if you were mine
— mb (@tumblindice70) June 1, 2020
i'd kiss you till your lips would bleed
i'd nuzzle my face
without any grace
in the thick forest
of your groin
and hold you in
my special place
for the both of us
to throb and rise
upon the grasp of the
gently twinkling stars
Poetry
insomnia
the clock in my mind
doesn’t really tick tock
it’s more of a low cruel scalding grind
like a rusty cog from an old Slavic car
i lay on my mattress the linen pulled tight big fluffy pillows to hold in my thoughts
the colors are sanskrit oozing in sunburst lotus in buds
every so often when my body shuts down
the beat of my arteries scats like old Calloway
from a past filled with poisons textured with scars
then the grinding is noticed by a runaway synapse and my eyes they go shut
the cat’s by my footstool and the dog’s by my side
yet it is lonely the spirit is gone
she hides in the closet
where her wings were cut off
diagnosis haven across the bookshelf
eating disorders sadness depression societal crud
the plant upon the dresser silver and wide reminds me of Warhol and incense and wine
then the phone pings and i go rub my eyes
i hear that new song sent from afar
i wonder about mother Hubbard and the Kennedys the story of pauper clowning the kings
so i get up to empty the voids in my throat
i walk to the kitchen and touch a tea pot then i look out the window and think of your mouth the back of your head
do i look for what’s final or do i trudge back to bed
Launch of New PoArtMo Contest/Anthology!
Hello there everyone. Now that NaPoWriMo is over (you can still celebrate though with The Auroras & Blossoms NaPoWriMo Anthology: 2020 Edition which is now available for pre-order), what else do we have to look forward to in the art world for the rest of the year? How about an new inspirational artistic movement! June […]
Launch of New PoArtMo Contest/Anthology!
available but not to you
your expectations wants demands tactics tricks and commands are just a mirage
i too can do unto others but i choose not to i am at the disposal of my mind heart and soul exclusively
i break barriers and ceilings with the ultra sonic boom of my love quietly in the middle of time and my shed tears turn into diamonds
from my breast i nourish innocents the army of all
with a turn of my fingers i knit the cloth to shield innocents from the darkness of your claws
one Sunday morning in the year of our Lord
rain stuck in the gutter mud needles even glittered pine cones from Taiwan congregate in rubbish soup
lines long at city hall and the soup kitchens too Star Bucks forget it i might as well be gone
yet i love her like a mother loves her son when the battle of the souls is lost
pinpoint to the time when spewing truths out of our lungs picket signs pro this con that
here we receive old boxes filled with wasted time to keep forever under downpours of collective pain
states
birds chirp
the last
song heard
before going
into shallow
restless sleep
pipes clank
neighbors laugh
dogs howl
window cloaked
in moon
sliced Roman
shades cardinal
red i
then find
the cacophonous
earth fading
from me
there is
a river
in the
anemic star
light its
ripples a
veil of
opal and
brass the
pit in
my throat
slowly calls
a chant
a prayer
of sorts
to any
available mother
to take
me in
the arms
of anything
before the
poison of
the hyacinth
breath of
the deep
seated night
will drag
me in
the undertow
of her
charms while
the nymphs
dressed in
Coco Channel’s
post C19
gray suits
flirt for
a like
enmeshed in
electric forgery
unnatural i
the feel
in this
cage of
bone nothing
but mud
midnight news
reporting blues
and the
porous truth
that soon
a derivative
of Pi
will flow
through my
blood to
buffer the
pandemonic messiahs
birds chirp
the last
song heard
before going
into shallow
restless sleep
pipes clank
neighbors laugh
dogs howl
window cloaked
in moon
sliced Roman
shades cardinal
red i
then find
the cacophonous
earth fading
from me
there is
a river
in the
anemic star
light its
ripples a
veil of
opal and
brass the
pit in
my throat
slowly calls
a chant
a prayer
of sorts
to any
available mother
to take
me in
the arms
of anything
before the
poison of
the hyacinth
breath of
the deep
seated night
will drag
me in
the undertow
of her
charms while
the nymphs
dressed in
Coco Channel’s
post C19
gray suits
flirt for
a like
enmeshed in
electric forgery
unnatural i
the feel
in this
cage of
bone nothing
but mud
midnight news
reporting blues
and the
porous truth
that soon
a derivative
of Pi
will flow
through my
blood to
buffer the
pandemonic messiahs
tired
time what is it really just illusions how can one waste what is a lie just a mist in a dark cold swamp a little village of my mind it sits there and wallows remembering memories that never happened like kisses from my mother i have full control when the birds sing time what is it exactly me thinks of time as the breath of the gods the heartbeat of the mermaids the haircut shavings of the gnomes in the forest deep green cool moldy forest located in the left side of my heart untouched by time still waiting still haunting time
audio of LA girls can channel A. Ginsberg too
Thursday morning
last night i hung out with Jimmy and Janis
and in the shower i sang about foxy Kentuckians
not sure if it meant anything at all but yet can’t help to daydream about his guitar and her vocal chords
making coffee the feeling persisted why am i still here
just feelings i guess no need to worry the squirrels are in the tree the sidewalk exists from what i can tell
i do an LOL i’ve kissed the ground so many times with my ball and chain gang of personal fools
could it be that it truly is just semantics me wonders whilst the refuse truck crawls by on Thursday morning
freed
she thrived optimally when lost in LA
salty sassy loose and Catholic tube top wearing even on cold days
mother of three husband gone missing foul play by the finest in town
she talked back and took what you had with scorn and laughs
yet in the sun light at the plaza when traffic is quiet beggars and convicts safe in their bags
she fed the pigeons ever so delicately threw breadcrumbs at them not like a DiMaggio but like a Pavlova
then they were fed no more
words less spoken 