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"webbing" poems
Law, All ye termites hacking ants are you without sin? Twisting the law to your greed thus dethroning justice Thou that dis-virgins the law to suit your selfish taste, Did not equity say that none is above the law? Money-thirsty vultures seeking positions to occupy. Law hackers depriving justice and equity of her rights Equity and justice now lives in shame of her virginity, Almighty termite, do not your deeds speak evil of your sins? I weep blood for justice and equity whose daughters you ***** Is there none whose conscience still breathe or lives? Power-driven termites making uncountable promises Yet accomplishing none but your calculated interests. Equity, All ye leaders that preach peace, are you not corrupt minded? En-slaving accounts meant for public welfare Yet you claim to have the peoples interest in mind, Did not the law command you to let equity and justice smile? Parasitic predators hi-jacking the country's economy Filthy termites proclaiming injustice upon powerless ants, Justice hackers, do not your conscience judge your judgments? I wish that you allow justice and equity have her way. Law benders at whose feet equity and justice bow Rippers of the law, at your hands justice is twisted, Is your nature as humans so inhumane? Little wonder the earth lives in fear of your tyranny. Justice, All ye slanders of the law, why not sheath your swords of corruption? Your unchecked power has broken the wings of justice Thereby making equity a widow without a husband, Remember your oaths to serve with justice and equity; Did you deceive the ants that voted you in to serve them? Chameleons occupying seats of filtered ambitions Woe betide your conscience for refusing to judge you, Are you not guilty of molesting the law? I mourn for the shameful death of equity and justice. You that crafts the law to fit your suit of corruption Remember a day comes when justice will laugh again, And you being powerful cannot escape the law of Karma. Karma, Murderers of the law, will you also bribe karma? I doubt if you can buy the law of karma with money. Thou whose gluttony corrupts justice and equity, Don't you feel guilty that you disvirgined the law? Equity and justice now roams about in nakedness, You that preach the law, are you true to yourself? Heartless spiders cob-webbing the law to entangle poor ants Did not equity bid you come to justice with clean hands? Yet with filthy garments you condemn innocent ants; Mind you that someday the law will rise again. All ye scavengers of justice and hackers of the law, Do you think you can **** the law of Karma?
0
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 10:22 AM UTC
Hackers Of The Law
Law, All ye termites hacking ants are you without sin? Twisting the law to your greed thus dethroning justice Thou that dis-virgins the law to suit your selfish taste, Did not equity say that none is above the law? Money-thirsty vultures seeking positions to occupy. Law hackers depriving justice and equity of her rights Equity and justice now lives in shame of her virginity, Almighty termite, do not your deeds speak evil of your sins? I weep blood for justice and equity whose daughters you ***** Is there none whose conscience still breathe or lives? Power-driven termites making uncountable promises Yet accomplishing none but your calculated interests. Equity, All ye leaders that preach peace, are you not corrupt minded? En-slaving accounts meant for public welfare Yet you claim to have the peoples interest in mind, Did not the law command you to let equity and justice smile? Parasitic predators hi-jacking the country's economy Filthy termites proclaiming injustice upon powerless ants, Justice hackers, do not your conscience judge your judgments? I wish that you allow justice and equity have her way. Law benders at whose feet equity and justice bow Rippers of the law, at your hands justice is twisted, Is your nature as humans so inhumane? Little wonder the earth lives in fear of your tyranny. Justice, All ye slanders of the law, why not sheath your swords of corruption? Your unchecked power has broken the wings of justice Thereby making equity a widow without a husband, Remember your oaths to serve with justice and equity; Did you deceive the ants that voted you in to serve them? Chameleons occupying seats of filtered ambitions Woe betide your conscience for refusing to judge you, Are you not guilty of molesting the law? I mourn for the shameful death of equity and justice. You that crafts the law to fit your suit of corruption Remember a day comes when justice will laugh again, And you being powerful cannot escape the law of Karma. Karma, Murderers of the law, will you also bribe karma? I doubt if you can buy the law of karma with money. Thou whose gluttony corrupts justice and equity, Don't you feel guilty that you disvirgined the law? Equity and justice now roams about in nakedness, You that preach the law, are you true to yourself? Heartless spiders cob-webbing the law to entangle poor ants Did not equity bid you come to justice with clean hands? Yet with filthy garments you condemn innocent ants; Mind you that someday the law will rise again. All ye scavengers of justice and hackers of the law, Do you think you can **** the law of Karma?
