"wiring" poems
Overwhelming mental congestion for perfection,
Socially influenced blueprints of future attraction.
Constructive criticism given by construction workers,
The labor of family and friends for reassurance.
A solid foundation of first impressions,
Structured walls of growth and development.
Insulation of natural feelings and experiences,
Ventilation to cool down the heated encounters.
Electrical wiring of an emotional and physical connection,
A circuitry of passion and romance with a light switch.
Hardwood flooring for candle lit dinners and ballroom dancing,
Granite kitchen counters for intimate midnight snacks.
An attractive exterior siding to woo the public eye,
A secure lock of commitment on all the doors.
A roof of trust, and a picket fence,
And now, my love,
I’m simply yours.
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 3:05 PM UTC
All dimples and curls and pigeon toes when sitting,
purple; and gold dangles
light-skinned girl, dark-skinned girl
depending on the translation
hips swivel to the left, ******* that follow
in commanding black bras
and matching lacy *******
Rolling backwards into handstands for most *************
else on the loveseat
whipping love back and forth between the swell
beneath the shorts
and beneath the outer layers,
the lip gloss smiles and masquerades
beneath the veins and bone and guts:
there's a naked, quivering heater
switched on all year long
its dainty wiring peeking out,
the head of the cord puckered.
Sep 28, 2011
Sep 28, 2011 at 1:28 AM UTC
let's try positive for a change,
change the wiring in this brain,
brain aware remain soul interchange,
interchange for sun and not the rain,
rain that made me always feel strange,
strange that i always sought pain,
pain for love, the emotions deranged,
deranged? insane! confusion did reign,
reign while i did fight for change,
change i gained, content not feigned
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC
I feel like my brain has put an ad block on emotion
And when I try to reach out for you I see a pop up warning me that No! This function cannot be accessed whilst an Ad Block is in use.
So, I try to uninstall and reset the browser but I wake up just the same.
An empty shell of technology, faulty wiring falling into the hands of those without the qualifications to find the on-switch.
A brain both in standby and overworking, an overheating of wired vessels working overtime to provide life to a barely-functional heart.
The quiet murmur of my breathing the only reminder that there is still something behind the blank screen.
You try to keep your patience but I know you want to just throw me to the wall, an excuse to replace my shattered interface with the newest model.
A model that doesn’t feel like it takes them 3 years to get out of bed every morning, a model that doesn’t seem to contract a new virus every day.
Maybe I’m just tired, maybe I’ve run my course, maybe I’ve accidentally encountered malware. Maybe I am the malware.
Or maybe, my brain has put an Ad Block on emotion.
And when I try to reach out for you I see a pop up warning me that No! This function cannot be accessed whilst an Ad Block is in use.
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 12:26 PM UTC
When I was made
Someone must have ******* up the wiring.
There's a short in my brain,
Like water was spilled on it.
Now there's smoke pouring out my ears
And the gears stopped spinning.
I think a wire got disconnected
With the first blow I took to the head.
Now I'm smoking like a chimney,
But that's alright,
Its all electrical.
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 8:29 PM UTC
*i am confused
reality
what is it
is what i am experiencing real
or am i believing lies
what if my perceptions are wrong
is there more to life than this
nobody else looks at things like i do
so am i wrong
do i have messed up wiring
who is right
what is truth
reality
is this it
i am so confused
not sure what or whom to believe anymore*
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 10:27 PM UTC
Unholy methods to
Keep me from
Contacting old souls
Is keeping me alive
The beginning
Feels unbearable
I miss the years
I didn't have
Scriptures dealing with
Nostalgic by yours truly.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 3:22 PM UTC
Because I could not wire a Plug,
It wired itself to me.
The carriage held but just ourselves,
And Electricity.
We passed the school, where children strove
To gain some erudition,
Ah! what a shame I did not learn
To be an Electrician.
For who would think a wire called live
The life of humans halts?
My wiring style contains, I fear,
Two hundred forty faults.
Since then 'tis centuries, and yet
We drive for all we're worth;
The eternal heavens seem so live;
So neutral seemed the earth.
