Kitten's Litter

Part I

Arms in kilometer sleaves roll over milky hills.
stret c h i n g
Arms, miniature armies, fingers march, one, two, three, on and on.
Broken fists stay silent, humble in the absence of a beat
lack of anger, pulpit and common meat.
But no artificial border, barbed wire or bodies of water
can prevent these arms from reaching towards the weak,
burning hands snap swan necks with a grinning handshake
all in one blink.

Part II

Step after step, these feet automatically move ahead,
tendons might disconnect, muscles might overheat,
but if our feet know fear they will hum to the rhythm
of a predetermined beat.
Follow the lead of the amputated sheep.
Strut loud, strut down the street until these
caloused soles bleed.

III

In a cavity, in a cave of riches and bleached bones
lives an old troll. All day he sulks, sits in the back
on his flesh throne.
Sometimes he cusses or yells about
how much he hates dying alone.

 

dare you to double cross,
so I can erase
memory lapses,
still I've got mine,
and you've got your
loss.
c'mon,
try to suffocate me
so I can really
learn to breathe.

break your words
and I will dust them
off my palms,
introduce bad theories,
clever methods
of torture
so I can simply smirk
as I fold my arms.

yes,
bring me down lower
and I will learn to rise up
wiser, higher, stronger
because
I thrive when I throb.

 

I wonder if you have a heart,
a well oiled device all wrapped up,
does it speed up, does it stop
or do you put it on pause
when you paint, taint
everyone black and blue
in one stroke of a wide brush.
I wonder if you can stand up,
without clutching my arms,
use me as your crutches,
or use me as your safeguard.
What happens when the pieces
get all mixed up,
allies turn so fast
when you're disarmed.
smooth now but soon
it will be rough,
I wonder if you'll notice
when your heart is
turned off.

 

I'm vibing with this short.

 

Each morning,
wake up with a heavy mind,
full of stillborn words and ragged stones,
with a heart that weighs a couple tons,
the silence rings, I opens doors
and lets the lifeless air out.

Nothing left to do at home, but settle at the bottom,
give roots into pine veneer and vegetate to the
refrigerator drone.

I leave the lights on, leave quiet walls,
leaking faucets, empty cupboards,
rust on the radiator ribs,
dust and mold on the ceiling and floors.

Outside, instant sniffles
and shivering spasms,
hands burrow deeper into pockets,
I walk between high-rise bodies of
dead concrete.
Flickering beads of lights
weave around the neck, the roadsides
and the streets.
Paper labels litter wet pavement,
smeared and ripped.

Alloy air,
garbage mixed with a wingspan of spring.
I inhale and hold it in.

Destruction,
not bubble wrapped, not safe,
but ugly, gritty, pretty.
Natural man-made decay
mirrors the way that we were
and the way that we are,
and still continue to be,
still we survive.

I don't believe in a single god,
not for the fashion but because
Ive seen many gods
in the old, in every stranger and homeless
or the overworked hurrying home,
in the listless faces of mothers,
tired, humble and strong.
Its not spiritual or supernatural,
but rather mundane
it's all about having a backbone
when the forces of human nature
take over and ignorance reigns.

It's when there is constant defeat,
but there is hope in spite of
complete absence of hope
coming not from above
but from the inner reserves of all.

I have witnessed that
we survive on our own.

 