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52
… *Gentle water lord, Four seasons show in your graces: Breezy spring, wafts, leaves so soon, Lost loves, colours longing for white, Light jewel. Hottest summer, moves, in sleepy Sun, all her ways soothed, running, Milky days. Autumn shakes of mellow webbing Leaf as you arrive, majesty's thief, Gliding lithe. Frozen winter, low, pure and pale, Never demure, as your wings aloft, Flake so fair.*
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Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 1:35 PM UTC
Swan Song
I always made it my business to touch the parts of you even you neglected, the webbing between your fingers, your eyebrows. I was fascinated by your eyelashes, I always wanted to show you I would not hurt your eyes.
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Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 8:58 PM UTC
Neglected Skin.
deep in a stargazing trance i stumble through the night in the darkest hour a star-crossed lover's stupor bewitched by constellation filled eyes tangled in star studded netting and silently screaming - i am not a frightful nightmare - nor a heavenly dream - merely flesh, bones, lungs, heart... the closing of night still woven in intricate webbing the rising sun's warmth 'tis but the scorch of fate's kiss i shall smoulder and disappear with perspiring flesh shivering bones panting lungs pounding heart... jolted awake 'twas but a dream?
0
Apr 13, 2022
Apr 13, 2022 at 4:18 AM UTC
dreamcatcher
I saw you coming with your prissy dog and I moved my solid dog twelve feet away from the sidewalk where you'd pass by; But you came my way anyway. You brought your little sofa dog three feet away from us and upset mine. He jumped without warning, wrapped his leash around my knee, sliced the tender back of it with the nylon webbing, threw me into the tree that stopped him from running after you. Did you even take the cell phone away from your ear? Hey, hey! Watch where you're going with that dog! "Not my problem!" you yelled back. Right. Next time, my dog won't give way to your expensive rug rat. Next time, you can fall into the bushes. Not my problem.
0
Jul 4, 2012
Jul 4, 2012 at 6:01 AM UTC
To clueless on the cellphone walking her dog
Gentle water lord, Four seasons show in your graces: Breezy spring, wafts, leaves so soon, Lost loves, colours longing for white, Light jewel. Hottest summer, moves, in sleepy Sun, all her ways soothed, running, Milky days. Autumn shakes of mellow webbing Leaf as you arrive, majesty's thief, Gliding lithe. Frozen winter, low, pure and pale, Never demure, as your wings aloft, Flake so fair.
0
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 12:40 PM UTC
Swan
You’re being replaced with other attention now. I’m finally talking with other women. I realize now that you were a huge section of my time at one point. That’s what made us a couple. It’s when I left the country and our talking faded into small chats And then arguments, stress, conflict. I’m jaded by our divorce. It makes me have little hope of another marriage. It even makes me not want to spend time on trying to make another one. But I might only be kidding Since I’m really just waiting for my new friend to message me back. New relationships have so little webbing it’s hard to tell if they exist.
