"woozy" poems
‘To bed! To bed!’
Said Sleepy-head;
‘Tarry awhile,’ said Slow;
‘Put on the pan,’
Said Greedy Nan;
‘We'll sup before we go.’
(from Mother Goose)
They sat at the kitchen table as
The candle flickered low,
And Greedy Nan put on the pan
To indulge her sister, Slow,
While Sleepy Weepy Annabelle
Blotted her book with tears,
And thought of her Beau from long ago
Who she hadn’t seen for years.
‘Why doesn’t Roger notice me,
Why doesn’t Alan Dell?
I’m wearing the dress cut low for me
And I’ve hitched my skirt as well.
I’ve a pretty turn to my ankle, so
You’d think it would drive them wild.’
‘But men are a mystery,’ said Slow,
‘And Alan Dell’s a child.’
While over the pan stood Greedy Nan,
Was cracking a turkey’s egg,
A lump of yeast and a slice of beast
And a single spider’s leg.
With a wing of bat and an ounce of fat
And a toe of frog for the spell,
She needed to turn her sister off
From her crush on Alan Dell.
For Greedy Nan was the eldest girl
And would have to marry first,
The other two would wait in the queue
Or their fortunes be reversed,
The omelette sizzled, and in the pan
She added before they saw,
A piece of some Devil’s Trumpet plant
For the mating game meant war.
She sliced the omelette into half
And she served them up a piece,
‘Didn’t you want?’ said Annabelle
But Slow enjoyed the feast.
‘I’m not that terribly hungry now
I’ve cooked it up in the pan,
I think I’ll just have a slice of bread,’
Said the scheming Greedy Nan.
They finished up and they sat awhile,
And they mused about their fate,
‘If Greedy Nan isn’t married soon,
For us it will be too late.’
‘I’ve set my sights on a country squire,’
Said Nan, without a blink,
Lured them away from her secret fire
To confuse what they might think.
‘The room is woozy, spinning around,
I’d better get me to bed,’
Said Annabelle, while Slow with a frown
Saw Dwarves dancing in her head.
But Greedy Nan was cleaning the pan
To clear all signs of the spell,
Her back was turned to her sisters, spurned
For the sake of Alan Dell.
And when he came in the morning
Greedy Nan was sat by the door,
While Annabelle and her sister Slow
Were lying dead on the floor,
‘I didn’t mean it to **** them, Al,
It was only a simple spell,’
But as he cuffed and led her away
He frowned, did Alan Dell.
David Lewis Paget
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 8:01 PM UTC
at long last
he sings a song for me
sweet
gentle
caressing
i watch and i am enraptured
by the melody
each strum of the guitar strings
quicken my heart a beat
every note he sings
feels like soft breath against my neck
making me woozy
he glances up, catches my eye
and winks
i am doomed.
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 7:44 PM UTC
Can you tell me
please
which way now is home
I used to know, my dear
The way was clear
There was no fear
Tying my walking shoes
I knew I needed to get clear of here
thought I'd find
all that was dear
The road though, it is narrow
The cliff it is shear
My balance is
woozy
Can you tell me my dear
which way is home
which way do I go from here,
I think I oughta know
But the hills they are wavering
The ocean is in turmoil
The mountains are slick
far too dangerous
The desert has no mercy
I know something and with this knowledge
I think I must be cursed
I think I have it
Peace & Home
goes and comes
and comes and goes.
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 11:07 AM UTC
She was probably the most beautiful,
of any woman he had ever seen.
She turned every head
and stopped time from moving
and movement everywhere she went-
His mind went woozy as he thought of her.
From what he already knew
she was not only beautiful,
she was smart and
an accomplished professional.
Was this a sweet dream?
If yes, he wasn't prepared to wake up from it,
no not yet!
Maybe she was just a product of his imagination,
which was impossible considering that she was standing before him.
She was a woman of exceptional beauty,
probably the most beautiful woman
he had ever seen!
Helping her to her seat, he was overpowered by something.
Wait,it was the scent of her perfume;
It was the mixture of something
he wanted to think he recognized,
which he didn't and something
he had never before smelled.It was nice!