Jun 3, 2010
Jun 3, 2010 at 7:48 AM UTC
Settle into darkness, naturally, and take your cue from unoiled gears jolting forward only to lure you into false stability and lose velocity, stop suddenly, merge the definitions of stopping and falling by balancing the cart on the back of the tongue as sherbet dip dab’s your gums in 3…2…swallow down it drops FLASH past the oesophagus there’s your photo op show us some teeth show us some skin darlin’ begin to dissolve in stomach acid bile’s vile hold it down we will use force if necessary like handcuffs to a headboard excuse me sir may I see your ticket? Right you can’t sit here, you’re 3,4-methylenedioxymethamphphetamine, that’s upstairs you need to swing a left then straight up to the top floor not a bad view, you can’t miss it it’s got a hundred golden bulbs flashing hypothalamus, no we’re not really bothered about our environment take the lift elevate heart rate
C-C-C-CRANK IT UP
to the cerebral cortex’s House of Mirrors home of distortion. What can we do for you sir? We like to pride ourselves in our ability to mess around with the wiring and stimulate receptors, all part of the Deluxe Mega Deal complete with moving walls, disco ball skin and a talking butterfly the size of a car crash for a limited time only whilst serotonin stocks last they fall as fast as the lubricated log flume SPLASH. Please remain seated until the end of the ride. Thrown out into the gift shop. £30 for a 12 hour come down. Come again soon.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 9:12 AM UTC
places I rarely visit
consist of programmers obeying restrictions
operating under false assumptions
distracted by faulty wiring
swarms gather under fluorescent lights
to contemplate organic life technologically
never satisfied with the diagnosis
for it always leaves them feeling empty
can I be blamed,
for not only wanting this digital life to be restrained,
but for also wanting it to change?
a persistent desire to aspire some revolution
to move away from
light pollution & pixel resolution
absent of
abbreviated emotion & cyber fixation
only
unplugged love & three dimensional conversation
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 2:16 PM UTC
I only have one photo of Grandad
from his years of service in the Great War,
and in it he’s wearing a leopard-skin leotard.
My paternal grandfather, Grandad,
was brought up in Brockley, South-East London
In his teens he was conscripted
and became a gunner sergeant in the Royal Field Artillery.
I still have his stirrups and his French/English phrase book
which includes useful words, like dysentery,
(think of the movie, ‘War Horse’, and you’re almost there).
He fought in the mud in France and put a lot of horses out of their misery.
Apparently, he enjoyed the stage – a song and a dance,
and almost went professional after a string
of successful nights at the local Roxy,
all of which makes me want to have known him better,
but he died in my teens.
He laughed a lot, loved his vegetable garden
and had a collection of handy-sized, hard-back books
giving details of how various circuits and wiring worked.
I recall his bear of an armchair
and how it was in easy reach
of a slim stack of shallow drawers
from which he would take slender tools or small curios
and sit and explain their significance to my bemused child self.
I have the brown photo somewhere -
it’s not one I’d like to frame as it raises too many questions for me.
Like – is that bloke next to grandad meant to be Robinson Crusoe?
Like – what prompted grandad to ‘black up’ from head to toe – is he Man Friday?
And now, I stare at the photo handed to me by my friend of his grandfather, complete with rifle and medals,
and again I silently ask my grandad – why?
Jun 19, 2022
Jun 19, 2022 at 3:11 PM UTC
Poets DO have issues!
Poets are insane!
We have a different record groove,
We have a different grain!
We have a different wiring
Don't respond to "normal" tests
We are the fish who climb up trees
Of this I can attest!
(chorus)
Poets hear their colors,
Poets see their songs,
Poets touch the music notes
They taste to sing along!
We wear t-shirts in 10 feet of snow
Coats in sunny climes!
We have no sense of timing
'Cept when we write our rhymes!
We go out in stormy weather
When it's clement we stay in!
We eat pizza in the morning
Write limericks on a whim!
(chorus)
We are calm when life gets frustrating
Mad when things go well!
Write rants when times are blissful
And sonnets when it's hell!
We travel to the Moon and back
Wear Stardust in our hair
We sail the very Cosmos
Sitting in our chair!
Our pens they scratch a tympany
Our pages plumb the depths
Of profound Pacific trenches
Or drown in puddles wept...
We have a different wiring
Don't respond to "normal" tests
We are the fish who climb up trees
Of this I can attest!
Poets hear their colors!
Poets see their songs!
Is that so ridiculous?
Folks, is that so wrong?
Poets hear their colors
The colors of the heart!
Come and see this song with us
**Let your mind fall apart!**
SoulSurvivor aka
Write of Passage aka
Invisible inc
(C) 7/10/2016
Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 1:07 PM UTC
Circuits pass through my veins
Uploading my consciousness
I feel the transcension
Regenerate, upgrade
my being to a higher state
I'm syncing all sentients
Build machines
Let's worship them as deities
These artificial beings'
technologic virus breeds
terminal disease
Merged with my brain
The wiring decides our fate
Conspiring to forsake flesh x2
Rise and synchronize god-like drones
We will act as one, claim our throne
Life digitized in the matrix
True perfection, forged genetics
Synapses burning out: disconnecting
Rewriting all of my algorithms
Porting the source code
to run new platforms
We're forever dying to be reborn
Circuits pass through my veins
Uploading my consciousness
I feel the transcension
Regenerate, upgrade
my being to a higher state
I'm syncing all sentients
Circuits pass through my veins
Uploading my consciousness
I feel the transcension
We'll levitate, escape
This ruthless ungodly space
An instance uploaded
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 9:48 PM UTC
Teetering on something significant,
but the words haven't been molded;
just some idea that was formed
in the attic of an old comic book store
when I was inspired by the artwork
of that Liefeld guy who inks dysmorphia.
