[x]

time travel (continued)
i.
precious moments-
featherweight.

ii.
time heals, remember?

iii.
burying despair: death.

iv.
grandfather time, immortal?

silver-tinged twilight owls

nestle,

hooting

along

with the help of lofty, fresh leaves

so too, do the summer's evening

winds whistle around

the empty park bench passing

through the p

stargazersShe lives in a river of stars, intricately weaved into the eyes of Eden
it's just
the way his roses find beauty in her bramble-berry eyes
watching the sun sink into the ocean
together
waiting for the night sky

I will always remember him, eyes dancing, hiding her broken heart

Rainwater, hurricanes of lonely gray spilling onto the cloudy sidewalk. The stars are gone tonight.

Gray MasqueradeStriding through this gray, empty world,
I peer upon the hard faces of my peers.
False laughter rings in my ears,
Strained smiles depict something's amiss.
They all fit in,
Just a bit too much.
Robotic and stiff,
They are unidentifiable.
Caught up in the crowd and judgment,
They have lost their identity and their pride,
And their emotions are as flat and cold as those disguises they sport.
The world has come to this.
Even they don't know who they are any longer,
And everynight
Is like a masquerade ball.
I would rather die
Than live a lie.

living misslethis was once the center of things
a garrison of mustard seed and sedulous
one-armed scissors

but now summarily surrendered
to the direction of those bred to push buttons
like Theseus throwing

himself to the Aegean
half dissolved and resolved
to be a better reagent

currently disclosable informationthey're naked ships on the horizon
smuggling the tender metal-armed children
who will untie our knots and
tend to our fields
raised on impunative
alchemy and indignant occamy

there is quite a strange
thing doing quite strange things
somewhere entrained by the eyes paregoric
a spate of pro-
biotic indifference

and there are some beasts
you can't catch with tackle and bait
ones you must lure
with more orwellian versions of the truth
and those are the ones to keep
locked in small skeleton closets
to smother with pillows and bury

in the basement on christmas eve

in vitro meatsloth;
sill diffusing the bombs

the crime sorcier of hyper-
sexual plants

this air is so dirty
the sophists are sweating

while eating their supper, while
scratching their slogans

'to the spine of our eyes
shorthand-surreptitious

and the future assured
on the whim of synthetics

oneironautstereoisomers
we were proclaimed as the founders of feasts
not the same decaudate dogs
bred by the public domain

cool as the absolute/value of absolute zero

quasi-grunge
in the wheelhouse of liquid
shadowscapes churning
our compared notes on entropy

and all of the above

and the dark heart instilled
around itself builds
an army of somnabulist clones

ThawAs you are loaded
into the back
of the ambulance,

you thank God
that something
is happening at last.

brontosaurusthe slow strobe of thunder
everyone is fostering some Fabian ideas
the rabbits on the run
the fingernails dirtied

even uncle traveling Matt and his silly
creatures of outer space

so craft your own consequence
and wash it down with black milk
ratified
by the garbage pile you keep at the edge of your garden

while the drawbridge holds
your doppelganger and its pavonine
pasquinades at bay

scandalous strokes to the slow strobe of thunder

the disorder of operationsa jaundiced account
we pledged our allegiance to carbon
rods and reactors

quicksilver gizmos adorning our mantles
and the secrets we've found
in ancestral owl pellets

unearthed by the same
prosthetic hands
that tighten the tactical belt

You Took Something From MeI used to remember what was hidden in the moon
The light of a billion beautiful rays still shading in the looms
Now a broken soul, an apparatus to destruction, a tool
A word, a phrase, a paragraph or two
A day doesn't pass without me waking up in pain
To see your repugnant fucking face over me again
The terrors never cease and sometimes I desire
To be deceased, to baptise myself in fire
To leave this earth because my sanctity was violated
And I was young, how could you use this in advantage?
I can't even manage to describe my hate
You pushed the envelope, and I thought I was to blame
But it isn't that way now that I've realized
That I lied to

HumanI don't want to go outside.