She seemed so flawless,
He thought her bath was prepared
in the constellations by beautiful goddesses,
and her bathroom was the milky way galaxy.
Yes her skin was undeniably radiant,
accentuated by the presence of large almond eyes.
"Wake up!" came the weak old voice.
Bewildered by the old barn keeper's presence,
and momentarily unaware of his location,
he panicked and squinted his eyes.
Oh **** he was asleep, this was a dream!
IB-Poetry©️
3/2/2018
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 3:24 AM UTC
Every now and then
I go deep inside my mind
Just to have a little rest
And see what I can find
I don't go in there often
It dark and I must say
That sometimes I'm afraid
That I may lose my way
There's a little corner café
Where Groucho sits alone
Stan Laurel sits there writing gags
And Greta Garbo sits and moans
Sinatra sings for all of them
John Lennon talks to God
Brian Jones gives swimming lessons
There's Liz Taylor and Mike Todd
Over in the distance
At a table in the corner
Hemmingway sells movie scripts
To mogul man Jack Warner
Elvis does a hip shake
Ruth and Gherig playing catch
Bud and Lou do Who's on First
Humphrey Bogart lights a match
Charles Dickens playing darts
A red balloon comes floating by
Andy Warhol sits with Nico
Where German pop songs go to die
Marilyn and James Dean
Sit quietly talking on the stairs
John Kennedy and his brother Bob
Just pretend that they are both not there
Chico plays piano and
Harpo with his harp
Bad jokes float around the room
being told by silent stars
Phil Everly and Phil Ramone
They're new here so they're woozy
Sit talking of the songs they'll miss
Rick Nelson sings of Susie
You see it is a mad mad place
in my head when I may wander
I don't go in too deep
And I've met Henry Fonda
There's images, and icons
Family, and friends
on a little street inside my head
That's a circle with no ends
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
Your kiss left me breathless
left me woozy, left me weak.
I can honestly say,
it was only tongue and cheek.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 3:42 PM UTC
I'm told its best to eat low on the food chain
so if its okay
i'll start at your feet
and work my way up tenderly
excited like a child climbing a great tree
for the first time
aspiring to your kind mouth
but forgive me my love, alas my manners
have left me
and
i fear i'm stuck between your thighs
your shimmering slit has me woozy
oooh candy red lolly
so very cherry jolly
my favorite color since i was six years old
you know
and so wet like babies drool
can we open this butter cup
it all loving alizarin silk
a gift for my tongue
splashing pink
little fluttering bull frog
ready to turn into your prince
the taste of epiphany
my attention deficient disorder
vanquished
my learning disabilities evaporated
why didn't they teach me to read like this
i can taste the entire alphabet inside of you
numbers come with colors now
making sense suddenly
i feel the alchemy of poetry and art
high mathematics and astrophysics
i hear the music of the spheres
and every molecule
of
the earth giving birth
to the spice of creation
next you say,
would i like to know the constellations of heaven
yes please my lady
i'm definitely going to kiss your ***
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 4:34 PM UTC
Cold.
I was waiting
but I’ve changed my mind.
The whole world fell away, left just me/us
and it felt OK.
All the stuff I thought mattered;
age-gap, gossip, housing, education-
when it was just me/us- it didn’t.
(she’s awake)
For a moment we were everything.
It was beautiful.
I love me/us- even with
complications pushing
into my mind,
cramming themselves
around me/us euphoria-
I’m not making an Angel today.
Going home.
(what’s she doing?)
Jelly legs aren’t working,
feel hot and slippery.
She’s holding me
down.
(Sshh- you’re fine, just a bit woozy)
I don’t believe in Angels.
Crap.
