serial, milk and cereal, venereal, bumps and festering sores, soars, flying above, a dove, piece amongst all mankind, the succulent and the trucculent, the redundant ex-pundit, reluctantly repugnant and created to obey
crass, immature, more machine than man, cyborg, half breed, centurian centaur, the workhorse and the buried burro singing gregarious gregorian chants, chance, luck and the porous before the cart,
pistons, pissed off and pugnaciously sipping a bottle of whine, aged and fermented, demented and bottled up rage, tremulous and tremendous, resurgent resident of the dead end home for blatantly misinformed stereotypes
deformed, informed, rewarmed in a microwave, wave at the ship, the schooner, the vessel of never ending remorse, turbulent tides and ill tidings, misguided and limp, flaccid and hanging from a noose, hangman, gangland, new band old jam
april showers bring mayflowers which brings small pox and amazing mazes of maize, gratefully grating on the last notch on the tribal belt, never felt, born to melt, codify, solidify, turn into a gaseous state, sublimate, lamentedly lamenting, the bubble in the laminate
word play, absurd and okay, corralled and shot from a six string revolver, revolving, evolving, limbs and lungs, gills and irises, virtual, virtuous, virginal, pure, uncut untapped and unrefined, oxidized and weather worn, whether born, evenly torn
trampled, tramp stamped, stumped and pumped full of additives, subtractive and divisive, indivisible, invisible and unsettling, shockingly passive, electronically aggressive, repressive, reductive and just looking for ground
home, hope, sea monkeys and circus freaks, piled in the clown car and driving dangerous curves, curvaceous and fundamentally flawed, in awe, swinging on the trapeze, drunkenly taming jungle cats, whips and chairs
big top, power bottom, three rings, engaging, engagement, enhancement, zoomed in and blown out of proportion, all open pores, over poured, complexities and overblown, arguments, degenerates, political policies all dine and dash
heavy set and underweight, plumped up with water displacement, evasive and off the chart, badly bruised and overcooked, the hook, the rook and the calculated queen to knight gambit, games and puzzles, riddles and rants
needs more salt, more fault, more blame and shame and common indecency to start, ambient and stereoscopic, incompetently inebriated and set down the path to languish, anguish and separate stages
vorpal weapons and carpal tunnels, tingly fingers and beheaded off at the pass, i regress, digest the offal and ideals, destitute, a prostitute with ever itching scabs, scams and cons, grifting through the flour, sifting through the shame
innocuous and indigenous, endocrine endoscopy and end times abound, four hoarse men of the epochalypse, one lozenge between them, behold dearth, family, patience and warm, the end never seemed so far away
i had to loosen my bible belt because of the restrictive nature of commonalities and an awful case of the burning bush, penitent, prominent and in need of penicillin, prevalent and dripping like a faucet in winter
writing to dull the pain, to fill the empty cavern inside, an optical illusion, a tropical delusion of grandeur and self entitled angst, currently drowning in the current, currants and poppy flavored kisses
cradled in cromulence, a confluence, a fork in the road, legs splayed and dismayed, mismatched and saddled with misnomers, missing you, the missing ewe, clones and doubly true, covered in dew, overdue, coming through
examined and excused, recused from the stand, stained and turning blue, blown away, accused and accursed, accessed and recessed, revealed and disingenuous, honestly mislead, retread and unsaid, muttered little sighs
brand names brandished with ephemeral epidemics, cancerous and pus filled portents of impending womb, of motherships, an internship, aboard, abroad and designing a better wheel, a cheaper deal, a deeper steal
advertising loss in hopes of being found, founded on the premise that enough is just the start, orbital obituaries, contrary and obtuse, refined and declined, not enough credit and monumentally blind
same band new jam, precluded and excluded, serial killer and optimal thriller, placed in the chiller and left to die, open sores and flatulent whores, wined and dined and left unwound, undone and saved for later
saving grace, out of place, outer space and the scent of burning flesh, a flash in the pan, reduced to the span of a blink in this clever demise, revise, review and rethink, readjust the moral compass, self worth and rebirth
this trickle of sounds, rewound and played at double speed, insatiable need and the lost tone of indecipherable suffering, alone with nothing but the errant words, the need to just be quiet
to just be heard, herded and sent to the manger, mange and shedding skin, mountain top vistas, and unmarked visas, biases and ingrained from birth, the girth and the reciprocated understanding that this is not it
this is not it
this is not fucking it
end of recording
I love these. They take me all sorts places in my mind.
LikeLiked by 1 person
they are my brain purge.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Love it
LikeLiked by 1 person
If I tried that, it wouldn’t turn out half as amazing.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Never know until you try
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh I have actually. Quite a bit. I just rarely post.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I post all my crap, good or bad. Once I finish I publish without thinking.
LikeLiked by 1 person
That’s ‘cause you’re a better writer than I…
LikeLike
No
LikeLike
Maybe we should have a poetry “write-off” (like a competition) where we are given a subject and 24 hours to publish it. One after the other. See who wins LOL like ro-sham-bo for writers LMAO
LikeLike
That could actually be fun. My problem is I’d be done in like fifteen minutes as that’s my average writing time. Then I’d have twenty three hours and forty five minutes of getting kicked in the rocks
LikeLiked by 1 person
god I wish I could bust something out in 15 minutes… it could be a week of writer’s ro-sham-bo. I guess every poem you wrote that day could be under that theme… but then you’d have like six to my one. hhmmm
LikeLiked by 1 person
You get more likes on your pictures than I do in a day of eight poems. I could never compete.
LikeLike
It wouldn’t be about likes or views. Couldn’t be. I have more ‘followers’… I guess we would just have to judge it for ourselves.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hey! You read my blog?? lol
LikeLiked by 1 person
Once in a while.
LikeLike
Those must be the days you need to a boost in self-confidence. Read shitty love poetry and feel better about yourself! Hey! That’s great! I DO serve a purpose.
LikeLike
I need a boost everyday. And still go to sleep filled with self loathing. It’s kinda my thing. Never good enough
LikeLike
I hear you there.
LikeLike