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shallowit's not your beautiful faceshallow1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
that i love
it's how you ruin it
newshours no longer whittle into daysnews1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
strangled and uncalendared;
forbidden rituals of a new dark Eros
clothesline sheets and bed throes → blunders in a blue face
collapse
and sensing your reversals, i’ve grown and grown impossibly old;
god’s bad math:
infinities as remainders.
however they lapse
i spend the better part of them
burning through the flyleaves
for mandalas sealed in hell bank
notes
for ashes of your epilogue
for the end of throats
in songs and news.
no one can regret their past
but of futures . . .
like when planets will re-purpose you
into interstellar fruit bats or thyme pulled from the brink of comets
and you’re wondering why i'll never find you
when datebooks write us in the living.
forget about meforget about me2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
don't listen for it, anymore:
the ugly balladist, the poète maudit
unbosoming his delustrants,
strangulations and subglossal annulments.
i want you to find my secret life, the arrhythmia
of spoondrift oblivions.
open out your palms to me; i'm over-swelling with octonaries, octonaries!
that is where i've been these years,
shimmering flush
in the night between kneeholes.
cardboardcardboard2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i had ears for the undersea
i had ears for the words
"you are the most beautiful thing
in this world."
(who knows how it happens)
but the amorist is greaseless,
dead
unguessed and gone
a hoary, haunted
howlet spitting antistrophes
and drifting
above the spatterdock.
go ahead and live me down.
we all pretend
to drown in sera - this
whole entire dimension
made of
windlestraw
and totem hollows
and other things
and other things . . .
MorphologyMorphology2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
See for yourself.
Strip the pinbones to their teeth.
Use a microtome to thin each veil; engram to sacromere to the chest-pulp of chromatin,
You will find the same sweet euphonies:
Filatures spinning bliss from irrationals,
Rose-cloud billows from bluebird mandibles,
Shinplaster brewed to a platinum tea.
All that I'm made of,
Whatever you need.
souls high kites with holessouls are high kites with holes, the sky is like a crystal ballsouls high kites with holes3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Blue sky harrow:
How lost for adjectives
Are we
To break our fast up there
Sugar, tea, and birdsong?
Of course, kites, souls
Curiosities, wind being free
While we, ground strung Gullivers
Flat beneath the
Colossal eye
We're watchers
Of the wolcen burnspot
Pupil paling
West, always
What do I call myself?
My sex deliquesced
An epicene, I'm a lover of honey bees
And toadstools
With plume
For tongue,
Duck-green;
A curling fern:
We slip around like
Chartreuse chimera
In Lilliput ponds.
We dive in as
The tadpoles stop
Tail-motor
To blend
Eyeless
At the em
immediacyimmediacy2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
this new little truth
this robin egg
blue
brooding in skies'
dull decidua
is begging
black space
for a mercy
murdering
damn this featherbrain
confuter
with its wilding
silver blood
tongue
licking
for obsequious
anticipants
'till they burn
to a soft nilpotency -
i'll make a bed
in
armageddon
gray
paper crane
ashes
here's my nirvana: the ache of the ramrod's
slow dre
Moon CratersMoon Craters2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Soldered down
in the smoke hut
that is melting
by the bulb,
I am this
monomaniacal
unraveler
of fragile-ware and crocheted filaments
that vein out in disparate quests
from the patterns of your
pinafore.
God, I have some
Spaniard lust for those pearly little drop-
lets,
bloodlett(er)ing
chronicals
and alleluias,
chorales of your twin diviners
clotted up like amber marbles
and left to summer
in the charity heap.
Damn their colours, they're all mania degrees
awash in recollected prayers,
illuminati treasures
that bare your dark coal
intertia
and purpled burn stone
radiation:
superimpositions
of the Goddess
dead1.dead5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
i hear these words
and something happens
in the yard;
it doesn't fit
a poem
or planet.
i see it squeeze
into the slits
beneath your shirt.
i feel it fly the smooth
of you
from off your back. it turns
and hides behind the acres,
stock frontiers
of jagged rooftops,
kept far and safe
and free
of me.