(it’s the anaesthetic, makes them cry)
Oct 13, 2011
Oct 13, 2011 at 3:44 PM UTC
The warm ache of *****
Touches my stomach with soft
Hands and all i can think
Is why
and the tickle in my throat
From nicotine's playful kiss
Makes me sicker than before
Woozy and exhausted
I cry to myself
And wonder why you're far
Gone from me
Loneliness caresses my face
With hot tears
While I panic
And want to die
In the place that doesn't feel like home
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 12:19 AM UTC
I have been told that a love left untouched will never disappear; that because the corrosive oils from our fingertips have not dissolved its coloring, it will, theoretically, endure perpetually. This love, left in its shrink-wrap casing, looming over the heads of the meek and the caustic feels like a scarlet letter hidden behind the robe, a feeling so foul none are to know but, Oh, what if it begins to fester, there in the moist dark?
This worry had been sitting in my stomach, churning with the bile and swallowed blood, coming up acid in my throat; I could feel it radiating out. Thought: it must be nuclear, must be radioactive and glowing, eating through me one layer at a time, but love –this uranium longing– has a half-life.
When first the reaction began it boiled and popped like lye on skin, singed off my eyelids so I could not help but see it there. I found myself woozy from the fumes, a high I had never experienced before so I inhaled, let it torch my lungs and leave me gagging. My hair began to fall out. I was soggy from the chemotherapy, tried pumping this bitterness into my bloodstream to remove the evil that already existed there, unaware that they were the same entity. It could not survive on a diet of itself and obsession, and so it began waning.
An exponential decay, the intensity of this passion varying directly with the frequency of contact and inversely with time, yet it will never be gone, entirely. It will decrease incrementally every time I say good bye, every time I see scarred knuckles, every time I want and he does not. I have counted the days since the day I counted on him and he was accountable and the number is growing larger and getting more difficult to remember. I have scribbled it onto scraps of paper and it has only browned the edges, no longer burns all the way through, and this love –this radium affair– has been losing its toxicity.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 7:54 PM UTC
Have I left you all dry,
With a throat I’ve supplied
With the words of a poet
Who slips a poem inside.
Receiving your mail,
You handsome, dark male,
You sat in a chair
With woozy head as you stare.
Painting her body, prepared,
For you to meet her and share.
The words of her letter,
Forms the pierce of her stare,
Her full body in view,
She arches her back up for you.
Pulls up her long, cascading hair.
Moves to her rhythm,
You watch her, ensnared.
With her own ink she’s shared,
Dancing for you with words placed with care.
Your body feels weak, your head feels so light,
The pumping of blood supplies you with
Your want for the night.
You stare at her words, in the shape of her curves,
Her lips parting in pleasure, her eyes shooting arrows,
You study every seductive trace of a dot,
Coming to life in every detail she’s got,
She’s sent herself to you, you can smell her perfume,
Sprawled out on your page, she beckons to you.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 1:10 AM UTC
I dreamt about you last night
tripping in eyelid flutters,
drifting in bizarre slumbers
entranced by illusions of you.
If only our dreams were true.
Wishes, dreams, at night with you.
Dreaming wishes to come true.
Just so that I can see you.
I dreamt about you last night
in my woozy sleeping arms held
you tight. In reverie we
left heartache behind to live.
If only our dreams were true.
Wishes, dreams, at night with you.
Dreaming wishes to come true.
Just so that I can see you.
I dreamt about you last night.
Imaginary laughter,
chimerical and hazy
fantasies enchanting us.
If only our dreams were true.
Wishes, dreams, at night with you.
Dreaming wishes to come true.
Just so that I can see you.
I dreamt about you last night,
told you everything will be
alright. Moments together
we will treasure forever.
If only our dreams were true.
Wishes, dreams, at night with you.
Dreaming wishes to come true.
Just so that I can see you.
I dreamt about you last night,
and awoke in a gloomy dawn.
Wonder if you dreamt of me
knowing you do you love me.
If only our dreams were true.
Wishes, dreams, at night with you.
Dreaming wishes to come true.
Just so that I can see you.
I dreamt about you last night
eternally keeping you in
my sight. Our eyes will meet one
day, embracing our faces love.
If only our dreams were true.
Wishes, dreams, at night with you.
Dreaming wishes to come true.
Just so that I can see you.
Wishing to see you,
dreaming of you.
Loving you forever.
.
