The Endocardium As We Know ItIt's the Endocardium As We Know it (And I Feel Fine)
That's great, it starts with a heart rate,
Palpitate arterial veins
My Mitral Valve is unafraid
Eat up a sugarcane, listen to your heart burn,
Lub serves its own needs, dubby serve your own needs,
Speed it up a notch: beat lungs, no, chest,
The bladder makes you fatter with pee bright yellow might
Fire up the wires beating 72 per minute
In a ventricle that's higher at a low-fat site.
Oxygen is coming through the larynx and pharynx
Breathing down your neck.
Beat by beat the quarters strangled, lumped, weathered, stopped.
Look at that fat chain.
Fine, then, uh oh, overflow, masticate the common food,
it won't do to save yourself, serve yourself organic snow peas
listen to your heart beat, dummy with a tummy feeling crummy
fat is quite light. You might have colic, diastolic-jam
bright white light fuzzing out your sight.
It's the endocardium as we know it. (I guess I'm just some bones)
It's the endocardium as we know it. (I guess I'm jus
DecemberIn hiding our skin from the cold that comes down to hug usDecember4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
latching the wooden gate slowly
the rust sounding like tumbling
rain drips in chiseled rivers making
stars on the sidewalk
the endless whir of distant traffic meaning something's leaving
already consummate in the cracks of winter trees
a bird's hollow voice her hollow bones squeaking
from this I learn constancy
from this I learn the earth's inner warmth means time has passed
I think I should pose more challenges to it
because of passing
but I think I'll just go back inside
I think I'll just go back to bed
some revolutionsIn the running water I list the ways I'd be changedsome revolutions4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
if I weren't born among angels.
She developed alongside me as a lotus flower develops its sunrise
contained in the gentle palm of resurgence dropping echoes
with each pink triangle falling in sequence until the light
had pinched time off the ancient face of the clock.
To Darwin, on Hearing of the 22 ChronometersDid the ticking drive you mad?To Darwin, on Hearing of the 22 Chronometers4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Twenty two clocks to tie you
to Greenwich, to the damp land,
to the paved streets and spires
and the blank glazed windows
of progress and age? Did time
become fathoms deep, and the
dwindling abyss transform to
thoughts of deep, deep time?
The blind eyes of bottom dwellers,
the feelers of those that survived,
the wellings of primordial soup
perhaps flavoured your thoughts.
(you never saw them. We know
you never saw the elemental broth,
the creatures like to dinosaurs
in a Blackpool of phosphorescence.
But the mystery, perhaps. The thought
that things exist beyond your imagining.
The thought that time stretches, deep
and wider than the books all told.
Perhaps that ocean thought stirred you.)
And when you thought of long
lived turtles in their shells and short
lived finches with precision beaks,
did you think of second hands and hours,
the life of a gnat and a continent,
the age of the rocks on which the
lizards sunned? Did, perhaps, each
Sonnet to Breathabout the rib. it makes sense. at Out-Sonnet to Breath2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
back my father picks it up, gets it stuck in
his teeth, and like a brutish harpist plucks it out,
lets it settle. smoking preference? menthol. in-
door seat? the closest waterfall. they knife out
flower from vegetable. “the game” drags students in
collectively, like how a yawn moves-- uncoils out--
humanity starts rippling. how much of school was in
a herd like this? how much was ringworm? out
here is lonelier; my romance is silent. in
time I think of him and am bothered by it. out
the window steeps a sunrise. it’s five in
the morning. can he sleep? my laptop’s out
and holy Book! he’s up, but then— that rib again.
Bitlets 57There's beauty in the basslineBitlets 573 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and charisma to the rhythm
of the pa-pum, pa-pum, pa-pum
that comes from the far side
of your heart and the near side
of our respiring mouths.
BeatI wonder if Bukowski -Beat4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when compared to writers -
felt like just a man.
motionthis is an essaymotion4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
on the shared body;
a brief emission;
some kind of fragrance,
or gathering. this is
moulded into the shape of
ice cannot be sustained
and every angel
has ash in her pocket.
i have often wondered,
do dead men
refuse to speak
ill of the living?
time. time. time.
we follow the sun
snaking across the horizon.
if you put your ear
to my mouth, you might
hear the sound of the sea -
- because within the night
there are horses, and
within the horses there is
a lonely star.
AstronomerShe loves to view the universeAstronomer4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
And pull down heavens to the page.
The stars align in lines of verse.
The earth, the sky, and time, reverse.
Her mind and body disengage.
She loves to view the universe.
Alone she flies, not fear-averse.
