black and pinstripe,
filled the place up with lit and lightless places,
Shadowboxed, shadowfucked, and silently argued.
Spent hours inside, laying floorboards
and then laying on them
to stare at the sodium lights
and discuss the inkblots on our eyes.
We vivisected our lives,
and splashed it on the walls
and carved it into the carpets.
We set alight to christmas trees
when the kids were sleeping upstairs.
We dressed in each-other’s reddening horror
and answered the door.
Valentines day was full of bone bouquets,
the gripper rods grew through the carpet
so on them we danced.
I prayed for the first time in the first year
and every one hit me subesquently
like I was its anvil.
I should have gone to war.
Because it makes forever shorter
things can only happen right now.
I watched everything in our domestica,
like when the static moved off the television
and played on the window
gutting me of my escape.
The smiles hung on our faces like lupus,
We had people round,
we cooked and coughed and choked
And their faces peeked round from the doorframe
and laughed.
The domestica lives
only to be a bit of fun,
but in the very same span of time
that decided to **** the birds on my windowsill
and my children’s love for me
and my dexterity.
We’ve happened to the whole world too
I promise you, my love,
my little hospice fire,
my flat tire at night at nowhere,
the lie you recognise means it’s over,
A field of a thousand three-leaved clovers,
the brightest night when you’re hiding,
your heart attack on holiday,
your bloodstained bed sheet
And sleep, whilst outside
the sleet and snow makes every emergency
harder to get to, and still the morning
much more beautiful.
I, you, we happened.
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 12:02 PM UTC
connection
A longing, my dear stranger
expression
Put it all back together
I know it fits
We fit
Spiral dynamics
The mountain and
Its wet reflection
Reflected back to heaven
Upward, onward
Connection!
You're in my visceral section
I'm in your sacral area
With one heart between the both of us
Severed up and down
Sectioned side to side
Earth and Heaven
Male and Female
How long we bore this cross
This vivisection
Restore! Make whole!
Connection!
Pouring myself into you
Is exactly what i needed
Today
Tonight, i receive you
Interpenetration
Not up for interpretation
Coronal crown
life, so virile
with this eye
I see
we've overcome
Tomorrow, as though it were yesterday
The sacred serpent
Like a trumpet
To our lips
Writhed himself into us at the tip
And received our fluid chemistry
Producing musical harmony
what have we become?
when mastubation's lost its fun, my sweetest friend
connect
Connect
CONNECT!
HOLY
Holy
holy
Past, present, future
A single tapestry
Woven of a single fibre
Our very being
connection
Jan 25, 2024
Jan 25, 2024 at 8:10 PM UTC
I make the incision now, split the skin with a scalpel.
In its white cage it stirs; I extract it carefully, fluttering against my ****** palm.
Fear has quickened it, the fledgling trembles for escape, fleeing new emotions.
Fragile vivisection awaits.
A search for what is missing in that which is complete.
I wonder where to pin you.
Or leave your calming eyes, your soothing voice by the wayside. In the grass verge beside my train of thought, and fronds of smoke will race me a thousand miles away from dreams of your affirmation.
In this misty mirror, I could write words that tap against my teeth, secrets that seep beneath my tongue. Raindrops will wriggle down the wet pane and I’ll divine them, until the blindness of your breath erases them with clouds of lung-warm life, unread.
I’ll strew the sandy acres of my hourglass before your feet; pray that time will trace the trail of your footprints toward me.
This tiny beating miracle in my clasp has an owner, has a tiny wound bleeding freely.
Its only scar.
A jagged shard is needed here, a foreign broken bravery.
I’ll give this heart to that one, set it in their sober care for healing, to them that makes me unafraid to die. Stitch it to the dappled wings of they who can staunch me against a final, helpless snuffing out.
What it needs is a jigsaw piece, an opposite, a completion. But all I see is a mirror, a maybe, a for-now.
And as I lean so hairsbreadth close and steam the glass between us, breathing my pulse toward you; slick a love letter upon the window that you will not take, for you do not look to see it.
The bird in my ribs quivers for the first time, but it does not fly free.