©Jacqui Slade
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 4:11 AM UTC
the surprisingly sweetest clementine
2016
amidst
the marble and stone pillars
of the museum's fifth avenue grand hall,
a woman grows faint and woozy,
and the Egyptian artifacts five thousand years old,
re-proved as reusable, sustainable,
as leaning-against-posts
for the dizzy
the boyfriend well familiar
with dehydration side effects,
from pocket pulls a natural pill of
a sweet clementine,
restoring the well
to the good
she marvels at
how came I
to place a survival kit in my
coat pocket?
smiling, he confesses
his fondness for
providing
for all her needs,
known and unknown
even carries an inventory,
with back ups to back ups,
assorted sundries,
he calls it,
proving his point too well,
reaching into the other
pocket and offering
yet another,
a second helping
for his,
oh my darling,
sweetest clementine
she, undecided,
laugh or cry,
both equally attractive amazement solutions,
says only:
I love you for reasons,
known and unknown,
now,
take me home
for reasons
now known,
and others,
as of yet,
most happily,
unknown
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 1:12 PM UTC
Forbidden Fruit,
Oh yes, an acquired taste,
One I have sampled, hmm,
So long, this was denied me,
And now, the taste is good:
So, so very good; ah.
I indulged myself further,
Using hands to explore,
Becoming explored myself,
And how I enjoyed.
Oh yes, truly fulfilled,
Until I became quite dizzy,
Lost in abundant sweetness,
Things turned around,
Until up was down,
Until it was I, being consumed.
The world tilted, slipped away.
My mind woozy, cossetted,
My senses swimming, whirling,
With slowly falling blossom.
Reason floated away, danced,
With soft petals in the breeze,
Twirling among scented flowers,
And I discovered the truth.
Whomever claimed, stated,
That forbidden fruit, so juicy,
Is bad and to be avoided,
Can never have tasted,
Forbidden fruit.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 3:59 PM UTC
stuck between pride and ****** mood
lurid lights, laughter, ladies, lively lips
we are 96 souls away from the magic
and we nevah wake up or get up, nope
i swear on my momma's grave and pray
may she rest in peace with good ghosts
wise man told me to wear a black suit
me, tho', forgot if i did so, can't help it
was i trippin from dawn to dusk again
probably but ya gotta triple that time
and consider the weirdness of my speech
dem words stumble other words upon
meanwhile me and milly made luv to luv
luv laid back like rasta villages, jah songs
she's spreading her legs and licking
13.8, worship the fountain, that's basic
gangsta poetess & burglar, membah 108
while meetin milly, i imagine her naked
64 minutes later, lolling on silver satin
the lips such big perfect matches
by the end of the day we float over glaciers
our months vanish within a few days
hihaho, tickling trip, totally toony, truly
milly and tizzy equals eccentric & woozy
steering dreams, mysterious mixtures
golden goblets, served on light tables
we falling into the floor, a voltgreen maze
wondaland's gardens, we reach 'em
frozen loops of yummy yearning, yeeeah
all dem blankets and pillows, hundreds
in a bed spacious like a football field
a quarter of milly's back is my tattoo
parking lot at 4:16 am, 24 k bracelet
gotta look at it under the light of the sun
reminds one of eazy legs & adorable greg
we come, observe, read, blast and leave
stuck with mental blankness, in limbo
block party of creation 96, 2056 souls
oh my, sweaty forehead, i'm so cold
burning bloodshed, beasting bloodbath
marriage of mystery and skyline tales
sparkling are the eyes of yayo vampires
8 days awake, bangin in sky dunes
schmock, dinosaur, sole talker
Jul 26, 2021
Jul 26, 2021 at 6:25 AM UTC
72 hours in
I'm giving serious thought to
drinking the Listerine.
The ***** is it's citrus flavored.
I can't even rinse with that toxic concoction, let alone swallow it,
but I'm running out of options.
I finished my other MacGyvers--
the Nyquil was first to go,
followed by a Dimetapp chaser
(the cherry,
not a refreshing grape-flavored one)
and a shot of Wal-fed
that induced indigestion.