0
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 10:47 PM UTC
Time and attention
You took my hand and asked me to dance, But I was far too tired to do so, The simple act of walking being far beyond My limited capabilities at that point. I had been reduced to hugs and kisses, And tales of how glorious my past lives had been, And holding hands. I wondered if I should let go- it seemed so different, From any I'd ever held before, that hand. For years I'd held others with the sole Intention of drawing pain away- I am not capable of creating happiness, And I've never claimed otherwise. Your hand had no pain to draw away though, Or at least none that I could find, Which startled me (All the others held so much!) I had thought I knew all there was to know about hands- Their needs, and all the varieties they come in. How they all needed comforting in different ways For similar ailments- grief, loneliness, Heartbreak, being among the most common. I'd even learnt to hold phantoms limbs for a few. I'd move the pain aside, lessen it, or sometimes Even take it as my own, releasing it when no-one else was looking, Into a stone, or an abandoned old house. But your hand simply said "I am here to be held." It shocked me so much I didn't realise I was Walking again. You glided gracefully ahead As I clunked behind, unsure of myself, Holding on to you, trying to figure you out In the short window of opportunity I had left. I saw it as our interlocked fingers departed. Somewhere in the webbing between your ring And index fingers on your left hand Was what I had been searching for all along. I won't go into detail about what I saw (Our pain is no-one's business but our own), But I saw it though, far more beautifully arranged Than I thought was ever possible, Noticing you had stolen some of mine When I wasn't looking, and wondering How much damage I had done. I don't know whether I danced with you or not, The release answered so much while Explaining not quite enough. I watched you, enraptured by the way The pain never once showed Through those beautiful, happy eyes, Which never seemed to break. Now I wonder if I had held your palm Not too little, but far too much. The pain I saw was labelled thus- "Life experiences- Please don't touch All is well. Please remain calm."
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Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 1:11 PM UTC
Palm Reading
You took my hand and asked me to dance, But I was far too tired to do so, The simple act of walking being far beyond My limited capabilities at that point. I had been reduced to hugs and kisses, And tales of how glorious my past lives had been, And holding hands. I wondered if I should let go- it seemed so different, From any I'd ever held before, that hand. For years I'd held others with the sole Intention of drawing pain away- I am not capable of creating happiness, And I've never claimed otherwise. Your hand had no pain to draw away though, Or at least none that I could find, Which startled me (All the others held so much!) I had thought I knew all there was to know about hands- Their needs, and all the varieties they come in. How they all needed comforting in different ways For similar ailments- grief, loneliness, Heartbreak, being among the most common. I'd even learnt to hold phantoms limbs for a few. I'd move the pain aside, lessen it, or sometimes Even take it as my own, releasing it when no-one else was looking, Into a stone, or an abandoned old house. But your hand simply said "I am here to be held." It shocked me so much I didn't realise I was Walking again. You glided gracefully ahead As I clunked behind, unsure of myself, Holding on to you, trying to figure you out In the short window of opportunity I had left. I saw it as our interlocked fingers departed. Somewhere in the webbing between your ring And index fingers on your left hand Was what I had been searching for all along. I won't go into detail about what I saw (Our pain is no-one's business but our own), But I saw it though, far more beautifully arranged Than I thought was ever possible, Noticing you had stolen some of mine When I wasn't looking, and wondering How much damage I had done. I don't know whether I danced with you or not, The release answered so much while Explaining not quite enough. I watched you, enraptured by the way The pain never once showed Through those beautiful, happy eyes, Which never seemed to break. Now I wonder if I had held your palm Not too little, but far too much. The pain I saw was labelled thus- "Life experiences- Please don't touch All is well. Please remain calm."
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54
Gentle water lord, Four seasons show in your graces: Breezy spring, wafts, leaves so soon, Lost loves, colours longing for white, Light jewel. Hottest summer, moves, in sleepy Sun, all her ways soothed, running, Milky days. Autumn shakes of mellow webbing  Leaf as you arrive, majesty's thief, Gliding lithe. Frozen winter, low, pure and pale, Never demure, as your wings aloft, Flake so fair.
0
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 7:28 PM UTC
Swan
wee spinning spider her webbing the line of time laced with dew like pearls the world magnified in spheres I am caught in the beauty
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Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 1:41 PM UTC
Tanka – Spider
His awful skin stretched out by some tradesman is like my skin, here between my fingers, a kind of webbing, a kind of frog. Surely when first born my face was this tiny and before I was born surely I could fly. Not well, mind you, only a veil of skin from my arms to my waist. I flew at night, too. Not to be seen for if I were I'd be taken down. In August perhaps as the trees rose to the stars I have flown from leaf to leaf in the thick dark. If you had caught me with your flashlight you would have seen a pink corpse with wings, out, out, from her mother's belly, all furry and hoarse skimming over the houses, the armies. That's why the dogs of your house sniff me. They know I'm something to be caught somewhere in the cemetery hanging upside down like a misshapen udder.
