I have an official myspace now with audio tracks of my work available
www.myspace.com/hypotheticpoetry
CHECK IT OUT!!!
If anyone would like to hear a specific poem from either this blog or something you've heard me do (minus freestyles because it was a freestyle and in no way do i remember it) feel free to leave a comment here (anyone can comment on this blog), or on myspace. I will happily record it and post it just for you!
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
birthday presence
"birthday presence" - hypothetic
Here is a picture of the sheets you bought me
Its too bad we’ll never share them
But I found that sweatshirt you wanted
It still smells like your hair
Would it be wrong of me to keep it till that fades?
I took the pictures down
So it might be nice just to catch a glimpse
Of something
You.
Here is a picture of the sheets you bought me
Its too bad we’ll never share them
But I found that sweatshirt you wanted
It still smells like your hair
Would it be wrong of me to keep it till that fades?
I took the pictures down
So it might be nice just to catch a glimpse
Of something
You.
Grand Finale
"Grand Finale" - hypothetic
What do you want me to say
I’m not sorry
Did it ever occur to you that maybe I got sick of it
That maybe it got old
How many times can I pick you up
Before you learn to stand for yourself
I am so sick of watching you just lay there
No, do not try to explain it
It is becoming a routine
You’re already medicated
What else can they do for you
Sure, call your dad
Tell him I yelled at you
He’s sick of it too
These 2 am phone calls aren’t emergencies anymore
Remember the Boy Who Cried Wolf
You’re that kid
Nobody is gonna come kicking down the door
Just to find you
Sitting there
Here, I’ll help you,
No why would we need more than one
It only takes one and I am not about to do for you if you fuck it up
Look
Squeeze, bang. done
I promise, you’re gonna feel a lot better after
And at least I wont have to listen to you piss and moan anymore
So yea, just pull this little apparatus and good night ladies and gentleman
Hypothetic has left the building
What do you want me to say
I’m not sorry
Did it ever occur to you that maybe I got sick of it
That maybe it got old
How many times can I pick you up
Before you learn to stand for yourself
I am so sick of watching you just lay there
No, do not try to explain it
It is becoming a routine
You’re already medicated
What else can they do for you
Sure, call your dad
Tell him I yelled at you
He’s sick of it too
These 2 am phone calls aren’t emergencies anymore
Remember the Boy Who Cried Wolf
You’re that kid
Nobody is gonna come kicking down the door
Just to find you
Sitting there
Here, I’ll help you,
No why would we need more than one
It only takes one and I am not about to do for you if you fuck it up
Look
Squeeze, bang. done
I promise, you’re gonna feel a lot better after
And at least I wont have to listen to you piss and moan anymore
So yea, just pull this little apparatus and good night ladies and gentleman
Hypothetic has left the building
Monday, January 19, 2009
Sunbathing
"Sunbathing" - hypothetic**(You can find the audio for this poem at www.myspace.com/hypotheticpoetry
Granulated rock flows smoothly over
Hollow bones
Prying, nestling into spaces where fluids used to be
Only, this corpse is barren, dry
Sold to the sun, it was caught staring
Pupils fixated on the only thing left pure
Calloused finger tips
Leathery from lack of contact
They rub and plead with his interpretation of a crucifix
A miniature time capsule dangling from gold chains around his neck
Had her image been composed of more skin and less paper
He would have worked his way through her make up by now
Down to what truly made her
But he wasn't much an artist and now
Constricting ribs suppress overflowing lungs
There is so much to say, but so little oxygen
In this desert of a sleeping space
And far too much time has elapsed
In this haze, welcomed like his shadow
But you can’t follow what’s behind you
The tongue massages his palate
Reconstructing tastes that used to be familiar
But this wasteland has more than burned his skin
Its charred his very soul
Now confessions are dripping through his pores
He circles pictures in his sweat
Finger painting perfection
Appendages reconstructing her jaw line
And the oh the way her curls would
Rest upon her subtle shoulders
He would even tie her hair into a tiara
But somethings are better left to whispers