A re-creation for her wage.
The stars align in lines of verse.
The lion and the bear traverse
Their smooth, eternal, ink-marked stage.
She loves to view the universe.
And though perhaps it seems perverse,
There's freedom in their paper cage.
The stars align in lines of verse.
Let science and the arts converse:
A partnership from age to age.
She loves to view the universe;
The stars align in lines of verse.
Second-Long ThoughtI watched scarlet honey-drop fronds unfurl slowly,Second-Long Thought4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
its particles of time visible through lace sheaths.
I wanted to love you immensely; to trap you in my
sticky-sweet fingertips and suck the life right out
of you, sip-by-sip.
(There wasn't much there.)
Instead, you sped up my pulse, with your
amphetamine rush of concocted chemicals;
stopped me mid-stride and stole my heart.
(But grew thoughts like wildflower.)
Lacking all physicality of passion-painted particulars,
and chewing apart my newly manifested mind;
-listening to the discord of a minor strum-
(It's what I'm left with.)
Now, I'm tone deaf and praying to faulty gods for
swift, unruly departure from this unnatural,
superficial world, wrought full with censorship
and no purpose of bei
SimilaritiesSometimes regretSimilarities3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Tastes of hollow sunsets
And chrome polished stars
Who wait to die with the dawn
I used to wish upon those stars,
My whispered dreams falling
From lips too cracked to smile,
Like blood heavy comets that burn
When they forget about gravity
Reaching into my soul
I search for my heart,
To find only cinders and dust-
The left over dehydration
Of things forgotten
Tastes of hollow heartbeats
And shame polished tears
Waiting to cry with the dawn
GenerousThere’s this pressure buildingGenerous2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in my chest that I don’t know
what to do with so I cram mason
jars with cookies, craft mix
tapes full of Americana punk, leaf
through used bookstores, looking
for a taste you never savored, songs you never
heard, books you never read and maybe
I can give you that instead of my feelings.
motionI love you like amotion5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a half-pause in a torrent of
during which life
stutters into being.
I want to take you
in the breathless spaces between
where passion builds and shudders
into a trailing afterthought
World of floods.World of floods4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Driving on the curb cured of swamplands and horizontals
my atmosphere dear takes wholesome bites of water
outed are the undersides of bridge smudged chasms
birdy hellcalls and undone song
he knows only fire pursues the winged
torn letters three years gone of the antediluvian
disintegrated into charm and clarity and the promise
of a moment in time that springs everlastingly
will be flooded
and the pulmonary one ways dripping varied shades of moving cars
in fresh killed greys keeping time with the hacks of self against love
while our hands are crossed in universes pleading
with the dying that cannot slow down but winds and winds around
the pulsed city of language tying the sacred grammar to plurals
another and another
until they grow into the flicking tongue that time will harness
to toss rogue prophets into the pockets of New Jersey
where in being shelved we meet among starships
will be flooded
and the candles that when burning exhale signatures into the air
almondsWith almonds in our palms we tell our storiesalmonds4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in late night kitchen conversation
foreheads on sticky tables
hands face down voices flown
getting saved is a story
removed from the hopeless
scratches our chapped lips,
hides our hearts of oak
and our hearth is a wooden evening
not enduring yet,
just taking us away
from the shifting
away from where the river winds
and the seasons change
it's a long fall,
it's a long way down
from the top of that bridge
and I can save you.
Even the sun goes away quietly, slipping
behind strings of morse code poems,
leaving us alone on the dark blue
drop shadow earth
where we could keep sleeping since hours are permanent,
we could be chthonic river eaters
riding the swells.
Instead, we go home.
We have chamomile and hibiscus,
spearmint and honey.
On Trying to Avoid You at a Weddingblack-tie-busy ballroomOn Trying to Avoid You at a Wedding4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of martini glass circles,
held just at the level
of cheap lipstick reverb,
vodka and echoes
of sparrow pitched chatter.
i have befriended myself
in the corner
walled inside a minor soliloquy.
and now its later
and its another
its an image
of diamond forevers,
of DNA rivers, of domesticated kettles,
and any barren gap, or niche or void
in the vault behind my eyes tonight
you will fill by default,
you will occupy all vacancies by instinct.
i am 16 kinds of diseased,
and you are
the symptom of everything.
The Phoenix Man1.The Phoenix Man4 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
After my bird died,
we sent him off to
the kind of mortician
who knows how to turn
bodies into bonfires,
the same guy who I imagine
can turn anyone into a phoenix--
the winged and the four-legged,
the bubblers and the breathers,
the feral and the friendly.
