I
am of
the sky. You
wrap your arms fast,
press shaky wings heart-close.
Within nights morbid stupor, divine dreams.
Ransack blessed gardens, forgive
failure, release, survive.
So the challenge was to write 1 one letter word, 2 two letter words and so on. I couldn’t make anything sensible but it was still fun =)
I am insular and ill-suited
to the currents
of your impending bias.
For every occasion
there are equal measures
of repulsion and appeal.
–
The melody of your breath
is mislaid in my lungs.
We are only leavings.
The pitiful, the cryophilic
we gravitate inwards.
–
Do you mock the promontory
for its illustrious height?
Do you beg favor, apology, recompense?
A swarm of raindrops and two headlights
encroach on the darkness.
–
We fizzle and combust,
spells, bone bare
woven together
into prosaic shapes
china teacups and radios.
We want most what we already have,
it’s the addiction within the addiction,
the enigma draped in ostrich feathers.
Denial through rigorous premeditation,
if I subtract my faults, I in turn am less.
–
From one grave to the next,
we shamble hungry and inchoate.
It’s Sisyphus all over again,
the need for redundancies,
the need to need.
All the better to hypnotize you with my friend.
A litany of deceptions, an erosion of hearts
harder and more brittle than the bones that contain them.
–
Want more, feel less.
Need more, think less.
Your success is a testament to my failure.
Perhaps we should do away with the game altogether
or we could both participate bereft of desire.
The lack of competition has made winning
more important than ever
only now the lessons are lost.
–
Take away everything but my failures
lest I become more incompetent than I already am.
We don’t want fair, we want the balance in our favor,
to be the exception in exceptional.
Take my life at your own risk,
become me, endure with me
the long, effervescent winter.
Spirits in miniature,
Peery-eyed and robust
These are the unknowns,
That which lives
But does not merit.
These are the gods of
Machination and manufacture,
Seamless specters
Cradling human flesh.
–
Sentience implies secrets.
We are haunted,
Apples in a quantum riot.
A fetid core harvested
By ingenuity,
A barely palatable whisper
Thrust into a flaccid rind.
–
The rule of threes
Governs our misfortunes.
Stories convene,
A rash of clues erupt
From the creases
Of an intrinsic exile.
We are golems
In a system
That recycles
And degrades us
-.
A collective human musk
Claws its way to the surface,
Broken toys, skin-chasers.
The real revolutionaries
Bide in the fringe.
Our antagonism only
Minimizes our stature
Humanity is a condition of guilt,
A disavowal of instinct
We are enslaved to conjunctions,
To monosyllabic judgments
That mimic and gripe.
*
This is mostly nonsense I am well aware because I decided to write my thoughts when in a mental stupor. Anyhow I was thinking about bacteria and mushi (primitive ubiquitous creatures with supernatural powers that we can’t see). I was thinking what if humans are just tools? What if our thoughts are actually the cumulative thoughts of all those little nothings that exist inside of us? Without bacteria nothing would exist, so I thought what if they are gods, what if they are significant and we are by comparison a no-thing? No drugs were involved in the production of this poem lol I am exhausted and felt like going with the madness.
Woman in paisley print skirt: What floor?
Man in flannel jacket: 666
Woman in paisley print skirt: (grim) Would you prefer 665 or 667?
Man in flannel jacket: (sighs exasperated) I’ve stated my preference.
Woman in paisley print skirt: Are you suffering from some type of intellectual deficit? A fetish? A death wish? A complex perhaps?
Man in flannel jacket: I don’t have time for your antics we’re all headed for the same place just push the damn button would ya?
Woman in paisley print skirt: (frowns, pushes button)
(Elevator doors close. Cabin mounts cries out like nails on slate.)
Woman with striped umbrella: (whines) Why hasn’t he returned my calls?
Woman in polka dot sweater: They never do. It’s entirely personal and you should take it as such. Whoever heard of post-coital amnesia anyways?
Man in flannel jacket: The Venusians are a contentious lot.
Man with messenger bag: Does she love me? Has she found someone else? Maybe I should workout. Get a job. Move out of my parent’s basement.
Man in flannel jacket: There are bats in the eaves. A wake of revulsion.
Woman with striped umbrella: His aorta holds as a latch so that nothing given can depart unblemished.
Woman in polka dot sweater: Love is only fatal when dormant.
Teen boy on phone: Archetype of Death 3 premieres on Wednesday. I’ll bring the sleeping bags. (I am so fucking lonely)
Man with messenger bag: Her smile is like a halo split and inverted.
Woman in paisley print skirt: Does she still speak to the Devil?
Man in flannel jacket: She speaks always on his behalf. Pity is a terrible mother.
Woman in polka dot sweater: (choked inhale) If only we’d never met.
Man in flannel jacket: Is that blood?
Woman in paisley print skirt: From the Apocalypse? That was last week…it’s probably just lipstick or a spot of red paint.
Woman with striped umbrella: What’s the weather like? I haven’t been outside since this morning.
Woman in polka dot sweater: It’s as cold as a serpent’s kiss and twice as venomous.
Old man: (shouting) For heaven’s sake Eleanor what time is it?
Eleanor: What’s the use of keeping score Harold? You’re already dead.
Old man: (still shouting) Is that vodka in your purse woman!?
Eleanor: (giggles) It’s vinegar to keep the flies off.
Woman with stripped umbrella: (shrugs) What’s the use he never listens.
Woman in polka dot sweater: Why don’t we go dancing? Men are always more attentive when hunting.
(Elevator stops abruptly rattles occupants like dice in a tin cup. Doors open. In the distance voices chant Zetsubou)
*
(I have a lot of trouble understanding what I am hearing when in a crowd so I thought I’d have a little fun with that. I also recently read a story written in complete gibberish. Anyone else want to give it a go? Post a link in the comments.)
This submission is for: Tale Weaver’s
Nikita Veprikov
1
A nomadic Sphinx
Painting keys into the palms
Of doubtful tenants
2
Grapevine placentas
Spewing ill-begotten wine
Into a cupboard
Of primordial secrets
My bat-like psyche hangs inverted
From the bough of a restive elm
The stars are my familiars
They anoint and endow me
A shaman poet
I drink of ink and ether equally
*
My eyes are composed of dark matter
They remain poised beneath felt lashes
Dare me and I’ll unmake the world
*
I surrender savage and Mesozoic
To instincts and intuitions
Bone dragons nest inside my entrails
Lungs articulating fire, spleen an oil well
My language is unpalatable
Toxic when combined
With the nectar of a foreign tongue
*
I know the dusk, I have borne her
My vestal daughter courting
Elysian nocturnes, her coronet
Is lined with violets and chrysoprases
She adjusts her moods to my psychophoria
She understands me
But would never knowingly
Become me
=
My first attempt at a Jabberwocky I was inspired by the posts below =) I was insanely busy on Sunday (my daughter starts kindergarten today!) so I had to write this on the tram on the way to the shopping center to get school supplies lol Psychophoria is one of my favorite words but it’s not a word exactly because I made it up (it is derived from psychosis and euphoria so happy madness)
And
mindlovemisery 