My kingdom for a belt of whiskey--
maybe a snifter of ***
You know you're bottoming out
when you wax nostalgic
for drunken days
when soiling yourself was justifiable
due to your general state of disarray.
I'm the **** that adheres to the bottom of the barrel—
******* in the shower with my shoes on,
pants removed as a cautionary measure.
Not that life can get worse;
nothing trumps waking up miserable,
sore,
jobless,
alone,
queasy,
woozy and
drooling uncontrollably
and lacking ***** to blame it on.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 11:51 PM UTC
*come with me
to the ****** motel
it could be so tender
as **** as hell
we can kiss awhile
i'd lick you sweet
and then bend you over
and cut your feet
*** honey
you can't walk anymore
no matter darling
i'm a blood **** *****
**** me daddy
soon i'll be dead
i want it in the mouth
crush my head
not so soon
my sweet little ******
first lose some blood
to get you all woozy
stand on the toilet
a rope around you neck
on tippy toes
you'll soon be a wreck
i'd love to shoot you
want it in the ***
in the intestine
the bullet will pass
ooow honey yes
let me spread wide
then shoot me through
is that how i died
no baby
that was just for fun
i cumed in your ***
my **** was the gun
oh **** me soon
you begged and you cried
i need it my love
so your hands i tied
i ****** you and ****** you
ready to ***
i yanked your head back
and you licked up my ****
are you ready sweet girl
you lifted your head
my **** in your ***
a dagger of dread
i slit your throat
ever so slow
you ****** and you shimmied
and the blood did flow
you got on top
your **** in my face
i drank from your throat
you bled out with grace
i loved you so
and called your name
you fell over dead
but who's to blame
oh my darling
you wanted to go
black emerald death
an ******** show
pretty dead girl
im still kissing you
but i have to leave
boo hoo hoo*
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 2:55 PM UTC
There's a funny sort of emptiness
that passes over me
as I walk past the paperback erotica that tuck themselves away
in the shelves of the local grocery store in places that are
simultaneously completely out in the open yet completely ignored
looking, as I do, with mock casual interest
and unfeigned disdain.
Who are these intended for, really?
Are they for the snuggly-wuggly, ***** cozy-woozy, wishy-washy and warm family of four
comparing chicken nugget prices and
weighing the health benefits of
vegetable medley versus succotash?
Or are they for the uni flatmates
walking huddled together for warmth or protection or both,
seeing as they're wearing only sandals and denim shorts
and this is the first time
they've been grocery shopping without mum,
that giggle loudly together to mask how homesick they really are
while they compare the calories in
Campbell's versus Progresso.
They went with Progresso if you were wondering.
Or are they meant for those who are cooking for one?
For those who have no need to compare prices
or calories
out loud.
For those who are well acquainted
with the old, familiar tiled aisles
as they have no one to take out to dinner.
Is this where they are to find company?
Betwixt the pages of a badly penned,
lighter than marshmallows,
more shallow than the kiddie pool,
more transparent than Casper,
not-good-enough-to-be-bloody-compost
"literary" garbage?
Is this -assumed- female
supposed to curl up with one of these slabs of drivel
and feel **** and aroused
in her baggy sweats and ill-fitting hoodie
after she ate a microwaveable chicken *** pie all by her lonesome?
As a single girl who often cooks for one,
I am offended by this.
Personally,
I think Lestat is ten times sexier than Edward,
Salai is way cuter than Fabio,
and Christian Grey couldn't S Mr. Rochester's D.
What I'm saying is-
Grocery Stores.
YOU are the primary reason for this pathetic f-ckery.
Everything else in the store can be compared for quality.
So why not apply that same knowledge
to the book arena.
Signed,
A Concerned Shopper
p.s. Please extend the validity date on the chicken *** pie coupon. Thank you!
