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
pulling off a bukowskipulling off a bukowski by moejo
I don't want to pull off a Bukowski.
He was such an unhappy man
He had nothing but his
(He has me beat there)
He saw the worst in
He loved nothing but his
He only found serenity within his