Oxytocin Poisoning
I am wrong to feel so happy,
heart thrumming with joy,
incorrect connections
are pink gumdrop-cloy.
I will never hurt you,
promises made, I think
enough distance is there
to ignore a nagging link.
Only, sit and talk with me,
laugh and play and cry,
spend hours and days-
I mute my mic and sigh.
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Othering
I can not understand you
your big emotions
your jokes, your anger
or your dying devotions
to what I already left behind.
I turn to the others,
to their reservation,
their calm, their smallness
or loud assertions,
but then they say:
“I can not understand you.”
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Generational
Alone here amid many voices;
don’t look down, don’t see me.
Looking up and waiting
I am nauseous on the sea,
pretty in pink and baiting
someone to reach down.
Now, little voices surround me,
little hands poke petals.
Resting before the mirror
in custom pinstripe metals
I see us clearer,
just listening to you talk.
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Fools
At dawn I thought to settle
by the flourishing light of day,
I'll Stuff You In My Chest,
he said, and true of any fae,
they laugh We Only Jest.
Envelop innards, red blue gold
wrapped in satin plastic
Back, Back, Further Still,
hands unsteady sweat orgastic
Further, Now, soft and shrill.
He rests and sets along a line
by the star-ceilings at night,
I'll Keep You Here Daydream,
he said, and took a knowing bite,
Stay, Play And Cry And Scream.
We rise and fall two and one
an acrobat turns, pacing
Don't You Mean To Leave,
they say, steady eyes blazing
Fools' Fealty You Believe?
I do, I reply, really honestly do
believe your beaming teeth.
Stuff me in your chest, I say,
and hold me there beneath
in trembling alloy, dying day.
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trash
put painted trash on the wall and it is art
and we gather around it and say
thousand, two thousand, one million
scroll up and see painted trash and
painted trash and painted trash and and and
and we say five dollars please
but you get three
because the app took its share of your labor
and the state took its share of your labor
so now
you just share your trash
for free
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Blood
The scent of my blood reminds
me of ink stains,
coats up to the knuckle and
fills the heart with nostalgia.
Like black on
my finger tip
it swivels and crooks
rocks like a ship
my blood reminds
of darker quieter times.
Fills the imagination with
massive warframes.
It makes my brain blind
with white light
despite the dark
despite the scent that
fills my heart with nostalgia
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autocannibalism
beauty in the blood beneath me
the red beaker is dripping poetry,
tiny things as tiny cells that cry in
red blood bleeding tears of votary
chew down your own leg for it
a dark thought you see and hear
red thing red teeth red paws
you bleed do you bleed sincere
so try again now you can try
one paw down face clean
red beaker red fur red dirt
empty it be seen
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In a Dream
I saw betwixt Heaven and Earth a shimmering wash of purple light,
glittering, an ocean, lonely in my eye like night.
I herd my cattledog down the stairs and each step I look up,
up towards it, that mournful shimmering glimmering light.
Each glance fills me and I silently cry in wonder and wonder
which thing looks down, too, upon my lonely sight.
What thing looks down at my feet awash in warm, heady rain,
at the crystal drops caught against strawberry moon?
And what thing thinks of me in wonder and wonders if it shall meet me soon?
But I will die a thousand moons before, somewhere, we greet
the shimmering wash of purple light together some listless alien afternoon.
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https://www.
Another bare faced baby born on the web,
his father in bootstraps, mother on her horse.
We search for even a freckle of glitter on his pale cheek;
we search for some truth in “authenticity.”
Every silicon-CEO’s baby mirrors the others,
all dashing in blue white grey; dark mode LEDs,
there’s a time limit, a character limit
for you to dot out your emotional ABCs.
Every two inches of screen buy pots and pans-
coming soon in April- every ten minutes sponsored-
look there, a new wave coming starboard,
a rush of thoughts on repeat from that blue boy.
Bare faced baby born yesterday, again and again
dying and rising as a cold sun, son of boots and mares.
And under the skins- the numbing layers-
these mirrors are all the same.
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Forever
We are all looking for yesterday,
in our friends, our pets, ourselves;
dying to breathe again how we
breathed when we were ten, and then
feel how we felt, smell carpet again,
burn and melt into it in a movie marathon.