2.
the squirrel
has left the limb
as light would leave
a photograph.
i’m staring into its absence
and some new kind of animal is made;
one where
only
its reversal is alive.
it doesn't move or breathe.
the park is wintered over, and i don’t go.
the poppies
are all gone.
and when they do come back, they never chan
low Tlow T11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
i'm too soft and rotten
now
to enter
into anything:
closets, contracts,
secret orders'
sacred blood oaths,
or thresholds; a frozen inch of face
the same as light years, oceans,
never meeting
i'd rather brush my mind with pills
and stick these artifacts of wealth
hard inside your origins
and keep the grass
from living
long
. . . marry him.. . . marry him.1 year ago in The Great Valentine Exchange More Like This
1
of course,
he will gleam like photons
tangled in sheer joy.
where i harvest dead localities,
he will sheath the touchstone nerve.
his voice will soothe great quandaries
like growling cicadas solve summer nights.
his eyes will break into blessed anointments.
his lips will pierce the frighteners
and spill their silver antidotes -
a cure for every blasphemy,
a pardon for every criminal.
remember who he was,
a mystic lisping empathy
for pure, unbottled moments,
a silence worming through bicycle wind,
a gender scribbled on a brainstorm,
the flashing of satori
in the scatter-shooting cosmos,
a wonderer, w
(it is not a dream if it is everyday)i no longer have the gall(it is not a dream if it is everyday)5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
to write letters to my universe.
it’s stony quiet,
all around.
it’s possum eyes in headlights,
abandoned chandeliers
frozen
in Victrola dust.
some tireless pamphleteer
has wrecked this room
with motorized felicity!
there must be
at least
one bill for every breath,
paper
mountains
of indifference.
and now, i see
you are the same.
you’re no magic
planet. i will
get up,
some time tomorrow,
mid morning, when the bugs have died,
and drive to work
and i won’t think
there’s anything
that ever came
before that sun.
and there,
i’ll trade in shibboleths
and type in pointy let
the end and also everythingthe end and also everything2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
listen with the skin
I've lost the album of my life
vistas and their episodes
ones that you were in
the wind is warm
impossibly
more alive
than nights or vessels
the wind is
all there ever is
~*~
today
it comes: the universe
is not adding
light to darkness
we are the shadows
shielding sockets
from
obliterative
birth-song
sometime
we'll leave the outside
white
and reoccur
from one to One.
gonegone2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
everyone should write this poem:
i've left the universe
well enough
alone.
whatever is speaking,
whatever it knows,
untouchable
now;
the dark matter math of uncolonised dreams,
inactualities
like the moon
in the millpond.
i was bent out of worlds
in a thing.
i was counting;
a chronologist
dating hayricks of grotesqueries.
"oh,
how many times
will i
vermillionize
your touchhole?"
"how many muthering epiphonies
will wash up
like
bluebottles
on a beach?"
i will never have to know.
i am never
anymore.
beneathbeneath10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
it goes without saying:
everything
the air that settles
on your chest
awaiting sound
the language of your local fruit
the swirl of rind
their glyphs and runes
like sun-bent cheeks
those
bulbous blots
in utero
and creatured time
that sleeps between us.
i needn't tell you anything
or speak my way inside of you
you've doctored in all my aspirations
your furious dreams' wild successions
no longer carry
my peculiar
cursive
because
i am written
on
the shut-inthe shut-in1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
where are these keyholes to the Equinox? the stars huddle
like alien nettle,
a gray chime of wrens scaling tree limbs and middays,
jittery
fruit;
Darwin has no lines for me
to speak
of.
i've sheetrocked the blistering ivies and blossoms.
i've glassed out daubers and frightening mollusks
pillowing through mud honey and minute old ruins.
intimate with my quiet desk, my paper hoard
i'm still a coward; the envelopes, Obama glass, the dozen unused spiral
diaries are menacing concoctions, minotaurs of lost dimensions.
i used to sleep in creek-beds.