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 10:57 PM UTC
(papa) lead my music towards marshmallow dreams and woozy hearts
he lay me down in a soft nest of clouds and propped my head up on a mushroom
tucked me in with quilted blankets and goodnight kisses
he stroked my nose until I succumbed to the whims of foreign lands
and he turned the
lanterns off
he played me piano riffs and stroked the strings of my guitar
warmed me and cloaked me in oceans of drowsy bliss
and he'll read me
dreams tonight
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 6:57 AM UTC
Rancor,
Swashbuckling with a sawtooth grin and sacrilegious shouts, selcouth with an unsound mind, the commonness of uniqueness, the commonness of opinionated onions cutting their teeth on life and crying, again, and ready to saw off the limbs of the opposition out of revenge!
Rancor, relax, you're not a Twitter matador, I wish you were because I’d love to watch the show.
We cuddle with exotic nylon fibers and squeal about our weight and status and how someone insulted us and how terrible it is to be alive while sipping on easily accessibly high fructose corn syrup! Life has never been this sweet, but I guess we’re getting sick of honey.
I complain about the complaints, I am the anti-complaining complaint club president.
I am a writer, an iPhone thumb tapper.
Hear me
These mental gymnastics will somersault and summerset you right, child,
Don’t listen to Rancor,
That man’ll grab your gaze and stir your attention into a cocktail while winking at you from behind the bar
he’ll leave your brain a little woozy from a life that used to be sweet until you left it out in the sun a few years too long,
I wonder if some of the dead watch us from the corners of our bedroom or the trees along the freeway, waiting for greatness to unfurl.
I’ll bet they do and I’ll bet you’re a glitch, I’ll bet a little piece of another galaxy hit you in the head and made your finger twitch.
How many hot car hours have been spent in a parking lot,
the skin dries, the phone dies,
the spirit once lifted towards the outlines of the mountain peak now seeks memes, transcendent in their own right.
May 12, 2022
May 12, 2022 at 1:54 AM UTC
Wondaland, a.k.a. The Magic Metropolis
June 13th, 2021
Esteemed Readers and Writers, Gangstapoets and Hangarounds,
Gangstapoetry proudly declares that CREATION 96 is now the second unit of our Global Movement.
We are welcoming our new members. You are now a part of us. Much Love.
Tizzop
GANGSTAPOETS
**** 13.8 * MIKEY DA STREETWISE * EAZY LEGS * ADORABLE GREGGIE * MONICA MATADORA * SLY BOOTYGIRL * COLLAPSIN CHAOT * THE LADY REVENANT * BEEN * WOOZY WIZARD * TELLY * CRATERSKATER * CHEYENNE IS STARVIN * CASPER THE PSYCHOTIC GHOST
GANGSTAPOETS
DESERT SAMURAI * PRESTON * ALBOW * SNOWBLADE MUTANT * SAMBA *
UNKLE OF DOOM * PLAY * ANTWONE *
BOBBY BUTCHAH * TINA * JOEY * DREAM SEEKER * TRANCE DISCIPLE *
* MOTH * DR. **** * KOBA COBRATONGUE
GANGSTAPOETS
SVETLANA * GUNJAHTOOL * LOUIS ORTGIES * MISHU BRAVE BEAR * GÖKHAN TATCHOUOP * DESOCIALIZED KID * WIND DIGGER * SABIÇ * JUAN * DEAL * LUCY TARANTULA * TEXAS HOLD ME * SOUTHSIDE DRILL ASSASIN * SHAWN * JAMMED JAY
GANGSTAPOETS
THCO * TIMMY ROTTEN * PLATIN ZIPPO * WORLDWIDE WAGGING * ZOMBIE NEIGHBOR * BUTCH * KWAME'S LOST SON * TRANCE24/7 * JIMMY * JOSE, FELIPE & CATHERINE * LAST OPTION PHIL * KIAN * MAX NEWMAN * MAGIC GOON
Jul 28, 2021
Jul 28, 2021 at 8:12 AM UTC
Those hot peppers you feed me
tsssss all the way down
smoke is in the intestines
and esophagus
have you punched me?
i am sore.
and caffine
i am woozy from you
a wooden ship on rough seas
rocky
swallowed enough air for zeppelins
under your shirt hides a fleshy balloon
have I wronged you?
