Eastwardly the raspberry bush grows
Anchored, down in the grass with twelve counters
Each day one disappears, taken on travels of mysterious places
I tie my shoelaces, and think of the races
Perfect metaphors for the capitalist people, watching it
The system hits them and as hard, clasping the crop in its hand
The raspberry bush grows nearby, sticking thorns into those taking coins
How many metaphors can you stand? I’m just here, watching the grass and hoping you can know.
Flossing the neck lamps.
Tramp built guillotine sat.
Glamour daemons anguished upon their fishing from the lists of dark moon rituals.
Calculator buns, fresh from the oven, ready to eat upon their half of the second street, horns and a coven whom hath been gathered.
Onion, Top Hats, Potato, Coal and Hatred used to summon the Captain of the great flush
He’s a tough nut to crack, even standing overdrawn by the rain next to a tobacconist. Muttering sweet hatred into the street corner, hoping your pity is worth another box of dime store magic.
Ever the half-life, shirt stained by ignoble truth he watched them, and all who come to pass. Daemons pay him little if any attention. Go about their endless quest to hear the fires of hell just a bit longer.
Shagging off the last of the most important smoke of the day, sagging and calving edgy cardboard boxes covered in blankets that keeps just enough of the downpour out. Aqualung is muttered, as he slenderly steps into the Dreamlands.
The donky hanging down
Building up all that
Their is no stopping
For Progress, were hard hats
Donkey sky
Donkey sky
Blues
We die slowly
Nothing is growing
Harsh light glowing
City zoo full of fat cats
Donkey sky
Donkey sky
Blues
Look up at growth
For gentrifier sloths
Grope, slurp, rope
We’re guillotined hopes
Donkey sky
Donkey sky
Blues
Dodgers on a street mistreat all they greet Moldy shirtsleeves looking in the dirty earthly thirsty drags
smelt like the strike of blight, no they are not alright
Podgers conjured by the constabulary
thicken the air with their reactionaries
pressed clean curt is their mirth
gelt like the pike of mights, no they are not right
Bluetooth sings in his water bottle of a cave
In the cave a cuttlefishes garden
She has but sucking flowers
Goes on and on for hours and hours
Trying tinkles rye ropes
Harping ways of timing crossing
Just as much the work
Purple sky darkens
I cannot apologize for this present marking
Sealed with my lonely life
Peeled like a bone thife
Marshal right
Why I’m so cold, distant from plight
Partly my thoughts, partly my fright
Scared like I am
Of all these thing that can and have
Traumatized by their shouts and fights
Mind anexity going at the speed of light
Part and marshal, white distance frightful
Will any grass grow in my barren mind?
Salted as it is by hate, cold, hard, fire and brimstone that isn’t even real
It’s my birth of the color
Caution, doors open outside your head but inside your mind
And mine were shut such a long time ago
You were the only one who ever opened them
An old beachfront is drying Oceans once were full now dry
Death stench now gone
Replacement is the carapace or corpses
Preaching over this new desert
White bones, dark sky
No rain will fall
My salty tears
The only wet thing left
I’m empty in a crowd sometimes Their is a little sadness in my mind
A phase of the fellowship we shared
Now gone to a place I cannot find
Else your taking the path of pains
Iced winds digging veins on my face
Unless close to this faded cloud
Copper my heart, cross my mind
Blind to the thoughts that crafted
Still as a photograph it’s me
Dust and molted pain flows on winds
Cast gaze to me please I wisper
I’m going through it all day
What’s the thing done with this play?
I’m
Bathed
In a statement
The acrid
Stink
The acid lonelyness
I’m not like that
I’m not sure what I am
Bells toll on your words
Acrid days
On the insisted distance
I’m lonely. Not one of each of the nine.
I’m not even one of those who have
Or haven’t
Where do I belong?
Called. Cast. Culled. Places like a spit.
Fires on my skin
The acrid
Arid days
Insidious minds
They, tell, me, to….
Survive.
My acrid lonelyness is insisted
Like a ghostly connection
I’m not going to be meeting perfection
Misreable kingdom of sticky things that hit
Turning a blind
I’m loneliness
So I wander
Wander and call
Forme kind to answer
Their are none. None here.
My acrid lonelyness insisted
Last meals of dead dog fish
It’s a peculiar dish
Walebone spoon, the atomic clouds loom
Dimes of soil, raining from the sky.
All those silly little lies, lies, lies.
Capsules of hate, grading the best thoughts
I’m sure you’ve all bought
A ticket, to your own distarster
Don’t blame us, you were the fathers
All those silly little lies, lies, lies
Haven’t heeded the warning warming
Filling up the beach,
little patter of feet
Worth and toils, to the sound of the meek
All those silly little lies, lies, lies
(Chorus)
Cell on a dime
One last time
Will we survive
This fire filled time
All those silly little lies, lies, lies
– This is a poem about dysphoria I felt in high school and how it returns to me sometimes,
even post transition. It’s about my past, present and my future. Its one of the poems I have tried to get into a poetry journal without success. I search for feedback on how to make thing better.