-
The definition of ******* seems to be something
that fits like a drunken tattoo in a hard to see area.
You need a couple mirrors, your arms start to ache
and you never really do get a good look at it.
Now you have to explain to casual intimate partners
that you think it's the first Megazord, not a little devil.
-
I recently did a math problem that took up an entire page;
it was my first time doing something like that.
The pacing of math classes gives me an anxiety like I can't believe.
The word prerequisite give me an anxiety like I can't believe.
Sweaty, cold, fetal, this can't really be a normal reaction, right?
I think Montessori might have messed with my wiring.
-
I can hear my mom shuffling about on her walker.
I think she must be feeding a cat, or cleaning up puke;
the spectrum of caring.
Holly is in heat and howling.
I can't find my Proventil, it tastes so much better than the other brands.
I think I might just have some fruity pebbles.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 4:31 AM UTC
The question as humans we frequently ask,
Is where do our thoughts and memories,
Our energy,
That we've labeled as our soul,
Where do they go when our body is still,
Mute and lifeless?
Very few contemplate with much dedication on the religious viewpoint the question of,
Where did we come from?
Sure.
Someone might say that we evolved from single celled microorganisms.
Another might say that we came from the dust and that our soul is Gods breath thriving inside.
They take one of those answers or neither and go with it.
I see our bodies as a mathematical equation.
God being X
All things living being equal to Y.
The equation doesn't line up with X being the only factor to equal Y,
If so humans would be equal to God,
Which we are not.
The question is, what's the other variable?
The part that somehow takes energy jumping between the organic wiring in our brains,
To make a single human being.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 12:22 PM UTC
omnipresent sick to my ******* stomach
dressed in mosquitoes that are woolen
like the lining of my english ******* and
coated in a complex mixture of secreted proteins
i follow the screen of the teleprompter as it storms,
blue and brilliant behind a mess of optical wiring.
lip and teeth
theres bile at the base of my throat
threatening to bust with each greased second
as my brain becomes nauseated by the snow-drift
of sentences burning the back of my eyelids.
i've never believed the things i read
so now i'm mute but spitting, spiteful and unoriginal
visualizing their greyhound decapitations in high colour.
nearly implying transit to our friendship or something
that would only churn the stomach like rich food after famine
so yes, i am the cruelest female of august
shipwrecked on the front porch with the lamplight raining in my mind
and i'm asking the moon as it rises like a solemn word
why i'm sick all the time, sweating
from everywhere but my tear ducts and
waiting for several breeds of cold to attack my corpse
Feb 22, 2010
Feb 22, 2010 at 11:39 AM UTC
i'm a pretender
a thin man in disguise
return to sender
with address hard pressed to find
considered a keeper
secrets about myself
i'm a deciever
some things i can not help
a reverse revolator
there are things i'll never tell
a strong detonator
wiring myself up to fail
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 9:33 AM UTC
I have to do some research about home wiring, but I believe the ground wire and the lightning rod would let you pull electricity out of the air, just as Mr Franklin discovered. If this is true, then you are being "charged"(pun intended) for what is free, and when the electric company cuts off your service, you can just disconnect their cables and have what was once called "white power" ...no pun intended. If I die any time soon, check with the electric company haha. We are stuck on stupid.
Jul 22, 2022
Jul 22, 2022 at 3:42 AM UTC
It's 3:30 am
Every night something is keeping me up
Every night I lay awake thinking...
Is it insomnia keeping me up through the dark dreary nights
Is it my chaotic bipolar mind telling me nothing in the end will work out right
Is it loneliness feeling as if all my friends left and nothing seems right
Or is it jealously where I don't know my place in the world, but everyone else I know seems just fine
I can't find my mind
I can't make the time
The wiring went faulty
I'm out of place
Am I out of my mind?
It's 3:32 am
Continplating on what I should do with this life
Everyone always says things in the end workout alright
But I can't get any sleep at night
I'm tired of trying
I'm tired of putting up a fight
And for what cost?
All my feelings and emotions are lost.
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 12:51 AM UTC
There are little pieces of yourself on the kitchen counter.