For until it is from you,
It is not for me.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 3:04 PM UTC
If I grew wings
would you stab them
with pins
and add me
to your collection?
If I grew fins
would your interest
in me
culminate in a classroom
dissection?
If I grew muscle
would a vivisection
suffice
or would you first crush my strength
within an iron vise?
Oct 2, 2020
Oct 2, 2020 at 10:24 AM UTC
*If only I could find the fluffy comfort of your embrace from my pillow
the chill of your touch from the smooth caress of my bed sheets
the warmth of your firm ******* from my bed while I rest
the solace of your voice from whistling of birds at dawn
or the violent murmurs of rivers soaked in pain by storming rain*
**If only I could find the saccharine succulence of your lips from honey
or rather from flamboyant nectarine April showers bloomed in June
the gold of your smile on the laughing face of the full moon
the fulfilled promise of the joy you lend my soul from money**
*If only the sky were as captivating blue as your hazel eyes
and the melody of your inspiration existed in musical beats*
**if only the curvature of the horizon was as fluid as your waist
the company of loneliness as welcome as that of a succoring guest
in the desolate nights clogged by frigid fog of your absence
and snow flakes of nostalgia falling from the skies of despair
fueled by the perilous weather in your climatic silence**
*If only dusk was synonymous to your captivating complexion
only then would I say that something else would stir an insurrection
but as it stands, no vivisection can match this tantalizing obsession
You own all of me, nothing can ever have all this attention and affection...*
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 6:23 AM UTC
Crafting scissors
Gardening shears
A pizza roller
Instruments of humble vivisection
I wield, I rend, I create.
Needles and pins,
Nimble and thin,
I pierce, I pull, I close.
With measured patience
I choose my weapons:
Ink, passion, time, and wit.
An armory of precision and gut.
Boulders bruise but roll away,
Fire burns, but I'm already ablaze,
Arrows lodge shallow or all fall short,
But the cold?
It slices.
The draining thought:
Is this the end of my creation -
Is there no more?
I slowly bleed out.
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 8:59 PM UTC
I have written nothing
sketched a rough outline of your face
a sombre detuning of
sense and sensibility
strewn upon the page over miles
mulled and vivisected
these the entropic shards
of self
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 5:08 PM UTC
the familiar grip
of a chainsaw
a quick snap of the wrist
awakens the beast
hungry for a
visceral vivisection
violent, vivid, vital in nature
and vying for more.
hand finish what
fumes and metal teeth cannot
pulling the young body of pine
to stoop and kiss the skin
of the earth.
i traced my fingers
across the edges
of your spine.
i counted 7.
no, 8.
8 rings.
8 years.
what is my primate life worth?
how many rings are etched on my soul?
what color is the sap pouring
through my veins?
could i ever be worth a tree
could a tree ever be worth me?
my confessions rain
like the needles
from your hair.
i know now
that Nature's love
exists without man.
my mother always
told me that
god rested on sundays.
i always thought
that was funny.
instead, she weeps.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 11:39 AM UTC
If you take me apart,
Shred me to pieces,
You'll find pieces of him everywhere.
On my arms are
Chains of his words,
Whispered into my ears,
Spells to get me through the worst.
On my legs,
Distances,
Time zones away from you,
How to get to you
Engrained into my feet's memory.
In my head,
The music notes play
Like children in the park,
They dance around,
Merrily, joyfully to your smile,
And are melancholy when you cry.
In my lungs,
Every breath is filled with you.
Inhale all you,
Exhale all of me.
On my skin,
Warmth a lit all across,
Little bonfires every where,
Sparks trailing down my skin
Tickling, tingling.
It takes away all the cold I shivered from before.
In my heart,
Your happiness.
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 10:27 PM UTC
Each facet, a surface so resplendent,
Till ground away with endless polishing
To find innate sparkle magnificent,
O’er timeless glow that we’ve been cherishing.
O the eons spent on its perfection,
Dulled easily without the jeweler’s lens.
What gain had from chiseled vivisection?
To scratch the surface with corrosive cleanse?
What value is in diamond edges smooth,
Where lines mark surfaces with precision?