0. Ovipositor
It’s like a ovipositor
It’s not one thing or the over
It looks like them
The ones who have made me cry, alienated me from myself
1. Wasp
I’m like a wasp
All the hive is buzzing
All of them busy grey things in this nest
I’m trying to be like them
Trying
I’m doing the same things
I’m wearing the same full body grey suit
I’m helping with this grey mass we build
Mud, it’s so perfect a metaphor for my life
I’m like the sunshine on this mud
Heating it, hating it, making it solid
Into more hive
Strife, in a hive is dealt with quickly
I’m not sure why I wasn’t
They did that thing, the attack
The strike
The clipping
I’m not sure I can fly anymore
But they didn’t kill me
Like all the others
Ovipositor
I’m sure of it
2. Hive
On this day
This hateful day
Our grey bodies
Ready to go outside
I’m stuck in hear, in my mind at least
Leave the hive, but not really
I’m still grey
3. Cave
It’s dark
Cliff above us to the outside
One of them
Those others that pretend that I’m one of them
They drop a knife
It falls millimeters from my head
Anyone else see it?
That I was nearly dead?
Nope
I’m told to take the knife back
All the way up the cliffs
Carry the weapons of my enemies
I’m broken inside
I’m dead inside
I’m never going to escape the grey
4. Hyena
I’m in the library?
Not a wasp right now
I’m a reader
Reading about a hyena
Vagina that’s like mine
I’m a hyena?
I’m not, but I am
My piece, my bit feels like that
On the outside it looks like
On the inside
In my mind
It’s not
5. Escape
I’m out of the hive
Not in grey
I’m out
I’m me
I’m no longer pretending
But how long?
How long was it before?
I was outside
Still in their grasp
Like a dog?
6. Dog
I’m trained
I’m trying to be them
I’m pretending
I’m also trained
Like me, barking, sniffing, digging, pissing
But secret, shhhh I’m not. I just pretend
I’m not a good barker
7. Ovipositor (2)
I’m not pretending anymore
I still have my ovipositor
But I’m me
In many ways
One day, one day I can
Be all me
All I want to be
For now?
I’m as me as I can be
Ask me and I will say so
Into the dark room, full of clapping skeletons
Living person of the future sees this moment as one to change
It replays, a broken record of failure
They all sit in the room
None take the action needed
Feasting on their own flesh
Cannibalizing their own business
Never seeing beyond a quality of a quarter year
They call it something new, a foamy thing
Sucks that carbon right up
Sun powers it like a little engine that could
Will it be enough?
The absence of our own lives is perhaps what we will notice the most
We have been exhumed, exiled and exhausted by the fixing
Building of the jelly
Out of the gusty trips, the winds are strong hear
Burning the sky a brilliant red this evening
Political winds will never curse us
Their is a better way, technology has responded to this curse
The wind directs its power, the change comes like the sands
We survive in our exhibition of new
I’m no expert, but human we are no longer, we have not been since before the clapping of those skeletons
The grounds of the places
Walking lonely like a lost little sole
Unsure of myself and others
I’m a wanderer really
Lost in this great grey game
Bricks and metals cold and icy rain
Grey trees, bear leaf
I’m not in grief
Implying I have lost
How can you loose what your never sure you had
The past is a dream
Concrete
Gray and lonely, slowly slowly going mad
Then that hate
Red and stright
First and fists
Down and smelt
The fire won’t start
I’m given a chance
I pick up a bit of your broken pieces
I’m armed
Fighting for my life
Then escape
Grey concrete, never seemed so full of color
Every fire in my stomach
Tired of the drive from this place
Gloating firefly in the doorway
Shutting down the black marble road
Crowds shoutout for anguish and drama
Them are surprise to get it, is that the social karma?
Fifty fires, down inside, empathy of the day
Just the frosty icing licks, just the hatful knife that wil kiss
sweet pear
Missing one with some care
Attach to a soul without scrutinizing your foundation
Silver circle in the sky, green cross on your arm
Eating, at a sensual cafe, it says that on yelp
Their barista could do with some considerable help
Red light, speed, wireless fidelity without a byte to spare
Down to the callar, for some wine and stake. discuss the demise of the shark.
Taking a breadstick in my pocket. I sigh as I leave. I notice the stark look of the man who closes up shop. Back later for his pity and maybe some plonk.
I’m not one to pass judgement on those unpleasant men, whose bleeding makes my job so easy. Every cut taken in vain succles the essence I can tap it.
I ramble so long. You don’t even know my name. Or do you.
Hope this card finds you well, though I rather doubt it. You know who I am by now.
my fair garden of unearthed might
Four square soildiers sent to flight
Placard diagonally thrusted, quite
ignored meadowlark screeching fright
House of nations thunder cainabal
Me and glass squarely reflecting mandibles
Egg and spoon triangulate the moon
Swoon those who swam the heated bloom
In the higher days of possible place
Never knew on the mellow hand
Tricks I have seen in the morning
Awake now I’m going north
Elder architecture singing for lace
Marrow sand blowing on the land
Nicks of flesh out of the calling
Onwards to the point of mort
Wind flowing past brushing gently against her naked skin. Silky leaves tussling like bad hair on a winters day. The noise of frogs and crickets, cicada and owls, foxes punctuating with their baby like cries, they all filled up the air. A cup overflowing with noise.
Zil could stay here forever and more. Standing here at the edge of the water, an angel on the edge of a cloud, watching the cool world below. Fish swimming in no apparent pattern a mortal could ascertain. Leaves and grass floating with gay abandon, they are brown and green.
Zil tried to count how many green, how many brown. Then as she was up to 25 green, 5 brown an insect landed on the pond. She smiled. A fish swam up and in contrary to popular thought the insect grew 1000 times its size and ate the fish.
This was her world.
Then she woke.
