dksaysthx

Tue, 15 Dec 2009 02:15:03 GMT

Stop hitting
Your little toy drum.
Its coating is
Falling off of
My face.

Stop hitting your little toy drum
In the heat of day, with rising mist
And sound waves, inaudible.
It rained long ago, but
Your beat is off tempo,
Your rhythm...
No.

Stop
Hitting your little toy drum.
He is sad, you are so alone.
With each vibration, from head
To shell, leaves depart from
Branches, in an attempted suicide.

Stop
Hitting.
Your little toy drum
Is sick.

Mon, 07 Dec 2009 18:15:40 GMT

And the crows sink into the wires
Feasting on Famine
And contemplating the induction
Of I into team.

Tue, 24 Nov 2009 00:14:18 GMT

Her mind bakes like
Bread, in the caverns
Of her skull.
Cloaked by satin,
Sheen and long,
So flowing.
Draping her vision
To which I want
To be.

I am not butter,
I am not jam.

Mon, 09 Nov 2009 03:48:42 GMT

Those men
In red
Apple orchards
(Cut with the
Scent of wood
And visual
Greyness of
Voluminous sky)
Rhyming about
Security and
The distress
Of distance
And isolation
Told me something
My friends
Mocked me for.

Sharing such
A secret
Would make
Us friends,
So I can't tell.

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 23:50:50 GMT

Your fearless slippers and your
Lackluster hair defend your
Psychological defects better
Than the armies of Freud
And Skinner.

As you accumulate static with every
Swiping disruption
Flowing with time
And preventing
Loss of interest
I watch you toss
And turn
Into the bedroom.
You trot with
Every last stitch
and hem of your skirt.

Because it's a plus
To know your sheets are clean
And your pillow still provides support.
I'm just comic relief,
But I don't get prime time slots.

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 20:26:51 GMT

That flower never said a good word about you. I fed it every day with the water it desired. It soaked in sun, it soaked in my thoughts. I kissed it goodnight. It lied to me about you. It told me your faults, things I already knew, but it exaggerated them. Your sensationalized new persona, completely distributed by the flowers scent. It appealed to me though. It knew things that I care not talk about, or say around family. It grew every so slightly every day.

Thu, 15 Oct 2009 20:46:57 GMT

Five strides from visual confirmation.

I accept that and ignore movement.

Structured in polyester, by chair I sit

And watch the unconfirmed, but likely, display

To me something my eyes are fixed on.

With every word jotted down, the seconds in

Between silence and serenity fulfill a

Void of time and destination.

For I too drink water in abundance and

I tend to enjoy it cold.

Those like me sway in delight as their

Self coveted, self converted nourishment tickles

Their every extremity and leaves

No question of acceptance and peace.

As their colors are distinguished through

A clean sheet of glass

I think to myself:

Why am I not standing with them?

Why am I rooted in a different ground?

I actually intend to work on this poem, something I rarely do.

Thu, 15 Oct 2009 01:59:20 GMT

The scent is as
Satiating as pine
Needles dripping
Heroin into our veins.

And we look at the
Sky because our necks
Are too heavy to hold
Our eyes back.

I lift up my hand
And point out every
Droplet of rain
That imperviously
Falls into your
Flesh.

Here we lay for hours,
With nothing to do,
No where to go.
And for once in my life I know no misery.

Wed, 14 Oct 2009 03:05:28 GMT

I
taper off as this
Uneasy conclusion
Seems to be more
Of a peak.

I watch it drain into the valley,
That for all intensive purposes,
I will describe to you as delusional
destitution.

And from the back light of the
Subsequent peak in the distance,
I notice that I too am not alone.

Fri, 09 Oct 2009 15:06:14 GMT

While our breathe intermingles
With the terminally healthy
Our spilled drinks turn dry
By the sun's examination.

I question the patrons of
The sugar coated ethanol.
With their sugar coated ideals
And sides of salted crackers.

Their mouth's remain dry by
Their bodies dehydration,
So I whisper in your ear,
"We're not like them,
But I am still parched."

Sickened by Ignorance

Tue, 06 Oct 2009 01:13:54 GMT

My skin cells attach to the tips of
Your fingers as they glide
Down the sloping patterns of creation.
And you discuss with me things
That have nothing to do with biology
Because in the context in which they're
Spoken
There is no time for intelligence.
"I love you."
Yeah, well I love you too.

Mon, 05 Oct 2009 01:46:01 GMT

Maybe I'm more concerned with acceptance than denial. Sadly, the former is more pathetic than the latter. I will be stubborn and let time decay my desires, it seems to always work.

Sat, 03 Oct 2009 23:51:31 GMT

In every lost chance to provide
You with the knowledge I so
Desperately want you to have
I seem to be incapable of
Expressing myself
Formulating
The words
That are needed
To succeed in this endeavor.
So I beg you for your patience while
My hormones finish
Forming my testicles.

Tue, 25 Aug 2009 16:18:14 GMT

wow, my school's network is slow.
Posting via netbook.

I'll have what he's having.

Fri, 21 Aug 2009 08:21:41 GMT

Darting and bound for sea and snow.
To north the the wildest dreams do glow.
I took it upon myself and sail,
To chase the dreams of iceberg tails.

