30 Poems in 30 Days

[4degrees]

22-3

the wispy ways of love
flutter chin-high
a breeze blows, ever keeping
them just out of sight
wash the hands that feed
feed a head in need
dirt swirls down like
a crop circle
like a cryptic fortune
that eyes do not see
perhaps choice and
chance will one day meet.

 

[4degrees]

committed enough to poems,
a day won't pass for
twenty six more
then the lines
begin to blur

lips raw and bitten,
tiny self cannibalism
gnawing at them, uneasy
and you're gnawing too
deep within every bite is felt
the pangs of sorrow
reversed hunger and
i dream of atrophy
getting sick on myself
because i don't know
how to live

 

[darkerdreamer]

I'd give a pint of blood
for a handful of your flesh,
a savage primordial grope
before I drag you home.

I want to be romantic tonight
but I'd rather see you cry,
let's hit my cave
and go prehistoric,
you play herbivore
and call me Rex tonight.

 

[darkerdreamer]

2

.......

 

[4degrees]

22-5

dreams grow darker
solace found in suffering
pull dirty sheets over
a dirty head and hide
the flipped coin always
lands on that side-
it all grows dull and i
grow more disinterest,
watch over time as
these things manifest
stepping in my own footprints
just takes me round and round
right back to the moment
i took a breath and
began to die.

 

[AChild]

11-1

lighter heavy

belly full of contradiction
the things I tally to make light
weigh me down

-------
fire
breath upon
scene
changing hearts
begin a dance
to know
the end
will
leave blood
upon the wall
that's ok
vessel's
made to break
water's
made to spill
leave waste worry
wayside
take notes against
gloved hands
reminding
of a countdown

-------
loaded

chamber full
mad yak mooing on the
horizon
waiting for the milking

hot beer shits
of creation
steaming and smelling
like hell without anticipation
hole calling for a stopper

flesh gun
wick away passion
splashing white ink
into the wood grain
a bruise upon the senses

-----------
30 days
the moon she is my clock
spill me a number 9 cloud
let me palm her orb
cut me on her cresent
and let me want when she's
not home

 

[4degrees]

22-6

a dream of mortality
seeing the dead in REM
a catharsis for this pain
the best of bestial ways
set in stone hoping
that no one can
forget this unforgiving
and rapacious
umbra of mine

 

[AChild]

11-2

under the shadow we flourish

paint vixen
the application makes me
smooth
the finger tips
take a texture
in the blinking lights
one point of friction is
our whole being
the hairs on my arms
traveling the maze of her
finger tips

 

[4degrees]

22-7

How can there be time
For petty poetry when a
Heart beats with the savagry
Of cruel uncivilized drums
How must i let it slide
Away, and away-out of
My arm's stretch my clenched
Fist's reach
Teach it not to kill
To kiss, a kiss like acid eats
Away at lips that lie and lie

 

[AChild]

11-3

the river of dreams

drool
connecting
tongue to ear
the drip of night escapes
corrupts the division of sense
zombie lurch in realtime
in reaction to the dream

 

[4degrees]

22-8

poetry lost, like so many
souls
you know the kind
vapors that materialize
and diffuse, a ghost of
a tortured man sentenced
to this earth over and
over again
or maybe it's just my
cigarette.

 

[AChild]

11-4

drinking is a song the bottle sings to you
how long can you stand the music?
each second you stay with your lips
it knocks you down a bit
it needs your water to sing
other wise it just a fruitless tree
in a funny bottle

 

[4degrees]

22-9

the vault is empty
let me pluck the petals
and the pods, the fruits
of your laborious efforts and
feed them to those
gaping holes
that cry with endless hunger

 

[AChild]

11-5

Bathtime with my father's wife

mother is somewhere
living her youth

meantime
some strange lady
would bath me
and
complain about how
I was too young for an erection
my father would laugh
suggest that she play with it

I sat in the tub
an alien in a liquid space capsule
wondering if anyone was going
to tell me
why my body was different on this
strange planet

 

[WickedEve]

1

.....

 

[4degrees]

22-10

delete me yet
you'll still not forget
like an incurable
fatal pestilence
progressing as blood
pumps through the
thin walled veins
your frailty makes my
appetite lessen;
give me something to
sink my teeth into
that won't die right away

 

[AChild]

11-6

Rub down

depearling pomagrante
a smooth finger trail
the red flesh rises
with the yellow membrane

pills of blood
red one eye fish
sink speaking for the water

I only love small fruit
the redder the better
peeling down my chin

 

[4degrees]

22-11

the nature of this is
is pure insolence

life's breath and death converge
leaves bright blossoms rank
with bloodthirst, the first
to advise this world-
just a black masque
a mime of fucking
every love is perishable
some impromptu talents go
unnoted, it's been demoted
with the initial intimation
that love flickered

 

[darkerdreamer]

1

(work murdered my last attempt, trying again. please check your delicate sensibilities at the door, you will hear offensive things within, they are not meant with any racist/sexist connotation, just words used where I'm channeling this from. Let's see if beat works in text...)