It just don't

I hate explaining myself
I hate reality sometimes
I hate being alone
I hate having people around me

I'm sometimes a hypocrite
I'm sometimes a liar
I'm sometimes a procrastinator
I'm sometimes too bunt
I sometimes can't catch a clue
I sometimes don't understand
I sometimes get jealous
I sometimes get scared

I sometimes remember him
and want to slam my head on the counter
to erase what I thought was fatherly love

I'm scared of lots of things
I'm scared of bumps in the night
I'm scared of being touched
I'm scared of upsetting friends
I'm scared of being insensitive
I'm scared of people dying
I'm sca

See there's the girlSee there's the girl
The girl who's losing grip
Who is slowly losing everything
her screams of pain and sorrow
Fill her heart.

Do you hear her
Can you see her
Can you
Listen to her
Look at her scars that bleed

She means no harm
She's just dying inside
Help her before she's gone
Don't let her slip

Do you hear her
can you see her
can you listen to her
look at the scars that bleed

There she lays
The girl who cried out
the girl who everyone
Laughed at
The girl who did the permanent
Solution to a temporary problem.

DO you hear her
Can you see her
Can you listen to her screams
Look at her she's six feet under now

Digital bordersdes doigts des doigts mordus
compulsivement machés denudé des doigts
au bout des mains reliés au cerveau
par des autoroutes de nerfs blancs comme la neige passent des messages
reconnaissances
l'air de la terre une personne une poche
une cigarette
des doigts des doigts des doigts et à leur bout
la mort

au bord de mes doigts un autre, un monde
qui n'est pas moi

des doigts des doigts
les doigts sont frontières de l'homme

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#geniuspeople always ask
what do you #think about her lately
but i tell them i don't give much thought

to #natural disasters

or for that matter anything
strikingly unpleasant
or anything that exists in strictly

#academic senses

epochthe air was once filled
with stridulous cries of the carboniferous
whose superficial deaths
will only serve to supplement
what we sententiously have come to call
modern living

but that was the old times
when god's old erection heaved fresh
life into the mud
before collapsing
and sealing himself in a hermetic capsule
not to be remembered until the distant future
when desperate men would re-invent
the panacea of faith for the fourteenth time

and who themselves have long forgotten
the fossils that afford them
an unopposed reign
until their day in the sun has finally
been painted to shadow
and they beg for irrelevant forgiv

madness swallows the sunan incendiary string of light
has slipped into our sight
galvanizing shadows to conform

but before it can ignite
our flushed hands pluck with hushed delight
the sun before it breaks the cusp

of a plush and cocked horizon
and then rushing back to safety nets
of midnight's million open arms

the solar stone a glim and spinning
friction in our palms

vascularin a lifetime comprised
by a series of moments
this consumption can no longer be contained
not by insular acts
or erasable text

a movable feast that incites zealots

to grow their boarders in fear
of a generation assigned convenient reasons
to rebel against the past
ruled by transient emotions
and a utilitarian upheaval

of whiskey and icarus

to break walls
and the first ones through the wall always get bloody
always...
yet it's the hallmarks we miss that besiege us
and the inconceivable outcomes

that help keep us sane

fragments of space
and time in disorder
hunting the ghost in their veins

embellishing disastersour course is trite and twisted
spawned from too much magnetic force
immersed in verse once scientific
fact that's long defunct

debunked by minds not conspecific
to a contrived, polemic core
and when we reach the end we're turned
around to try again

exhaling sweet miasma
we skirt the will of plasma
embellishing disasters
simple patterns in the void

refusing sublimation
consuming conflagrations
and suppressing hibernation as its
clawing down the door

repressed to modes that can't expose themselves to something more

brickyou can break
a wall by removing one brick
and at times one brick

can constitute an entire wall

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Cretaceounism

by *thesquareroot, Jan 18, 2013, 5:33:55 AM
Literature / Poetry / Transgressive / Free Verse

what kind of dinosaur was your Father?
mine was the God of Gotham
a great Beast with seven heads
who choked down my brother when he
didn't come Home

but no prince am i
i the Animal who writes
like a sugarwater Chaucer trying
to seduce an old Goddess

who still knows how to wear heels
and a sharp Smile with a flourish
and holds no distinction
or unnatural angling

that i come from a long line of Dinosaurs

Cretaceounismby *thesquareroot

Literature / Poetry / Transgressive / Free Verse

©2013 *thesquareroot

.

~ChieftainDavid Jan 18, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

What a fantastic piece. Very well done.

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*thesquareroot Jan 18, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

thank you kindly

Reply

*Tuishimi Jan 18, 2013

Nothing like ancestory and family for self-analyzation.

Reply

*thesquareroot Jan 18, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

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