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2.6k
Bat
A good Pi means you can't Resist, or have a piece It should be almost Sensual, to the tongue But only in the mouth This Pi is the mind Which is sensual in itself But only when you know The lace is a lattice Spider webbing a donut Delicate in design Intricate, but precise Pi is of the mind It's visual representation Spectrum of colors Covered the bases And even a reflection Of itself, geometric Colors and mechanics The Gemini Pi(e) Is like unto the same Complexity, Reflecting Precision, and in that Expressed in every Spectrum of color And delicious (In the mouth)
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Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 6:57 PM UTC
Gemini Pi(e)
Strike a mark on a sun kissed shrine Cheek bones, dance within the sand's light - Lambent spore sprig -Rot - beneath the mine Lay the tourniquet fused, marble eyes. Center stark stork - wracked to atomic bliss Forked tongue minotaur, auric troubadour - Machinations of bellowed amethyst, Composed the flowered Aum, raising thy ********* Arachnid's webbing - strung of turquoise beads - By what are the viscid lines severed clean That they convolute binaural progeny, And lure the soul to breathe?
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Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 7:17 PM UTC
The Breathing Mandala
It's the conspiracy to conspire, Think of how the fist or flies feel, The most enticing truth, Astonishingly mouthwatering, Turns out smoke and mirror, You see, because behind the window paned, skeleton of steel and wire, Underneath there is commerce, In the webbing of marrow, worldwide underhandedness, Something is always being sold, What better way to take power away, Then having scheduled rebellions, The greatest put on, Our system only works under thumbs, from the backdrop works the crippled puppeteer, behind his blank, vagrant, expressionless lenses, Behind the grey skin and swilled organs, Attached to the oil drum veins, Beats the very same heart of Moloch!
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Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 10:20 PM UTC
A CALMING COMMOTION
I, too, saw God through mud, - The mud that cracked on cheeks when wretches smiled. War brought more glory to their eyes than blood, And gave their laughs more glee than shakes a child. Merry it was to laugh there - Where death becomes absurd and life absurder. For power was on us as we slashed bones bare Not to feel sickness or remorse of ****** I, too, have dropped off Fear - Behind the barrage, dead as my platoon, And sailed my spirit surging light and clear Past the entanglement where hopes lay strewn; And witnessed exultation - Faces that used to curse me, scowl for scowl, Shine and lift up with passion of oblation, Seraphic for an hour; though they were foul. I have made fellowships - Untold of happy lovers in old song. For love is not the binding of fair lips With the soft silk of eyes that look and long, By Joy, whose ribbon slips, - But wound with war's hard wire whose stakes are strong; Bound with the bandage of the arm that drips; Knit in the webbing of the rifle-thong. I have perceived much beauty In the hoarse oaths that kept our courage straight; Heard music in the silentness of duty; Found peace where shell-storms spouted reddest spate. Nevertheless, except you share With them in hell the sorrowful dark of hell, Whose world is but the trembling of a flare And heaven but as the highway for a shell, You shall not hear their mirth: You shall not come to think them well content By any jest of mine. These men are worth Your tears. You are not worth their merriment.
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2.2k
Apologia pro Poemate Meo
I, too, saw God through mud, - The mud that cracked on cheeks when wretches smiled. War brought more glory to their eyes than blood, And gave their laughs more glee than shakes a child. Merry it was to laugh there - Where death becomes absurd and life absurder. For power was on us as we slashed bones bare Not to feel sickness or remorse of ****** I, too, have dropped off Fear - Behind the barrage, dead as my platoon, And sailed my spirit surging light and clear Past the entanglement where hopes lay strewn; And witnessed exultation - Faces that used to curse me, scowl for scowl, Shine and lift up with passion of oblation, Seraphic for an hour; though they were foul. I have made fellowships - Untold of happy lovers in old song. For love is not the binding of fair lips With the soft silk of eyes that look and long, By Joy, whose ribbon slips, - But wound with war's hard wire whose stakes are strong; Bound with the bandage of the arm that drips; Knit in the webbing of the rifle-thong. I have perceived much beauty In the hoarse oaths that kept our courage straight; Heard music in the silentness of duty; Found peace where shell-storms spouted reddest spate. Nevertheless, except you share With them in hell the sorrowful dark of hell, Whose world is but the trembling of a flare And heaven but as the highway for a shell, You shall not hear their mirth: You shall not come to think them well content By any jest of mine. These men are worth Your tears. You are not worth their merriment.
