Saturday, June 4, 2016

June 4



5 comments:

  1. Hedera, commonly called, Ivy.

    Hedera. Species evergreen of climbing plants. Creeping on level ground, unnoticed. Until outcrop is spied, when you twist your neurons, into a tower.

    Hedera. Time cracked open. Nothing to lose, I thought. Horizon handmaiden, I thought, in dazzling smart cut. A club I’d join, I thought.

    Hedera. I gobbled with glee, to quench my information thirst. Epidemiology for change. Power chambers, unlocked in verdant hills.

    Hedera, One day long after, I met you. I came upon a magnifying glass. I crawled on the ground in amazement. Studying the structure of your ivy veins.

    Hedera. The lens broke open, forgiveness. For why I could not retain, your encyclopedia. Your model of photosynthesis. Your enzyme values.

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  2. Such strength and control
    I will need
    To combat my addict brain.
    Shut it down, turn it off
    Think it through, manage a stipend.
    How will I know
    When to say when?
    The girl who always takes it too far.
    The one who ends up bloodied
    because of her inability
    To STOP...
    So for now
    I don't count the days.
    My palms sweat and my grip on control loosens.
    It feels okay today.
    I can categorize and separate.
    Analyze measure suppress
    It feels okay today.
    There is reassurance in that.

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  3. If good intentions were a pair of shoes
    They'd cramp up in the toes
    Pinching all my good ideas
    Making all my highs, my lows

    The laces would be much too long
    And tangle up under my feet
    Wrapping around my positives
    Tripping me in defeat

    The soles would be too hard and flat
    Painful, like my wounded pride
    Worn away in the heels
    Impeding my forward stride

    If good intentions were a pair of shoes
    They'd be sweaty, constrictive and hot
    They wouldn't be worth wearing
    More often than not

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    Replies
    1. great imagery. oh those too tight intentional shoes!

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  4. self-sabotage

    It’s a kind of ninja stealth maneuver
    Perfected by an army of quick determined
    Soldiers of misfortune. But before that
    Come the spies, who only live in the cold.
    They wear trenchcoats and they are continually
    Reporting back to the center of subconscious
    Intelligence about what really matters, what
    The target
    (Moi) really wants. They are always on the lookout
    Always undercover there are teams of them talking
    Into tiny tape recorders, calling from invisible payphones
    To their assets who they send out to the grocery store,
    The wine shop, any public place, and even to private ones
    Although there they are less active because they think that what’s private doesn’t
    Matter — I know
    Better. I turn the tv on loud,
    And run the dishwasher and the garbage disposal
    Simultaneously. If the spies are distracted enough, they
    Won’t contact the ninjas, they'll give the assets a day off and they’ll
    Let me write this poem. But I better finish it quickly
    Before they
    Get
    Wise.

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