Once he's through, he slips each soul
through a doggie door, back to God
or to science or someone.
He returned my bird to me
in a box that looks as dignified
as a pyre. I never got to see the smolder
that had been there, the dismissal of feathers,
but the Phoenix Man left me a slab of cement
that remembered my bird's footsteps
before drying over.
You have to have a damn good memory
to play with death all day long, for a living.
Know all of its games, toss it the gerbil's bone
it buried ten feet beneath a four-year lifespan,
and if it fetches, tell it that it's good
at making people want to learn how to long
before meeting the end.
The Phoenix Man could be a taxidermist with a sewing needle
and the face of a grandfather.
Eternity ComesEternity comesEternity Comes4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Like a raindrop
Of the ethereal
Condensed in a droplet
For a moment
In an instant
In the ever-widening rings
Of its ripples
ChicagoA soul would need more stagnation to be one for the saveChicago4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
for I didn't know my words could hold a body over a city,
and I didn't know this disgusting and lovely city drew blood from strong veins
unstable city emerging from the underworld pink and primitive
in short gasps of promise and disappointment, I can promise you
that this was the saddest I've ever been:
your friends and me throwing magnolia petals into Lake Michigan not knowing
being afflicted with acute missing in New York still not knowing
having the most permeable love confluence not knowing
hanging a map with your city in the middle and stabbing it until the marker runs dry
can only hold me over until I know your world is beautiful
and the most beautiful thing is it doesn't stop being beautiful
and these moods we have are its beautiful rotations humming
and the city I can't stab through, it's just saving up its beautiful for you
Not in FlagstaffFind a bridgeNot in Flagstaff4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Palm tree growing in your left palm
You may enter
I hated myself until I met my ego
Id- Consult Freud
It must be April
Miss America kissing all of the bald
headed cancer victims
Everyone dies with honor
Something so natural and it made you ill:
Sea sick, blind salt, Japanese lanterns
Toe by toe, we crawl
I'm being followed by an old man with
a bird cage
You've never heard of a haunted protractor
Create an almost perfect wraith
I found a diamond ring hiding
in the GUTTER
You're wondering if I left it there
Ask the oven mitt what he knows about sleepy towns.
Accidentat the corner of boone trails and owenAccident3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
she learned the brevity of flight:
glinting bumper for launch pad
trajectory approximately 5 feet
across the median.
as proud, as swift
as any prima ballerina
but the landing
this I keep for her -
the listless weight of limbs
defying gravity, the beastly beauty
of a body bouyant before
scar-litthe scar-lit passagewaysscar-lit4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of my throat twisting
and turning as the storm
of sound drums its way
edgy glass voices cutting
through tissue, exposing
bare throats that dangle,
helpless, in front of
flooding my mouth
drowning my tongue
tasting the rawness
of the words
strange how blood tastes
so dead when we need it
to stay alive
strange how it pounds
through my ears until
even i can't hear
my own words
speech in its natural habitat
the scar-lit passageways
of my throat
and yet i am still
Obligatory Bird PoemThis poem is about birds or perhapsObligatory Bird Poem4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
about flying as this is what bird poems
come to and I have not written a bird
poem yet. It is a sparrow at first, small
cold and self-conscious, pecking at bread
crumbs on streets which may well be snow
covered with how they are not recognizable
and this is like standing at Gare de l'Est
watching transit and transit go by and by
and not knowing what even one sign
might say. Trains are less fun when you're
watching them go, and this is no longer
a bird poem, which is why I don't write
I am not in transit the way a bird is, and watching
birds in transit is intrusive, the way watching
people on trains is intrusive. Everyone
on a train is lost until they arrive, even when
they know where they are going and how
they are getting there; until they arrive
can they guarantee that they'll get there? This
is what being a bird is like, going everywhere
without knowing anywhere, one unexpected
turn away from running headlong into a mirror
He said he was afraid of the oceanSpring's splattering blood orange dustHe said he was afraid of the ocean3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
on branches fallen into place and when I scratch
my skin open, it's because I want to see it bloom,
red and icosahedral. Our mosaical tome
of shifting tenses questions the swift
years dwelling behind my teeth. I offered you
handfuls of pink diamonds with green dirt
caught under my nails and I expected you
to tear my throat out of my neck,
but I can't come with the sound of the sea
rushing through the architecture,
your body keeping house for all your slender ghosts.
Here we're so electrified and warm,
the air pressure inside our lungs so low
that we could drown in breath
but I would rather
be sitting on the rails with you,
quiet together and scared
of oceans until the blushing waters
sting our bleeding heels.