And on my departure from this grave,
The fiendish past I could not stave.
Disdain and disgrace from present truths
Embodied the misery of broken youth.

My boat had stalled and cold seeped in,
For sun was sickened with thoughtless sin.
But future's rapture took hold that night,
And quiet morning confirmed delight.

As day rewound and played again,
My initial cause I could not defend.
There are more than tails and dreams to seek
Beyond the the uniqueness of iceberg peak.

For north the wind blows stalwart and kind
Her touch is love and repeats the line.
She tiptoes for miles undisturbed,
While foreigners watch with eyes perturbed.

I will make this venture for love and dreams.
Protected and sheltered by future's seams.
I may not return to my grave on land,
For the northern sea is now in command.

Fri, 21 Aug 2009 04:12:01 GMT

Broaden y...

Sun, 16 Aug 2009 08:34:41 GMT

Here is the inserted tag line you asked for, madame.
The woman on the far left looks like Jessica Alba, but enough
About me.
You seem preoccupied, madame.
Do you need me to refill your cup of pop?
I would be more than willing to find a suitable replacement for Howard,
You know how he gets on Sundays.

Oh no, madame, I couldn't dare tell her that.
-
Oh certainly not.
-
Yes, madame, I will.

Thu, 13 Aug 2009 02:28:33 GMT

it's seriously starting to bug me that I have no chance.

Hmm... not sure how I feel about this one at all.

Wed, 12 Aug 2009 03:01:51 GMT

Sleepy time, night time, fumbles
And grotesque sounds coming from afar.
I heard them say that life was the answer,
But their lack of inflection made me question

Their intentions.

White, dammit, start falling soon. Her
Muddled words are far too warm for my ears
And this humid breath is disgusting the children.

"Honey, your sheets are damp and your fan is off.
I realize deportation isn't what you want, but
Sometimes a change of scenery lowers temperatures."

Take a trip, stop discussing the children.

Tue, 11 Aug 2009 08:08:05 GMT

Go kiss that salt rimmed ideology that you left wading in the ocean.
I believe it provides you with more chemical balance than doctors would care to speak of.
You simply must consider another alternative, because quite frankly cars don't run well without oil. You're desperately trying to be desperate,
but unfortunately my lack of social ability heightens my sense of bullshit.
You're boned, chica.

Mon, 03 Aug 2009 08:54:29 GMT

I went to McDonald's against all intuition. Against all established moral codes and ethical law.
I went to McDonald's in all attempts to nourish myself, but accomplished all but.
My country tells me one thing while my country tells me another thing.
This obligation of health and shapeliness is cutting into my me time.
Media insists on purchasing mass quantities of fast food for low prices, yet
Media Insists on exercise and mass consumption of medication and assorted vitamins.
I am not sure whether the media is correct or not, but I am willing to find out.

I went to McDonald's and I got a big mac. I was told that I am loving it, but I am not sure if the food has altered my state of mind or whether the 15 McDonald's advertisements I see every day has affected me.

So I consume.
At such a rapid pace.
A pace that God himself would have trouble enduring. For in every greasy handful of fries and mouthful of fat saturated meat I thought I was reborn. In every sip of taste bud piercing sweetness of shake - as the humidity of the night dripped from the super-sized, mass-produced paper cup - I felt as though Ronald was looking down upon me, grinning flamboyantly thanking the autonomous behavior of the human mind for purchasing again, and again, and again.

Ronald bless America and God bless McDonald's.

Sold

Thu, 30 Jul 2009 01:07:53 GMT

You can sit on the couch
and let our minds wander
through lifeless matter
composed of chemical
responses.

I will sit on this chair
and let our minds wander
through soul and concept
composed of faith and
hope.

It's similar, you and me
know. But we don't know
who is correct. You work
on the turniket and I
will work on those chemicals.

P.S. My phone doesn't have spell check.

Sun, 05 Jul 2009 19:33:38 GMT

cuffed and locked
into this uneasy
path of explanation.
the path that leaves
a lot to be explained.

and I will sift
through this motion-
less pool of confusion.
people will not know
me, but I will succeed.

Sun, 28 Jun 2009 05:13:18 GMT

No, no not me.
I'm simply the sedated dream
With the lack of a belonging.
I'm longing, but not for long.

I'm glad I'm your only choice,
but also your first resort.
Convince yourself with this excuse,
maybe the gods won't notice your dismay.

Fri, 29 May 2009 07:20:29 GMT

As the others thrive and collide in their mindless thoughts,
I sit here,
in a state of distasteful depression,
only to satiate my need to be different.
And I huddle against the wicker
baskets and poorly crafted faucets
to content myself in the creation
of dry land. The others sift through their own
predisposed rubble of contemplation
while accomplishing nothing
more than denying themselves a fair trade.
It sickens me.
I will wait,
as a perched parrot atop the highest tree.
I will be assured through my own judgment
that my patience will be rewarded.
While they scatter deftly on the ground,
trying to retard the acidic rain,
I will laugh.
For I am fully aware
of the capacity to kill and
I have come prepared.