We are all looking for yesterday,
sparkling signs, puppies at play.
Hard drives stuffed up with hundreds,
thousands of pure decades, sitting in
a closet shadow under burning memory.
We are all looking for yesterday,
in the touch of skin, a sound, an image,
anyone and anything to tether us there,
to lost worlds made of seconds.
But we will go on, searching, seeing,
and know that it’s okay.
We will only be looking forever.
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We nod
Behold, God's eyes lay open
on the face of the upholstery,
black in a three-tooth crown.
Laiden ash, white pearl rosary
clutched in soft shaking hands.
The carpet's dust, made of man,
blinks away from the tear of God.
This isn't right she cries
We say we know, we nod, we nod;
It's n
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Ĉiela Korpo
Millennia dim in his eyes,
Twice now, once before me,
and once after when I felt it,
distant, wet and cold like the sea.
He moved to my side subconsciously
and questioned it all.
It wasn't possible, but there we were,
a spreading warmth growing small
in the back of my mind like a star.
He'd said: you can't understand
what it's like to lose.
But I think I can, now, I can,
as he calms me in five-second twos,
because I can feel him and his pain.
That distant sea comes closer.
But for him, it's exponential,
I lean against him and whisper
in desperation I might warm him too;
in desperation of closure.
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The Trail
He peed here- here- and then here-
then the rain came to make the forest clean,
the asphalt, the rocks, the drooping leaves,
washed scrubbed and made bright green
My dog was wiped away from the wet wood
his soft puppy paws had toddled down
the tall aching pines and sopping oaks;
his face and tail and buried fur brown
have all been made new among heavy clouds.
Strange dogs can no longer smell him
when they walk down that clean path.
But I, stopping there, can hear him bark again.
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Meadow
I want to write Him a poem,
but my eyes are unclear, my heart trembles,
I want to write and show Him
how much and how long I have held His paws
when I finally slept, there, I saw Him,
a puppy again on the couch.
Eyes barely open, just a child
who grew, like me, to be something
muddy and southern-wild.
But I can hear Him crying when He’s alone,
He nudges His back feet.
I would serve Him any treat He asks of me,
and I hope He knows that I would.
I want to walk Him down the road again
while He tugs, tugs, never learned manners,
to smell the wet Earth, the dampened ridge
of rootbitten meanders.
But there I carry Him to the bridge, when He can’t walk-
He can’t walk. I tiptoe, I hardly stroll,
afraid to leave Him alone,
but when I lay Him down He then stands up
and kisses me, made whole.
Will I ever see you again? He doesn’t really know.
But He smiles, and He leaps, and He’s ready now
to be on His paws and go.
I kiss His wet nose and am sad, regardless,
when He prances away into the green meadow.
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twenty eight
Why is it all so
complicated
credit scores,
taxes and bi-monthly bills
knee sores and
rusty back yard grills
out of one hundred
and sixty eight hours,
twenty eight are
all mine.
So then how am I
to find the time
for other people,
too?
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Backyard Gardens
Grandmothers grow gardens in their backyards
while their grandchildren grow cold,
under no illusion that their efforts will
give spring onions or fresh fruits.
Grandfathers will dress their grandsons in
little gray business suits in hopes that
someone else's grandfather will treat them
the same now as a century ago.
But every grandbaby bites their tongue,
because we all know nothing new-
nothing better- will come of it.
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Consequences
it was my first month away from home,
in a pink-lit dorm room, quiet and alone,
where i booted up a game on my laptop.
watched like a top-down god, left to right,
mother guided me with fight or flight
(but she much preferred flight)
and i made my way to the bedroom.
did you know actions have consequences?
once broken you cannot mend the fences
that you trampled just because you could.
so when she blocked the door- when she fought-
i fought back, i had to, i thought
(because that’s how games worked)
but with her death the music stopped.
and i sat in the quiet pink-lit room aghast.
i re-loaded the game to load back the smiling past.
did you think you could really go back?
see that wasn’t how this was going to work,
he sat in the black with an evil smirk
(because dead is dead.)
because dead is dead is dead is dead.
because the fence you trampled just because you could
is never coming back; the fence is gone for good.
she was gone for good.
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