i am sensetive
and vengeful
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 5:59 PM UTC
Court of owls
New ink, new shoes
Clocks on, I'm about to run it
Fast as my pain's Timeframe, bout to gun it
I hope you feel something better my man,
***I'm feeling something
I'm feeling something better than planned***
Tuck in the winter, dam i fall into action
springing past Morty and summer
While I'm watching TV slumber
shaking off chains of reactions
is it a new start
call it innov8ing
or maybe to our past
Definistrating
memories, atoms alternating
like the world sputters aspirating
Spit split straight portals compensating
I'm drunk on Dark matter ever oscillating
the wind turned to me
just so it could turn on me
Judgment for eternity
Experience is the same
it howled with certainty
MY Experience denied 3x
so now you hear me?
from this judgment
I'm always ripping free
I don't generate art
so you can whip at me
I might penetrate stars
The universe is an artist
so Why does it ****** us
Aint the universe ever even heard of us?
I'm the passenger and still woozy the sickness
feeling the pressure but I gotta be a witness
compassionate, no judgment
we all have our reasons
~Got a spot that I keep w33d in
Hidden with the green stem bleedin
we may have different heavens
but we come from the same soil
When others decide our emotions
Got so many reasons for defense,
reach out and tipped it for the deflect
emotions reflect the deficit of me breathe
I just shake my head
so heavy, I need rest
Court of owls
Port of vowels
I am Born of miles
So I adult when you consult the Occult
knowings the lotion but still decomposin
all this is music I just need to recompose it
Saved another life Now the reaper owes it
I think I've got amnesia,
Waking up to
Sir you had a seizure
Eyes always look like
Man...I wouldn't wanna be ya
Empathy
is another form of slavery we sign up for
We live and we learn
Boomerang on the mic
I go and return
But its not just about living well
its about knowing the root of life
its Taking the threads in your hands
to rack the rains and crack the chains
Caught in the dream, my ego forgets
Sleep is such a shy death
***Court of owls
Port of vowels
I am Born of miles
in the Korn of howls***
May 4, 2022
May 4, 2022 at 12:33 AM UTC
spin like a never-ending pinwheel
go forth whatever, wherever direction
don't stop
even when you feel woozy
•
that's the point
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 5:14 AM UTC
APEIROPHOBIA: [n.] the fear of infinity or infinite things.
—
you are love at the end of the world, something spelled without a glottal plea
the stars on my crown hang heavy tonight and i’ve barely slept for an hour but my mind drifts off to weary constellations and i sometimes wonder if we were aligned at all
you, vague hurt, you, toothache in the middle of a birthday party
you, a love like no other
and running without wolves to guide our journey, the forest scratches every inch of bare skin and i would cry out if you hadn’t done the same to me in your restless tossing and turning, there is love in your eyes but no love in the blood you make me bleed
there is still something left to be said. but my mouth is dry and full of sand, kiss it and catch a fly on the wall, smear ointment on its wings and maybe i’ll tell you about how i feel
and it isn’t a good one, it isn’t a love i towed beyond fathoms of seawater and across miles of irradiated coastlines, it isn’t me, count the distance and end up with infinity in one sitting, infinity with end, infinity to beg you of love
beg me of a message unclear, home sweet home
it’s better than nothing. the woozy way i walk into the ocean with a pocket full of rocks and a mind full of bitter sloshing around, is better than nothing, love
it’s better than everything love
because it’s something i still wish to keep, wish on a nebulae cluster that doesn’t exist the second you force yourself to breathe out, screams
no comforting the choir, i’ll drape mine around your bruised shoulders and shake both of them softly until i’ve killed half the universe with my hubris, until we’ve killed off every erstwhile incandescence just to look a little off-kilter, early morning, i’ve never felt better despite never finding out what repose meant
the sky is red at sunrise and then what
and then we, and then we
feel fine
you are love at the end of the world, and i am ready to struggle for survival. invite me into your rose-tinted apocalypse and allow me to decide a fate which was never mine to rewrite
it’s nothing
it’s better than nothing love
Feb 28, 2022
Feb 28, 2022 at 2:07 PM UTC