Poemranker [Replying] Fri May 03 19:53:33 PDT 2024

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SupremeDreamer (Free verse) by Nirvana13666

A frigid look An empty bedroom Living inside a dead mind I look out and only see black I am blind to colors that bleed bright The solstice of my life is over Solitude has begun I shiver at the thought of your frigid looks Pain is a remedy for my delusion You arenât even there anymore Yet your stares turn my blood cold I wish you wanted me I wish you hadnât forgotten the way I hate I died yesterday Today itâs just my dead body wanting Wanting to feel alive again

horus8

24-Sep-03/11:32 AM

Part I : Catching the Bird

At a hotel room in Royal Oak

Sleeping the day away.
Upside down on the couch.
The mail slot in the door would open,
with a box of light, indiscriminately.

A set of eyes with voice,
"You got your rent?â

Silently,
I put my pants on.
Letting the question answer itself.

Border towns & the runs

A border town faceless
and hostile as a car bomb
With sailors and donkeys
And prostitutes that pull
their life's work behind them
In a suitcase on loud wheels.

A drunken bald tattooed spic
gets his head bashed in
with a Corona bottle
While I'm talking to a
cute and pudgy beauty
that thinks I'm as fruity
As parrot soup & chili Verde.

Everything is for sale
Everyone is waiting
To take you into
their doors and give
you a taste of your
own medicine.

One last walk around
the cobble-stoned block
A beautiful streetwalker
flashes me her brown tits
Then pulls up her skirt
To whip out a dick.

I flick my cigarette
and then show her mine's
bigger than hers, limp.
Later, I go eat at something
resembling a Denny's
I order using the "English" menu
I get the "scrabeled eggs and Bakon"
with a smile turned mad grin.

When the sun finally arrives
I find a crack to climb into.
To sleep it off, and wait it out.
Having no intention of seeing
these filthy in between people
returning back to normal.
Because, I know we won't ever
let them. It's too fucking
affordable, lazy, and risky.

John Denver's Han glider

Bobbing, fluorescents...
Hot pink, electric blue nylon
Wing, waves, slight breeze...
Sunset, Albatross eyeing the
situation. Always looking out
for a lazy moment to preen and one leg.

Spanning the remnants of music
and water. I can vaguely hear
a blowhole off in the distance.
If I was not so hypothermic and disoriented.
Treading for my life. I bet I
could even imagine how its spray
might feel; If my saturation currently
was instead a desert, a dune, a Gila
monster's paradise, and me oh my oh was
not so awash with thirst and sun burnt laziness.

Is that a dingy dinging?
The bark of a sea lion?
The fin of a Maeko shark?

When I last hugged a tree?
It was for dear life.
I had been on peyote for days,
and I was convinced that if
I squeezed hard enough.
It would pull me in.
For good.

Current, riptide, undertow.
All fine examples of secret movement.
Moon, blood, women.
Yes, I'm awake. More bright
eyed and bushy tailed than that
hare who shunned holes for pipes
and slippers and drumsticks.
Fast, but not proud.
Warm milk spoiled.

Cycles, poles, reproduction.
In my past life, I was a square
boulder from Mu.
Then some surly native went and carved
me into a giant head with
exaggerated ear lobes and lips.
Doomed to fall face first, I did.

Snow Coning

Movie of the week
"The man on the ice float"
Drifting further south
Than most have ever.

He spies a plane circling
And decides to piss the word
"Privacy" in immaculate cursive.

The plane writes,
"Buy a car this 4th of July!"
In large puffy cottony letters.
The man ponders the invitation,
But then hunches down & scoops himself
a snow cone out of his new home with his hat.

Happy fucking Birth Day, America.

Thoughts on getting back

On getting back;
Who are you said plant to yr
hazel. I am witch.
I am your sore thumb.
Glass explodes
Death Gardel.

& 7:30 comes.

My grandfather has a flesh-eating bacteria.
1966 jungle parasite.

STAFF SEEPING IN GAUZE
JESUS ANTI PALM PRINT
Black blood & full moon.

Pull
push
fog
lighthouse
Tahoe.

I lick my cold sore
Who in the fuck are you?
I am yr bad hand.
I am yr rattrap
Snapping dragon
poppy sac kneel
bicuspid slip
yawning nap
then twilight
and Columbian
guitar for my family

Aye yah yah yah yah.
cuckoo rue cuckoo.

I am yr long nail.
When I luv for keeps.
I keep.

Mini van
Arco
Mexican eyelash & miniature cantaloupe.
When I was five I climbed trees.
Yes, trees
I hid
I was silent & forgettable
I extended
I still am.
pulling from, and
to shadows.

Now scratching at the shudder.
rattle breath you do howl low
you do
still &
yr mine, and
only a vineyard
and a grape walk
and a long talk
can save us now.

Save us now
and happen.
Recording
yr yesterdays.

Air sickness bag

Sitting next to you on that airplane
could only be compared to
being cooked alive
by pygmies with no salt,
or culinary etiquette.

And when you started
comparatively analyzing
yourself to people in magazines?
Was right about the time when
I yawned and asked
for a pillow and blanket.

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