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BIG BANG TheoryThe first BIG BANG was the echo of a coughBIG BANG Theory by *MattVoscinar
which reverberated the sound of tar filled lungs.
Warning
Cigarettes may will cause cancer.
This cancer is called life,
grown from the bacteria of a smoker's phlegm.
Here we stand created;
not from monkeys but,
the remains of tumors.
(Or maybe monkeys are a premature stage of such diseases).
And so it was born:
The story of a young boy,
who never took the time
to wonder where it all came from.
He is but a monkey
wearing his feces,
and giggling at the humility.
Pride is his diaper.
His mother cradled him gently
rocking back and forth
with the sway of shipwreck romance.
His father is was her sai
The CatchThere is nothing more reassuringThe Catch by *MattVoscinar
than the barking of dogs
and tapping of rain
and chirping of birds in
the recesses of the night.
But all that I wish for
in my solitude is to speak. So I shall
speak to myself. Am I mad?
If so then madness is a thing redefined.
When I hear of madness I think of peyote kings harkening to lost gods in the wilderness
and little boys whispering of equality in classrooms. I think of
Ritalin pills in school yards and Adderall in the libraries and
knife fights between the mind and the body.
I cannot be mad. If I were mad then I would not
be well enough to know it. Into combat I shall go and not complain!
CasualCasual by ~jackgunski
And that concludes my presentation
on cost projections for 2014.
I will now take a moment
To answer any questions you may have.
Yes…
Well, that doesn’t pertain to
Cost projections, but perhaps
You’re not washing your dog enough…
It’s not my responsibility to
Make your dog smell nice.
Do we have another?
You, in the blue shirt…
Yes, I do own a car…
Why would- in the tailpipe?
What could you possibly
Accomplish by doing that?
Anyways, it’s irrelevant.
Moving on.
Let’s try to keep questions
In line with the subject, ok?
You…
Not the tailpipe, cost analysis.
Oh, a real quest
procedureMidazolamprocedure by `thetaoofchaos
the formula for amazement: a rare pollen from the surplus field
where horses haven’t grazed since April’s warm orgy
left a bindweed pink disease,
unrepenting against chainlink,
nights spent foraging for a spectre to grieve over,
to watch for while it elevates and descends
like a dumb waiter serving sunlight
to jealous little bastards, birthed and trailing in umbilicals,
sleepy, glass-eyed hydras
who never listen to anything,
uninvolved in my tiny drama,
the feeling of losing my treasured afflictions,
the mythos that fastens the concrete to dirt,
the wind to my spirit-skin,
is dulling the edges of the skyhead
everiThe concrete:everi by ~a-secret-key
excavation, repair, deathmask ? Ancient
still prods winter, gently, trees
awake to shiver
and expire. Do I see bones or
porcelain skin?
It does not matter, I know
that- even if we don't. I wash consciousness
upon them, waves of thought, thick
with meanings. Creation
through questions. I have no explanation.
Ghosts hold up my rafters. I
wonder, is thought the remedy
to decay? Rotting and forgetting- two moon drift
laws. The soils dissolve human
fragments- is this healing? I think
too much, and suddenly it's evening.
We embrace it. Sky
and breeze and a graveyard, tree shaded
and tidy. In memoriam
in a nowhere
what if this was the song of myself?1. god laced your eyes with opiumwhat if this was the song of myself? by ~winterkate
stitched them shut with cotton fog. wake, love – cough
like a gunshot, breathe
like the blood eagle
has been carved into you. time didn't mean
to blind the moon's great eye, to
collapse it into the static horizon.
my lips can no longer pronounce the word mercy. wake,
love. please.
just breathe.
2. the days crack like porcelain dolls
under my father's boots. there are skulls
hidden in the cabinets, & shadows too, hung in the closet
like thin-pressed coats.
like suicide.
3. razor, rohypnol, rope. bathroom,
bedroom,
basement. if i touch all three
before i leave
i won't pick one up
Sta.sh
s on Shameful Kink and Unrelated Poems
