The Dread Pirate Buttercup

A Voyage of Existential Comfort

Category: Poems

To an Impervious Man

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To hell with the longing of the old,

The impermanent lusts of

Ancient

Greece and Rome.

 

Bring me new craving

 

Bring me unfiltered passion

 

The unbroken fusion of

Mind and body.

 

No purely transient touch will do.

 

I want to tremble from breath to brain.

I want to lose consciousness

From tongue to toe,

Satisfaction through

Satiation of all-over stimulation.

 

No more Sex for the herd,

One on one.

No eyes,

No constraints.

All hands,

All head.

 

I want to redefine foundations,

I want to start fires,

I want to create

 

New math,

New sound.

 

I want to change

The physical makeup,

Exhaust every nerve in my body,

Overload my senses.

 

The Alpha-Omega

Of passion

To satisfy

My bodily addictions

and

Fall,

Fast and hard

Into dreams.

The You generation

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Your words lack the texture

the grit

the grain

of a thought- filled speech.

 

They flow through

a shallow mind.

 

There is nothing to hold onto here.

 

Your body lacks

the Art

the History.

 

There are no bruises

scrapes

scratches.

 

No enlightened organ

lies beneath

perfect flesh.

 

Your mind lacks wanton thoughts.

 

A personal Knowledge

of the darkened corners.

 

Your time is misspent

appealing to the masses.

 

True to the form of your

genetics.

 

You create

a culture of

infirmity and youth.

 

A

shiny

smiling

generation

of smooth perfection.

 

A situational comedy.

A predictable tragedy.

In case of these three

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In case of these three things

I am not myself

I am yet another

I am everyone else

Break…

Ode To Something Great

Lavender,

warm earth and Petrichor

got her through the church’s door

Played Heaven’s thoughts upon her

a part as ruin’s daughter

Claimed by the war of Fathers

So Lavender I brought her

   

A great-great something

Something great indeed

   

Betrays an author’s hidden heart

Breath relieved of words,

with speed,

with ink,

the truth of love

Coffee colored pages of

Dust, I turn them into art

To earth instead she fell

some years later

Brings the smell

Lavender

warm earth and Petrichor

So sweet,

The least that I can bring to her

To rest

upon her feet .

In response to weekly writing challenge

Truly, Nothing…

I have nothing to say you have not heard.

I speak of  nothings I,

in cryptic Formulas with no answers,

Searching for things to reexplain

Words without meaning

Worlds without meaning

I imagine my thoughts ,

blank paper rising out of a vast sea of noise .

I open my hands to share the half of it.

You leave , empty.

What did I bring you here for, what did you come to see?

The demise of a wordsmith, no tongue for the telling.

It would be sweeter

to tell the truth

Fiction is so much easier

when there is no audience

No one expects exceptional isms  .

Have I given all my words to empty status .

To the ether

of a net, that catches nothing.

Applause, the sound of collectives

rewarding nothing

shakes the universe…..

I unaware

unguided in my descent

My mass feels too great

for fall-ing

The limbs that bore me seemed light in comparison

My landing was not felt by the world, those around me made space

oh so gently, how they maneuvered for my resting place

of brown, orange , red

I lay now under the feet of small children

Unaware of predetermination

I unaware

I was dying when I got here

I unaware’

My journey through  air

I unaware

My nature

No fruit to bear

I am unmade