The Pale Likeness of a Colour The Pale Likeness of a Colour, SpokenThe Pale Likeness of a Colour3 years ago in Open More Like This
the rampant eddies
have torn from the corners
of long horizons
some ancient colour:
a scarlet furrow
that air divulged, raving
in an afterlife
i'll never reach.
windstorms and labworkafflatus, inflatus, my morning globe,windstorms and labwork5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
as lithe as your impermanence.
and home! dread homes! are rabbit dugs,
spoonholed piles of mexican brick
where nothing ever touches down,
nothing here alive receives
the plains’ poor offering of gypsy light,
the ugly wind that meets the mudline.
[metaphors]
1. a mottled fence
2. and how these storms hold faceless teeth
that slat their eyes through butter-wood
then purge their guts on wintered florets
4. some freshly headless nativities,
their polyethylene skirts upturned
from violent sacks
5. and knowing i’m a souless
speck
i lick at what is manifest
beneath your
rimrim10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
i've stumbled here
in an old dream
that i have known
of life
and lived.
but where can i set my eyes,
two lonely, runaway balloons
that crawl and stretch and fail to frame it
all at once: bloodless, mindless revelations
of a place without a body to clasp onto this intelligence,
the slow
red womb of space?
the roots of oblivion
are fed to great skeletons of air
and i can watch the pines hug at their endings,
an abysmal tongue that licks through
the soul of stone
as easy as water
will find water,
as gravity has found
the bottom
of its peace.
and i can say this, now;
the world
has never been the world.
pentadactylismpentadactylism1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
you realize
and in so doing
something breaks.
every minute
you deign to make
some unknighted landfall
in a mime
of an irreversible
act;
all this time
wasted
going someplace.
when we’ve gathered up the last
of roadworthy flowers,
touched our final
sundance
in the skull
then
we’ll settle
on leaving . . .
or,
you’ll say
we’re still together
hungering in underboards
dog-fed on blood slivers, whiplash and improvidence.
why
do we pick at moments
to unlock their gnashing
guerrilla war?
i have no reason for what i want
just . . . be my collaborateur
my psalmist
my letterhead
be everything that is outlying and forbidden
the cavus which cannot bear the weight of waterweeds
and i promise to keep you
burning, weeping
or whatever
it is
you’ve
been needing
ever since our funeral
in that godless hollow
of a mind
rhetoricrhetoric2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Famously,
they say insanity
is repetition;
faith renewed
in failing strategies.
So
what is living,
life?
What is loving
you?
TritanopiaI'll gladly weave the ashen wrath of a snow bank into my terrible flesh; I'll sprout new PrometheanTritanopia3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
nerves to beg the scorn off dark and drizzle, to settle the slow-riddle of bitter holes sold deep
within the waterchest ; I'll give back all the violent blue these faithless eyes had ever dared
to lure from the depths of the sleepless Dream;
but i'll never accept
the callous death
that is [....]
ambivalence.
unfolded letter having something to do with shameunfolded letter having something to do with shame8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
hello again.
i was here, just now, and i thought of waiting.
but you won't come.
and even as i say these words, i know they must remain unborn
like busy blood the coffers keep.
these sounds are ways i cannot be, i don't believe,
i'm not alive.
but i'll arrange them, anyway, one by one
to be eaten by your oval minion
or blindly forwarded like propaganda.
i am always without you and without myself.
i offer this ambassador, but he only sees the stain of things
and not even this; just their emblems, their saltless confederacy
of coincidence.
i've wondered if you're searching nights
for dark clad summoners, or silhouettes &#
punishmentpunishment2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You know your time has come when you've lived (through this) long enough
to stop believing in synchronicity, when you've mastered the art
of glancing backwards for words gone missing from the gap(e)
in your memory, when you wonder at your lover's eyebrights
how they keep breeding from the asphalt in a virus wind,
when you realize there're no more epiphanies to scavenge from
open car door windows, when no one's left alive who remembers
(who) you (were: ) young and stupid, a deadly chutist landing dande-
lion seeds without gravity, when bludgeoning your sex was sun-derived
unconvolution, pearling, angry, inarguable logic, that's w
Sta.sh