Is natural shine too luminous to soothe,
So we treat works of time with derision?
Hardened we underestimate its glow,
Its care requires the finest instrument.
The process used to make it shine was slow,
But dulls with the pressure of improvement.
Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 9:37 PM UTC
I always wish we met before your first love
so that I'd have been your deepest incision and your easiest decision
and often hope you learn to love me as much as you loved him
which is half as much as I love you, for I love you to Venus and back...
My affection for you is cosmic, I've seen the universe because I've seen you
you're something of a galactic existence, an extraterrestrial
in a terrestrial world of mice and men, why's and when, nows and then
I'd tripped into the past and you've walked me back to the future...
I'd failed to learn what love really meant, I've finally met my teacher
It's my prayer you be on the final page of my lifestory,
on mother Earth you would be a once upon a time of a happy ending
and even if they say happy endings are stories that aren't finished yet
I think they're a point the twist is beyond the understanding
of the mind behind the canvas and the quill,
beyond the reach of the perilous vivisection of the pen,
am going to love you until that unfathomable point, until half past forever
a quarter a mile beyond eternity, just ahead of happily ever after.
you're the ultimate treasure, this' the hunt that counts, am never saying never...
You're my motivation, you understand what I feel, and that's something
yet it all starts from something and builds to a tale to remember
it all starts from a January and before you know it it's December
it all starts from a spark and makes Ash of what was once an enormous ember...
you're a war I'd fight the universe to win,
a journey of a million miles and ain't about to surrender...
My only regret is I didn't know you when you were younger
so that I would have Loved you longer
in this lifetime, and this bond we share could be stronger...
and my biggest worry's the rest of my life might not be enough
for me to love you in the million ways I believe I can...
My deepest pain is even these words don't really say what I feel...
they're merely a construct my hopeless mind could make
of the turmoil in my heart and soul, for what I feel is more than what my mind can take
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 4:03 AM UTC
The horizon's bending backwards,
stretching sideways 'cross a vision
of glimm'ring hieroglyphic superstitions.
My body's feeling heavy
but my psyche just won't let me
return alone into the void.
No voice can seem to reach me
although their pleas beseech me;
can't I stay right here a little more?
I'd never stop to question
this painless vivisection
of what my life is for.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 9:40 AM UTC
after anne sexton
12/3/2015
Here is a vivisection,
my dull operation,
cutting into my epidermis,
pulling out maggots and rat pups,
scuttling across the scalpel,
Armillaria inside of my tendons
this itself is: a deposession,
a sort of pneumic
inquisition, the
paucity of the gold striking someone
sick running down my shoulders
quadriplegic in motion,
temperament boiling
hissing now stovetop unattended
foaming at the mouth falling into the hot ,
moving and finally
over the edge the foam sick bile like
Sliding onto the voided floor
stitch me back up.
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 11:02 AM UTC
Siren
I feel your name
Here
Humming
My insides
Out
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 11:35 PM UTC
It was a slim blue book, a pittance of acutely sounded words, dropped from a shelf and fell upon the floor, rustling its pages from the full extension to the readers’ counter; and I felt its unmistakable attraction touched in late October of last year; and thought : “This poet who has chanced his world and been ignored, beckons and shields himself from vivisection by an absent readership but I shall tie the broken, knot and mend, stamping today the slip with lustrous ink.”
Jul 1, 2017
Jul 1, 2017 at 3:03 AM UTC
Eye spine a different nine, stolen time
Tombstones compliment our skyline
A coffin slipping itself into its grave
Shallow dirt under the cement
Did she find what she was looking for?
A shadow slips behind the stage
Vacant household in a silent silhouette
Masterpiece purchased for its frame
A Head mounted on a wooden plaque
Taxidermist trophy husband - prideful
Mistaken muse entropic groping
"I want you inside me "
Vored perception of a lustful vivisection - a pause
My keys- the door
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 3:17 AM UTC
Vivisection of now sunken residue
even though woven in unsighted glares
She graces her surrounding with afterimages
of what was, but now only sees inwards.
All is witnessed without viewing reflection.
Perceiving the world through hands of oblivion.
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 2:30 PM UTC