you washed my feet in the warm soapy water,
​

they were dusty from running all day on the streets,
​

the soil here is black and sticks to socks and shoes and
​

half exposed ankles and toes,
​

and so every night, after we got home past the sunset
​

you would give us hot tea and home made pastries
​

that were prepared during the heat and the humdrum of
​

summer days, while everyone was absent
​

either due to work, or visiting friends or as in my case
​

carefree creating make belief universes out of sand dunes
​

tree branches and other worthless debris.
​

youd embrace me before going to sleep, firm and massive,
​

making me feel really treasured, as if afraid to let go
​

and I inhaled your flowery gown, your familiar scent,
​

the scent of this old house built with
​

your smooth hands,
​

one time, you got mad when I misbehaved
​

and didnt come for dinner when called for,
​

you walked out on the street with a rolling pin,
​

I saw you and said uh-oh
​

I was sitting on the infamous logs of our
​

little commune street with my two cosmonauts.
​

Ive escaped into space with mere threats.
​

on good days, Id help collect gooseberries in the garden,
​

then sit out on the benches beneath the trunks of giant dark trees,
​

eat sunflower seeds, listen to gossip, laughter, the shuffle of cards,
​

breathe the fresh evening air and watch the flushed sun slowly sink.
​

on rainy days, everyone was advised to stay in,
​

although I longed to be in the middle of storms,
​

arms like helicopter wings, spinning and catching the drops on my tongue,
​

what did I know or care about pneumonia,
​

but rules were rules, so instead we spent countless hours
​

around living room table playing games,
​

chess, checkers, bingo, crosswords and cards,
​

sifting through pre-war sepia photographs,
​

boxes of relatives and tinted letters.
​

you loved love stories and soap operas,
​

new discussion subjects with the neighbors, for next days.
​

staying busy and active, attracting
​

everyone in town with your warmth,
​

welcome all with open arms,
​

small talk for old wives,
​

alcohol for old men and delicious treats for the kids.
​

youve done more than enough,
​

impacted everyone you knew,
​

and loved.
​

youre one of those people who when happy,
​

infected with laughter,
​

when upset you are not afraid to cry,
​

you might have been simple,
​

but that is a virtue in my mind,
​

you were always sincere
​

and youve taught us all
​

how to forgive
​

and be kind.

****
I just realized that this thread is worth two years of work. 04-06 That's pretty neat.
​

 

I'm your plan B, second-rate girl,
when all else failed,
when all the others, for whatever reason,
no longer satisfied,
all efforts and attention turned towards my pursuit,
maybe because I was a challenge, a curiosity
and seemed a bit different, who knows, it’s irrelevant.
I was handy and kind of cute and maybe you said to yourself
“Alright, I can work with that”
put on your game face and made me feel like I was the best one.
Who wouldn’t melt under the subtle, slick well placed, well timed flattery?

Pat your back boy, it was a job well done, after about a month I was feeling it.
By then I didn’t mind or I tried to disregard being tallied,
just another girl somewhere down the list of victories.

I spoke nonsense about emotions and caring and wanting to be a saint
and it all flew over your head or entered one ear as you played the
sympathetic, concerned listener.

I’ve proved myself to be quite sturdy and resilient,
I stood in shadows, held your hand as you boasted
and fluffed up your feathers and took cheap shots
at my expense. I knew my place.
I stood in shadows, held your hand as you flirted,
teased and joked with other girls right in front of me.

And you could do that
because I was steady, because I was certain and I lacked
the spark of something new and exhilarating
and because you knew I would still stand there and wait for you.

I’ve proved that I could take your indifference, your silence and moodiness,
I could trail somewhere behind even when suddenly
at the sight of someone new your eyes would light up and there would be laughter,
striking like spit and spite and a slap across my face
still I had to play it off like it was all natural, and I was simply glad that you were
once again smiling.

I’m your plan B girl. And I accepted my part because you convinced me
to love and then I thought that perhaps in this game sacrifice is necessary.
And that was alright with me.
I was willing to let you fool around because I thought that
my time would soon be up and I didn’t want to interfere with budding relationships.

You were before me, a lot.
It’s no big deal, you’d say, but in reality I cried a lot. Did that not mean something?
Sometimes I wished that you would just come to me, look at me,
confess and that would be that, done, the end, we're both free at last.
I knew, sure it would hurt, but at least everything would be straight and obvious,
I would learn to cope and wish you two nothing less but happiness. No lie.

But it dragged on and on and I was losing myself. Second-rate girl.

I stood in shadows, held your hand and wished and waited for you to finally break me
apart.

 

Wow, I can really relate to your poem. It's terrific! That poem made me feel what I have been suppressing these past two monthes. I love that poem!

Peace and love

 

I love! This piece is simply pure magic. Enjoyed immensely!

 

Good stuff, glad to see new poems, from you.

 

I am top-heavy and
I like to speculate
what might happen
if I topple over,

will I plow the asphalt
with my naked head,
will I leave a trail
full of screaming red.

So I could say,
well at least,
I am in all of these stains
and this is how
I remain,
and this is how
I adapt,

instead
of lying helpless
and
thinly spread,
painfully content
with yielding
to being no
different
whether alive
or dead.