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36
My Poet: *tho evening draws nigh, on this our wedding day, the stars, guardians of our canopy, reminder twinkle it can never be fully complete, for you always make a moment in time for me, today we wait, synchronizing seconds until both pronounce, I do let my hands, in my tenderest embracing grasp, perforce, when I hold you face, still cannot hold your entirety, for you always make and leave a space for me to seal our universe today, you need me to fill you, so together, ever forward, we will define and explore the edges of our redrawn, now, single unified line, our ever expanding contiguous boundary our blood is not commingled but when our bodies unified, the physics of our conjoining, illustrates that those in our surround of time and space, in the aura we create, not so very great,   and yet our oneness 'tis a shining upon the countenance of our place, a luminous emittance upon this earth when you write your poetry, it always finishes with me, I am the native child of thy words, I am the filament webbing illuminating the spaces between each line but more than this, I am your beginning, you are my destination, together we make, The End they ask me to vow, demand I swear, make promises, certify, preserve, record and store the solemnity of this marriage born, in ledgers of the city, before an invisible god I eschew all this for nothing in life ever guaranteed by words secured, but this I know true* My Poet: *what I shall give to you, and you to us, cannot be spoke, the words, not yet, have we originated for each day will we compose anew, each day, shall be a new combination under new stars, our canopy unfolded, our joining sanctified, by the simple truth of us*
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May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 11:30 PM UTC
Wedding Vows to a Poet (May 2014)
My Poet: *tho evening draws nigh, on this our wedding day, the stars, guardians of our canopy, reminder twinkle it can never be fully complete, for you always make a moment in time for me, today we wait, synchronizing seconds until both pronounce, I do let my hands, in my tenderest embracing grasp, perforce, when I hold you face, still cannot hold your entirety, for you always make and leave a space for me to seal our universe today, you need me to fill you, so together, ever forward, we will define and explore the edges of our redrawn, now, single unified line, our ever expanding contiguous boundary our blood is not commingled but when our bodies unified, the physics of our conjoining, illustrates that those in our surround of time and space, in the aura we create, not so very great,   and yet our oneness 'tis a shining upon the countenance of our place, a luminous emittance upon this earth when you write your poetry, it always finishes with me, I am the native child of thy words, I am the filament webbing illuminating the spaces between each line but more than this, I am your beginning, you are my destination, together we make, The End they ask me to vow, demand I swear, make promises, certify, preserve, record and store the solemnity of this marriage born, in ledgers of the city, before an invisible god I eschew all this for nothing in life ever guaranteed by words secured, but this I know true* My Poet: *what I shall give to you, and you to us, cannot be spoke, the words, not yet, have we originated for each day will we compose anew, each day, shall be a new combination under new stars, our canopy unfolded, our joining sanctified, by the simple truth of us*
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66
Dawn casts her long line for spring Days linger to catch the angel irises bloom Enveloped by early chirping chitter-chatter Lightly crusted sleep argues for lids to remain closed Black perking wake-me oil makes a strong cups case for compromise A nudge to join the living - On negotiated terms - Somewhere between another dream and lavender bubbles The contract will begin Foggy feet shuffle onto the wheel Spying steps creak tattle-tale floorboards alerting all on the way Pleading thoughtfulness You beg for silence as the Ra room comes into view Brightly checkered yellow-brown mustard window patterns Cut diagonal boxes across maple hardwood Stained glass dots of emerald, violet, and red raspberry Dance on lemon washed walls as they turn and wink for a smile Your morning chair sets at the edge of the warming sun pond inviting you Join them You listen to the ripples of space Your cushioned dock perfectly positioned for a loving embrace You sit And slowly dip legs into the glowing pool Drenched limbs cocoon in the heavy webbing of golden rays Bathing The chickadees celebration is known Immersed Lids succumb to the orange haze The Girl from Ipanema sings Young and lovely You feel wonderful No risk of drowning here... Only in happiness One radiating breath Before the Samba plays again © 2019 MJL