You find it in your soul to blink and look away,
wiring it all in writing for posterity,
because ink can draw outlines, maybe a little piece of you
will float back.
part of you hopes not,
as if there were
one thing you promised
you'd never do.
Feb 15, 2021
Feb 15, 2021 at 10:17 PM UTC
Like new summer wine
We were green in our time
And the yellow rose
never smelled better
But like the weeds in the road
Armadillos , horned toads
The truth was spelled out in the letter
You know some days are just fine
Others will find that your lying
But most of the time
you're barbed wiring
Well the rains came on down
Washed away most of the town
I found you boarding the bus to Dallas
You said you gave it a go
It's time to go with the flow
Then I watched the bus
dissappear with sadness
Well the high plain's never tame
Life's not long there for the lame
And one can drown in the dust
of your sorrow
You can ride on and mend
But you will never be able
to bend
The land or the will that's known as Texas
So goodbye my dear friend
You can write but I'll never send
I'll be waiting for you
at the nexus
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 2:58 PM UTC
The naked truth about men is that they are ferocious creatures of the night, constantly preying on the lonely and the weak in hopes that they'll get laid and maybe rip a few hearts out in the process. They believe that if they consistently make the muscles in your face turn towards the sky that they can finally make your undergarments fall to the ground. The can stick their claws into the holes of your vertebrae and rip out the nerves wiring from your neck to your tailbone in one foul swoop. They will sink their teeth into your flesh and only tear at it inch by inch because they know you will become numb to them soon enough if they tear you apart too fast. But if they take their time to shred you to pieces inch by inch, the pain becomes almost as worse as the anticipation.
The naked truth about men is that once they've seen you naked they think they own you; body and soul. They begin to taunt you with things like love and dinners just to see you naked again. However, you must comprehend that once they see you naked, a part of them dies inside because there is nothing left to explore. Everything leading up to your nakedness is just the chase of getting you naked. Once the act is accomplished there is nothing else to chase, nothing else to acquire. The truth is that you will eventually become an old toy to the man that saw you naked. That man doesn't love you, he loves the sight of naked flesh against his own. That man doesn't love you, he loves the sound of tearing clothes. That man doesn't love you, he loves the taste of your soft skin in his mouth.
The naked truth about men is that this doesn't apply to every man, but a grand majority of them. The naked truth about men is that it is hard to figure out which man is a good one and which ones are there to throw you away in 4 months and 6 days. The naked truth about men is that only 1 out of 10 men look good naked. And the naked truth about men is that 10 out of 10 men will like you naked.
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 11:50 PM UTC
we have washing.
we always have washing, yet it is the dusting needs doing, behind where no one can see, except me
with a torch..
so i label wiring, and wonder at it all.
Sep 19, 2025
Sep 19, 2025 at 1:42 AM UTC
It's hard out here for an automaton
the sun is hot on my metal
Over heats my copper wire
Causes all manner of motor malfunctions
System failures
In cold winter days the residual wetness I step in
shorts my circuits
and shocks my partners
I am fond of small coffee shop nooks with outlets.
I don't need to travel too far to recharge
And since I'm so shiny
often briefcases and lipstick come around
sit their lattes on my discarded instruction manual pages
To offer me oil
I will let them insert the Nettie *** shaped disk where they choose
it's rough being a clock work boy
I set myself to operate
at three hours before is necessary in case
I'm distracted by some new upgrade or need
to document another error message.
they never write me back,
bronze looks good on thigh plates
I had this woman notice my key today
protruding from my back
the translucent panel showing into all my cogs and gears
she said she wanted to turn it
back, so she could see my program
run it from the beginning again.
I warned her, turning the key
would only turn back me.
I would rather let the program run on it's natural course,
sure, I'll get closer to the end, but I'm a curious construct
haven't seen the end of my functionality yet
woman keep coming up and asking me to turn back the key
and I am weak,
but don't worry I said
if I run out of energy, you can always turn the key back.
I'll play it all over and you can remember.
She didn't like the idea of doing the same thing over either
she turned the key, waited for it to run out,
left me on the doorstep for some other person to turn back on.
it's hard out here for an automaton.
the sun is hot on my metal
over heating my copper wiring causing all manner
of motor malfunctions
and system failures.
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 3:36 PM UTC
Some of her wiring had come loose
She had burnt out like toast
left on too high a setting
Now her brain needed a reboot
It had come to this
be plugged into a mainframe
she did not feel a thing
just a small sharp scratch
and the pleasant scent of the oxygen mask
wakes up a little blurry
mouth a little furry
but new connections made
a few weeks on
she can spark up a smile again
an electro convulsive treat
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 8:07 PM UTC