begins his long march
which is a trespass
across strange earth.
of the foreigners
to whom he is the foreigner
are silken whistles
which he misses.
This is a long march.
This is a strange earth.
I am my own stranger.
LiminalityIf I believe in GodLiminality by ashellessmind
he sends me
wings from his stomach’s
& allows me to limn sublimity.
Or if each is living oblivious
I’ll wake in fright
& limn the flightlessness
of that night’s
AmpersandsThis quiet night I rescindAmpersands by ashellessmind
belief in ampersands.
Their patient meaning
collapses from forceful impatience.
Make an allowance for all
virtuosity to conclude.
Single nouns must now be governed
by single adjectives.
A reflection of my own singleness,
a reflection upon my own lack of governance.
Their meaning of unity I have reproved.
Their meaning of incessance I have begged to cease.
Please, let there be no remnant to be found remaining.
Please, let there be no more anymore.
Of endings, I foresee only one:
a period upon a too long period
a plague upon a man who couldn't wait.
Tracking RainThe insinuation of soft salt-rose-petaledTracking Rain by ashellessmind
rain pelting the window whistles
into these too changeable ears until 24 years,
seized with overbearing yearning, pour
into a single glass. The year I became Christian,
which is the year you drowned me
in a reign of love, whisks castaway
among a torrent of lingering & malingering
& my engulfment is recast
as you lifting me dripping to the surface.
Soon the self I had perceived hardly seems to be,
but for a faint rattling like that of train
tracks being racked upon my brainwaves
& although stronger metallurgy leads to more
pristine machinery, so does the warping
of the rack lead to both a wandering from
& wonderment at a rainy day's brilliant
ability to diffuse.
Rape WordsURape Words by ashellessmind
can’t write no poems
outta rape words
get inside yo mouth
& won’t let ne good thing come out
push inside yo mind
& suck yo thoughts dry
press against yo chest
& suffocate w/e
wantz 2 b expressd
swim around inside ya
curse ya shove ya blind ya
cry cry cry cry
Considering cookie crumbsTime comes in chocolate cookie crumbsConsidering cookie crumbs by Jordonious
In poems sketched on park benches at noon
In Rose of Sharon blooms and the weekend
sinus infection, salty saline neti-pot nausea
And the prelude pricks on my forearms
Before the blue and brooding clouds erupt
Oh steady mortal heartbeat, oh deceptive cadence
And You who turned the faucet of my body and left it dripping
That time slips so sneakily out of me now
Draining somehow to a pool of good and evil
My daylight sags with disapproval
My full moon howls to its wizened darkness
So I could never rest in peace if I were honest
So I know to call the good things blessings
Like a chocolate cookie crumbling down my shirt
Or a honey bee buzzing in the roses
And the hand that brushes the crumbs away
And the pinch that plugs a nose from sneezing
A letterLast I walked here I saw the chthonicA letter by archelyxs
crafted into selflessness
and you were telling me about a string
you had set inside the walls, poised at the borders,
tore it out; the house collapsed,
spirituality hummed inside the suicides.
This would speak to us: to be fluid
before the dynamic ultimate, and comfortable.
I wanted to save you from the reaching
but my sickness digs channels before me,
the carnage: a neatly linear causality. My
gut feeling is that we're at the end
of something beautiful,
earthy but self-indulgent.
too narcissistic to swallow the
fear building up in the corners of my mouth, writing poems.
To the same degree, there would be no greater thrill
than to throw this to the sea in pieces.
The pressure: cycling, and the cursive: running easy.
You should have been able to stop it.
The emptiness never taught
you how hard it is to love nothing but power.
When I get caught, I won't be a dove thrashing in
a net spun from the finest yarn because
last I w
Memento MoriRandy died this morning.Memento Mori by i-too-am-karamazov
Randy with a backpack and a mullet.
His failed marriages and stomach ulcers
and cancer caught with him at last.
The TEFL teacher
never again to talk to his kids about Tibet
never again not to study the language
his nine years here that one day
it would just come to him.
Randy from Montana.
When the US Embassy got wind of his condition
they offered to send a private plane.
Randy with the score sheets and student essays
on crappy paper
and lectures to uncomprehending language learners
on nuclear reactors in Japan
believed in angels.
Randy who squirmed on the bathroom floor
in the early morning
to the unrelenting croak of his alarm clock
left me sitting in a circle with my kids.
A plastic bag catches the updraft
and scales the courtyard wall
and looking out the window for a moment
I stop and see it.