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Mar 26, 2019
Mar 26, 2019 at 2:38 AM UTC
Sun Pond
Eric kept mostly to himself. Other children didn't like to play with him, but he didn't care. Instead he used to go into the woods and collect frogs. He never had to look for them. They came to him. He used to pretend he was their king. He imagined he looked like them. But not really like them... He was bigger and a lot more dangerous. Eric did quite well in school even though he seemed strange to others. Occasionally someone tried to bully him but it wasn't any fun. He just stood there without any reaction. Afterwards, he used to stand in the schoolyard and stare at those who had tried to bully him. Although they didn't admit it, this made the bullies afraid. Eric's look was so strange. Empty, cold and...dead. Eric knew he was different, but didn't have any words for what he was. He figured he must have been adopted, because his parents wasn't like him. In the night time he was under the water. He swam swiftly and skillfully. His destination was a sunken city. A city with buildings very unlike those on earth. Dark and chaotic, with a geometry that would have been impossible to depict on paper. These dreams would have made most people wake up screaming, but not Eric. Instead, he was sad the dream was over. One night the dream didn't end. Suddenly Eric was outside the place he lived, but everything was different. The sky was completely black and alien stars shone there. In front of him was the beach and the ocean. Cliffs towered at the sides and all was shadows and silver grey. The ocean was calling him. He looked at his feet, and noticed the webbing between his toes. Into the sea, into the darkness he threw himself. Finally he was coming home.
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Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 12:26 AM UTC
The Outcast
Eric kept mostly to himself. Other children didn't like to play with him, but he didn't care. Instead he used to go into the woods and collect frogs. He never had to look for them. They came to him. He used to pretend he was their king. He imagined he looked like them. But not really like them... He was bigger and a lot more dangerous. Eric did quite well in school even though he seemed strange to others. Occasionally someone tried to bully him but it wasn't any fun. He just stood there without any reaction. Afterwards, he used to stand in the schoolyard and stare at those who had tried to bully him. Although they didn't admit it, this made the bullies afraid. Eric's look was so strange. Empty, cold and...dead. Eric knew he was different, but didn't have any words for what he was. He figured he must have been adopted, because his parents wasn't like him. In the night time he was under the water. He swam swiftly and skillfully. His destination was a sunken city. A city with buildings very unlike those on earth. Dark and chaotic, with a geometry that would have been impossible to depict on paper. These dreams would have made most people wake up screaming, but not Eric. Instead, he was sad the dream was over. One night the dream didn't end. Suddenly Eric was outside the place he lived, but everything was different. The sky was completely black and alien stars shone there. In front of him was the beach and the ocean. Cliffs towered at the sides and all was shadows and silver grey. The ocean was calling him. He looked at his feet, and noticed the webbing between his toes. Into the sea, into the darkness he threw himself. Finally he was coming home.
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19
You, my old companion, I’ve junked three trucks and still I keep you. Buried five dogs. Raised three children who are now raising children. And still I wear you. You jingle when I walk. Nails clink in pouches. The drill in its holster slaps my leg. The hammer in its clip spanks my **** You bristle with screwdrivers, chisel, big fat pencil, needlenose plier. You call attention. Random kids who have never seen a tool belt before follow me around asking “What are you doing?” Then: “Can I help?” You smell like me (and I, like you). Leather, fourth decade. I’ve washed your pouches with saddle soap, sewn your seams with dental floss. Now the web of your belt is fraying, wrapped (silly, I know) with duct tape. Your pockets fill over time. Once in a while I remove every tool, every last ***** and nail. I hold you upside down and shake. Sawdust, a dead spider, little strippings of insulated wire will fall out. And once, my missing wedding ring. It had broken. I had taken it to a jeweler for repair, but when I got there I couldn’t find it. A year later, you coughed it up. When your webbing finally snaps, when you drop from my waist, maybe it’s you, old tool belt, I’ll take to the jeweler for remounting, for buff and polish. He’ll understand.
