i got so much stuff
i don't wanna do
not gonna consider
or start anything new
a serpentine line of arduous chores
slithers accusingly along unswept floors
tasks get caught in the particles
that blow in the air like motes
the dust and specks
all the this' and that’s
await the opening of doors
multi planular diversions
stacked up in formation
teasing near the nth of the truth
like a neutrally set neural net
catching both good and bad
my heart pulls external dismay
sends it racing in my blood
manifestations of my laziness
hold blinding slivers of mirrors
at every angle
flash flash flicker
only serves to further
the absolute will
to not
do anything
at all
it’s not a dilemma
it’s not a charade
just a simple
unmaking
of the plans
that were made
it’s the absence
of structure
it’s devoid
of all form
it’s sad
and its happy
it’s cold
and it's warm
About the Creator
Bren
"It's just a token of my extreme!" - Frank Zappa
"Cause it's all in the heat of the moment It's all in the pain!!!" - Devin Townsend
Centre Stage with the wonderful Heather Hubler
I'm writing it out not acting in doubt!
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1:49am
4/16/25 1:49am I want to breathe death in my larynx and feel loose change in the torn and raggedy pockets of my mother’s cardigan. The water is next to the bed. It’s not cold and never will be. So I guess what’s left is us; we will walk with crooked feet on a path carved by ancient societies. You will borrow my shoes. I will taste vengeance in my tea and convince myself it’s good for my liver. Coffee is fine too. Yes, that’s all. I will think about how I want to kiss you and, the clouds, they will rise to space, and leaves, they will glue their limbs back together. The sun has been out for weeks. This screw isn’t any looser than when I bought it. But I will wake up and I will be in the ship that splits in two and slide my sullen palms across its tundric pillow. I never took swimming lessons so whatever happens is meant to be. I’m sorry if that upsets you. I’m sorry I said that. Anyway, I want to lie nude in wildflowers with ants who build colonies and worms who can’t see. You have a problem with textures. You can’t help it. I could try to tell you things, like how I want my children to understand how little everything is and to not be afraid of the giant fingers that grab at sewing needles in their dreams. I could say it always scared me. It’s just not right. But listen, back to it: I want to indulge in passion and binge affection. Is it a sin if it helps? I will endure the things I am given and inculcate everyone around me to do the same. Do five laps around the block before you respond, whatever helps. I will tell you I want harmony to be palpable and wheels of recognition to be locked in an imperishable gear. Refill the pot if it’s empty. What I want has nothing to do with me. Diagonal tile is cold, you know, and my hair gets crunchy after too long out there. I want this lesson to end.
By Olivia Dodge5 days ago in Poets
Comments (2)
Thinking is the first step to action.
Whether this was your intention, "my heart pulls external dismay - sends it racing in my blood," vividly educes that caught-in-a-riptide sensation of inner chaos which can be inflicted upon us by disarrayed environments. Despite having felt it for most of my natural life, I've not had the lucidity to imagine or describe it so eloquently as you have. As per always, I am inspired, by the undeniable quality of yours, to go and better my own word-vomit. Thanks.