 

Love in
ice cream scoops.

Overdose

on familiarity
on similarity.

Too sweet or too thick,
and it could easily make
anyone sick.

With each consequent
lick,
the excitement tends to
grow weak,

so have we reached the end
of flavor?

I want to be your favorite.

 

this is beautiful

 

does this wool over my eyes
make me seem years younger
or does it appear that
I hunger for indifference.
I will step on you
and you can smash my face
with told you so’s
and so it goes.
the wool is sleep-inducing,
stretching eyelids
down to my chin,
it’s alarming
how quickly I’ve been
pacified and
with efficiency you’ve
put the ester gauze
over my mouth.

you've deemed me worthy,
and now I'm honored.

so work your magic,
there is no fair play,
I am your patient
and inanimate.
I am subdued,
so infiltrate,
climb up my spinal column,
and tug the cables of my axons
and watch the reflexes twitch,
I am insensitive.

you'll whisper kindly,
candied words, like drips of honey
that spill over the brim,
they are like liquid, slipping,
but soon the words will coagulate,
and the wool will dissipate

and I will seek second opinion.

 

I am empty,
I am heavy,
or full on nothingness.

I am a black hole,
I swallow light bulbs
and spit out splinters.

I used to think
I wore heavy armor
until I met someone
made entirely of stone.

I used to think
that I was strong
until I met someone
who crumpled me up,
ripped the edges,
burned my pages,
until the words blurred
and there was nothing left
to read at all.

 

Wood grains run down,
parallel, hand in hand,
rivulets racing,
chasing each other,
interweave, then separate
at the junction, at my elbow bend.

If only I could claw through iron,
and numb the anticipation of the fire,
I would let my pipelines burst
with a breathing color,
burning wood and water
all the same.

Exhaust my vocal cords
and veins.
I will keep
the stains like dragons,
cradled in my hands.

Morning shower,
in the molten lava,
scrubbing skin,
bask in a metal glow,
oil noisy joints, fix the broken bones,
I sit in the aftermath,
of the night before.

Bored.
Cold shoulders, twitch, ignored.
Eyes beg for closure,
to be dried out,
and undisturbed.

 

he said he would call me tomorrow,
but I don't know if that day will come.
I can't distinguish between
references of time,
they merge and become
a solid, tangible mess of headaches.
or reminders of the absences,
like weights hanging from my neck,
stifling with every step.
holes fill up the house,
plugged, spread so rapidly,
and metastasize,
from the man-made and lifeless
to the cells of my skin.
but then again, I can't distinguish
between me and this chair,
into which I sank deeper,
or it sank too deep into me.
we are anchored,
and okay for now,
there is a need to divide.
to become detached
from the familiar,
I must tear myself away
in order to see myself
separately.
I am digested by the walls,
and floors and ceilings.
I can't distinguish between
up and down and which is worse.
but I know, something must be worse,
there must be a preference.
and so I choose, accidentally
and hope that I'm not wrong.
he said he would call me tomorrow,
but the syllables and symbols
stranded on their own
are unrecognizable,
black crumbs on paper,
it's a jungle, a riddle,
and a question in my voice,
what does it mean?

 

He spoke spirals of smoke,
He exhaled halos.

Heart beats like Morse code.

I inhaled residue,
and his voice like snow.

I remembered how
he crawled on all fours
along the walls
and thawed.

And I glued my palms
to wallpaper,
tongue-tied,
and listened, heard
everything
through cinder blocks.

In an empty room
stuffed
with
heavy sighs,

He spoke.

 

I'm betrayed!

and you,
you don't know betrayal
until you've met it, point blank,

and I want to become unnoticed,
blend with the linens
or irreversibly fade.

I'm unwell!

coiled and pale,
drained of the courage
to stand up and consult
the deaf.

The dark we've both hastily buried,
now leaks through my back
and soaks the bed.

Something crumbled
into the pit of my stomach,
or a nagging question
gave roots in my head,
maybe lungs softly deflated
or the strings
that once harnessed the heart
could not handle the strain, and
snapped.

 

dude u write so much but whats cool is that not one poem is the same... in the way u write or even what u write..... nice stuff.