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Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 8:23 PM UTC
Ode to a Leather Tool Belt
You are, almost Tell me your first memory of happiness. Maybe a swing set above wood chips or collecting ladybugs in your pockets or a perfectly cut sandwich you didn't make or the smell of grass mixed with chlorine and sunscreen coating your skin under a sky brighter than any future imaginable. Pink frosting from cake dyes palms into a canvas of sugary pigment A popsicle melting down between the webbing of eager fingers Teeth are covered in chocolate and face a mess and all smiles, it is funny how joy always seems to be synonymous with sweetness and giggles and the memory of being too young to remember anything fully. 19 is poison for a clock it is reminder to wake up after pretending to be something you were not for too long time is eating away the comfort from your bones, I wonder does candy still taste like candy when it has grown stale? when the shell has cracked and all that remains is what's inside, is it still desirable then? will people still want to know what you feel like against their tongue after you've already touched the ground? The same texture but time has made its evidence on you tangible The juice once spilling from your hands has become wine The summer sparklers have become remnants of cigarettes on your nail buds, ashes of trying to forget, you are no longer afraid of fireworks the hairbrush holds another version of yourself, a near stranger with similar freckles who once insisted on only wearing dresses, now you struggle just to get shoes on, it was easier when someone did it all for you, everything is, that way. I don't know when laughing became a side effect instead of a soundtrack but it still rings familiar, sometimes. 19 is more sour than lost it is possible to know whereabouts with a bitterness between your lips but not all of your past is disintegrating there is a love for saccharine that still remains, more honey than cloying and 19 may be taunting down a candle to its wick asking to be noticed but it is ready to be uncovered 19 is golden You are, almost.
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May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 4:07 PM UTC
19
You are, almost Tell me your first memory of happiness. Maybe a swing set above wood chips or collecting ladybugs in your pockets or a perfectly cut sandwich you didn't make or the smell of grass mixed with chlorine and sunscreen coating your skin under a sky brighter than any future imaginable. Pink frosting from cake dyes palms into a canvas of sugary pigment A popsicle melting down between the webbing of eager fingers Teeth are covered in chocolate and face a mess and all smiles, it is funny how joy always seems to be synonymous with sweetness and giggles and the memory of being too young to remember anything fully. 19 is poison for a clock it is reminder to wake up after pretending to be something you were not for too long time is eating away the comfort from your bones, I wonder does candy still taste like candy when it has grown stale? when the shell has cracked and all that remains is what's inside, is it still desirable then? will people still want to know what you feel like against their tongue after you've already touched the ground? The same texture but time has made its evidence on you tangible The juice once spilling from your hands has become wine The summer sparklers have become remnants of cigarettes on your nail buds, ashes of trying to forget, you are no longer afraid of fireworks the hairbrush holds another version of yourself, a near stranger with similar freckles who once insisted on only wearing dresses, now you struggle just to get shoes on, it was easier when someone did it all for you, everything is, that way. I don't know when laughing became a side effect instead of a soundtrack but it still rings familiar, sometimes. 19 is more sour than lost it is possible to know whereabouts with a bitterness between your lips but not all of your past is disintegrating there is a love for saccharine that still remains, more honey than cloying and 19 may be taunting down a candle to its wick asking to be noticed but it is ready to be uncovered 19 is golden You are, almost.