Ricky was swirling his swill, gulping it down at long last like it was the last batch a sure pass to happiness. He says he feels good, people like him, a fleeting fading feeling that disappears with the alcohol content in his veins. He is wrong. Everyone is only looking out for number one, so I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll look out for you. Ricky has no father figure or real nigger to hold the trigger back or chance to move past his last grasp at making something of himself pumping gas and working his ass off to be the best damn employee that BP station has ever seen. So I got your back got your sack but lack your ill-informed facts about the ego snacks passed to you by ignorant crack cornerboys who'd toss you to the rack the first chance the judge cuts them some slack.

But I look out for you.

His face is red part from the hooch part from the truth part from the abuse years faded that still lights up when he goes flush. He thinks I'm wrong but the vodka has him cloudy. He asks what about me. Did he forget when he was that little faggot with asthma and we took him in and made him part of our plasma? Or when we sheltered him from the miasma when his boy got plastered to the wall for stepping on toes? What about those? I could just let Ricky feel happy tonight but he needs a shot of truth worse than he needs booze.

And I'll look out for you, still.

 

[darkerdreamer]

2

If I had a nickel for every time she was insecure about us
I would probably ask for quarters instead,
nickels are the new pennies, worthless but shiny and
pickuppable much like your attitude at times like these,
most of the time.

I worry about that one percent though,
when I can't flip you one hundred and eighty degrees around.
Just like you must worry when I come home still boiling
from a whole day of steaming and screaming,
trying to herd an unruly crowd of subordinates
who are all either older or more competent than me.
Or both, it ain't easy being right when you know you're wrong.

Turns out you are just as beautiful when you know you are the goddess
I always say you are
just like when you are frantically calling me right before I get out of work
like when you are smiling and sobbing over some unknown folk country song that made me think of you that I just had to share
like when you are smiling and sobbing, hands and feet bound, broken down and erected like the masterpiece I just had to share.

Turns out your are just as inquisitive as when I stare at a tiny corner
of white paper, held up by a thumbtack on my cork board.
I wonder if it was a thought I put down for you to read eventually and tore down out of anger,
or a bill I put up to pay eventually and tore down out of anger.
If I had a nickel for every time your external thoughts
matched my internal ones
catching me off guard,
I'd wish for less nickels.

 

[AChild]

11-7

don't deserve the world

brilliance flawed
clogs turn
a heart so big
wounded for every affliction
against it over
time the entry
from slings and arrows
hunched over by the shadow
fat worms
scar tissue

often I want more
press the petal down
feed me all there
is for exsistance
seeking the edge and providence
wanting just like my name
spaying wine
gnashing words long
chewing them around
a want to cry

asking the stars to explain
balance I guess I call the
darkness as well
when eyes are closed there
is only stories and more world

 

[4degrees]

22-12

goddamn there is a beat going on up in he'ah.

in between the clock outs and
inevitable clock ins is when my mind
searches back though recent moments
trying to scratch a poem out of
odds and ends, scratch another
poem in the sand with a stick
and wait a few more moments as
the tide washes in and like a hard drink
erases those thoughs as easily as chalk
they were just made of dust anyway
when i began. an attitude of
indifference floats to the surface
making a dark shadow appear like a
stingray, and it glides slowly like one too,
keeping me in a perpetual blue
but not like the sad, not the music
more like lips and fingers
my preoccupation will eventually find
me contorted yet natural, because
that blue seems to become me.
i am becoming me.

 

[AChild]

11-8

baby Baby blues

life
not a mistake I would make
but
I love her

 

[AChild]

11-9

"he's so high he knows what he's doing!"

read my fortune
through the tea leaves
smoking next to canvas
take a fission bomb picture
and for years it will be
a symbol
twisting planes folding out
entrapment for the wind
my air is going out of me
a stream of thought
curling around the impure
edges

only been that high once
in high school I was a bad student
because the only way to make me
read text books was to kick my ass
and I was getting too big
to get my ass kicked

the report card was in the mail
instead of stealing it and turning
the D's to B's with a strategic period
I went to a party

I put the smoke on me
didn't drink a drop
just laid low in that misty fjord
coating my entire being in the blaze
til I was lung numb
burping ghostly octagons

the night seemed too bright
for my inner night
cars should have slowed
in respect to my attempt to
dampen the world

in the morning
taped to my door
the report card
scribbled over the print out
in shaky pen
"You are a liar, lying your life away"

my mother was a lover
to my brain
the boy I could become
but guilt is not an ass kicking
time a desert sun
evaporates guilt

but I couldn't fight
what I need to hear
so high I knew what I was doing

 

[4degrees]

22-13

press up against me again,
like that
yes like that and see
how quick you'll be under me
love is not a factor
nothing but meeting urgent needs
yours just as much as mine
yours is a hangover of emotions
mine is a sickness of lust
both of us know,
both cured, quieted for a time
with the simplistic
animalistic fuck.