Lips far too cracked for speaking
Spreading only to grasp some form of concept
Maybe osmosis could occur on the surface
If her lips were here to shelter his
She would shout some sort of soliloquy
Standing on a soap box
Her figure overcasting his
And he would call her the messiah
But he is reduced to begging now
Kneecaps crusted over by his vows
He recites them to the tune of Job
Shuffling under him they scrape and grind
Against hardwood and better judgment he calls to her
Rushing fingertips to cover leaks and lips
He has spilled a secret
Candid Mona Lisas rest like vultures atop
His dresser and her wardrobe
They begin to circle now
Swooping down, he casts each arm open
They poke and prod
Tearing remnants of flesh from bone
They pause before his eyes
And carefully remove the lids
He must remain a witness
He reaches deep and squeezes
Pushing his last words from the alveoli
He recites the first two things that come to mind
“For God so loved the world”
And
“She will love you when she chooses, it was always on her terms”
He waits
But Edward nor Jesus will cross the threshold
They’ve seen what she has done
and now they wait for him
Only time is left to pass
His face is pressed deep into the hardwood floor
Granulated rock flows smoothly over
Hollows bones
He died here
Alone
Granulated rock flows smoothly over
Hollow bones
Prying, nestling into spaces where fluids used to be
Only, this corpse is barren, dry
Sold to the sun, it was caught staring
Pupils fixated on the only thing left pure
Calloused finger tips
Leathery from lack of contact
They rub and plead with his interpretation of a crucifix
A miniature time capsule dangling from gold chains around his neck
Had her image been composed of more skin and less paper
He would have worked his way through her make up by now
Down to what truly made her
But he wasn't much an artist and now
Constricting ribs suppress overflowing lungs
There is so much to say, but so little oxygen
In this desert of a sleeping space
And far too much time has elapsed
In this haze, welcomed like his shadow
But you can’t follow what’s behind you
The tongue massages his palate
Reconstructing tastes that used to be familiar
But this wasteland has more than burned his skin
Its charred his very soul
Now confessions are dripping through his pores
He circles pictures in his sweat
Finger painting perfection
Appendages reconstructing her jaw line
And the oh the way her curls would
Rest upon her subtle shoulders
He would even tie her hair into a tiara
But somethings are better left to whispers
Lips far too cracked for speaking
Spreading only to grasp some form of concept
Maybe osmosis could occur on the surface
If her lips were here to shelter his
She would shout some sort of soliloquy
Standing on a soap box
Her figure overcasting his
And he would call her the messiah
But he is reduced to begging now
Kneecaps crusted over by his vows
He recites them to the tune of Job
Shuffling under him they scrape and grind
Against hardwood and better judgment he calls to her
Rushing fingertips to cover leaks and lips
He has spilled a secret
Candid Mona Lisas rest like vultures atop
His dresser and her wardrobe
They begin to circle now
Swooping down, he casts each arm open
They poke and prod
Tearing remnants of flesh from bone
They pause before his eyes
And carefully remove the lids
He must remain a witness
He reaches deep and squeezes
Pushing his last words from the alveoli
He recites the first two things that come to mind
“For God so loved the world”
And
“She will love you when she chooses, it was always on her terms”
He waits
But Edward nor Jesus will cross the threshold
They’ve seen what she has done
and now they wait for him
Only time is left to pass
His face is pressed deep into the hardwood floor
Granulated rock flows smoothly over
Hollows bones
He died here
Alone
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
New Semester
In celebratory fashion of the dawn of a new semester, I'm gonna put up some new stuff very soon. Definitely this week sometime.
Until then here is a haiku. Its my thoughts after I asked my dad where I got my middle name, I was 9 then.
In bloody blue jeans
“If she won’t love me, who will?”
She is married now
Until then here is a haiku. Its my thoughts after I asked my dad where I got my middle name, I was 9 then.
In bloody blue jeans
“If she won’t love me, who will?”
She is married now
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