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62
What man would buy me a ticket, and into a cocoon where moss bites? I would sting like bees on buds, or ***** rushing to fertilize, create an angel no other gentlemen touches with white hair, eyes like sesame seeds: she seems more attractive than the woman he made love with, for certain. Looks unnatural to swim in a pool when a waterfall can pour ice onto his head: just as viney-things drape me. I am but a fair girl, have no color. He could not love me beneath green, there is no comparison, me and trees, but he does, and I feel April will return sooner and ruddier than anticipated. May will bark like a dog: on my knees, cradling children who hold vanities up to my forehead, I boast a bellyful of bugs, brick-hued and even with red stripes; I think they must wear sweaters to bed. How noble in our thirty-six months! We cuddle baby slugs, not counting sap, then burp their brothers, spout-mouths. He is, in fact, the man that would do the unthinkable grey-lipped love, authors gather inspiration from and snakes slip, spiders webbing shapes of: cocoon with our metamorphosis in mind.
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Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 5:24 PM UTC
cocoon
Like sad deflated sacs Scars webbing keloid Across the flattened chest Where ******* were saved From slashing scalpels Not to become medical waste But reminders That a life that must go on Compromised By the toll of life. And now I have lost you You being my lust To kiss and caress The body I desired (But mainly your **** And now I am left with a person I despise For your beautiful ******* Made me forget Your empty soul.
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May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 9:02 AM UTC
****** Mastectomy
the laddering of my ribs creak like water-stained cherrywood stairs; tread lightly, lest you stir the dust and the ghosts that dwell underfoot, ‘neath the cracked floorboards of my skin. i have but a simple request:                rid yourself of your lungs                and fill up the empty spaces                with used coffee filters,                crinkled wrapping paper, and                forlorn hope. do cast aside                the shroud of indecision?, for                that winding sheet will only                hold you down between                your shoulderblades, like                framed butterflies pinned on paper                with needles of stone and salt. stay with me tonight. we will be taxidermy birds on marionette strings with crumbled concrete between our talons, the afterimages of neon diner signs stamped into our inner eyelids oscillating, phantasmic. we'll sing elegies in spring rock sugar on our tongues—                there are staves of music                written in the lining of your mouth                and in the webbing of your hands ––as Sappho might say: girls, sweetvoiced. oh! but to think that the starfire in your eyes could be extinguished by the tears you shed; i’ll return my heart to the constellations for you
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May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 8:58 AM UTC
spectral type: (ni)o(be)
the laddering of my ribs creak like water-stained cherrywood stairs; tread lightly, lest you stir the dust and the ghosts that dwell underfoot, ‘neath the cracked floorboards of my skin. i have but a simple request:                rid yourself of your lungs                and fill up the empty spaces                with used coffee filters,                crinkled wrapping paper, and                forlorn hope. do cast aside                the shroud of indecision?, for                that winding sheet will only                hold you down between                your shoulderblades, like                framed butterflies pinned on paper                with needles of stone and salt. stay with me tonight. we will be taxidermy birds on marionette strings with crumbled concrete between our talons, the afterimages of neon diner signs stamped into our inner eyelids oscillating, phantasmic. we'll sing elegies in spring rock sugar on our tongues—                there are staves of music                written in the lining of your mouth                and in the webbing of your hands ––as Sappho might say: girls, sweetvoiced. oh! but to think that the starfire in your eyes could be extinguished by the tears you shed; i’ll return my heart to the constellations for you
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42
Skin a webbing Swabbing the leaking life back in Collarbones a spiderweb Eyes sunken  Titanic in an ocean of a face A harp created from ribcage The spine a wicked wrought iron gate  Slamming through the shifting  tundra of back Tumble weeds where lush gardens were Why are you running your rivers dry?
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Jul 1, 2012
Jul 1, 2012 at 10:36 PM UTC
My Favorite Flavor
she gave me a ******* on the beach so we got back together nothing changed…bullshit always comes out It’s taken some months but I'm am reptilian again not traditional ,but, there are no traditional humans. advertisers want you to think there is an average, you are different, that is how they make their money, so I sit and stare into black and smile, and think how I have been fooled I smile wide wider than I think possible the webbing of my mouth cracks I am comfortable in darkness because it is the only place I can truly meditate and grow maybe one day this will change, right now it is true I have figured the key to attractiveness; unapologetically go after what you want, period.
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Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 10:21 PM UTC
Key to Attractiveness