In Antipathia - Timothy Dooner (i read a book TXT) 📗

Cthulhu

Those quips from your nips
Are suction cup tenticals
Sarcastic barnicals in the hull
Of bitter tabernacles

Abject, object, plank
Leave your foot prints at the bank
And as the sea washes them away
Their imprint will decide ocean's sway


Undulations and Bed Spread

The bones on her back pulsate
with every expectant breath
Caving in to the ridicule
of every lost escaping drop
Of the mana above her
balloon knot twisted teat
As your ribs are protruding into me
Like grimcrack artifacts erected in tribute
To a bed that's a little less colder than yesterday's


And they will howl

You've got a passion for fashion
And Christ as a vice
I've been wearing your thinking cap
And I got a headful of lice
Yesterday at the chapel
I baptised three blind mice
In trade for their seeing eye dog
To pull my sled through the ice
Afterall, alms giving has a price

When discontent met her winter
She said, "Wait for Spring, or maybe
I'll make your Summer one to remember."
We have an indecision for every season
And Athena's ryhme for every reason
Until the day we all fall down


Words for Scavenger Birds

Judas in the desert
The vulture flies full circle
Got some silver but still a peasant
Put some money in the bank
For the past for the present

As the blood drains out of you
And your skin turns a purple hue
And your eyes have lost their blue
And your veins are visable
Like smashed orange strands
Of a discarded pumpkin
And now instead of picking the vulture
The vulture is eating through
Instead of picking the vulture
The vulture is picking at you

A child born still
All because of your will
Cause you're your own merchant
Cause you're your own shill
And I got a lot of Ill Will
So when I am looking over you
You can swallow my control pill
And the blood rushes out of you
And your skin turns a purple hue
And innocent eyes have lost their blue
You can stare empty throated at the sun
In a diorama made of a baby's shoe box
And as the sun sets the vulture has eyes for you


The Period at the End of this Sentence

I am a man and a passionate beast
spending my time mourning the deceased
with the currency earned from my inner peace
in an empty bed where solace sleeps


Empathy for an Enemy

the fool on the hill
with his guitar straped to his hilt
she'll love him until
she see's another man on a stilt

God acts upon his own voliton
I wouldn't call myself a victim
she cheated on Chad like a Mission
maybe she'll do it again, again

some say the sparks will fly
when they were paid for by another guy
it didn't cost a fortune, that purple-pink tie
i purchased just as much as what you deny
don't worry nobody wants her back
we've already been stabbed in the eye
and when her crows feet attack
the birds of paradise can only sigh

come up from the water frog man
you swallowed too much in your snorkle
as your lungs collapse again
the narcissist, she'll chortle

Silver Bullets

We grew marigolds
to ward the Werewolves away
We read parables
to keep the evil spirits at bay

Upon reconciliation
on a lesbian's judgement day
the liars quagmire
drowns us anyway

She's got bad complexion
he has an erection
could cause an infection
too stupid from addiction
you're your own affliction
and the doctors on vacation


Archimedes’ Screw

All the wind in the world
Can't make the water rise to land
So when the turbine churns
It twists the wrist of fate but never turns the hand

When it's ripe for irrigation
I use the wrong nomenclature
Callouses covering frustration
The seeds are laid, that I'll bet you
An auger
Digging by water
All tied up in roots
There's no reverse on Archimedes' screw


The Absence

In the empty and through the absences
I am cherished, I am abstinent
I can't feel you even in your presence
You may be rich but your words are mere
peasants
If there is no one around
Will they even ever hear this sound
All I needed to learn was embedded in the ground
In the void existed the completion I've found


Reflux Reflex Reflection

I dream about the day
I can hear the soft
Sussation of your giggles
Through the gargled filter
Of the blood in your throat
Because these walls have ears
And I want to pierce them

Sticks and stones may break
Your bones
Eat your favorite bubble gum
And swallow it with gravy
Spend no worry because
Even when you're available
We wouldn't take you in our navy

Mary named her little lamb Adam
Because she knew you were
A pig and we'd never eat him
Sleep well tonight, my friend
Tomorrow, instead of chops
we are having ham

The Rules of the Road

when i saw you on the freeway
it was like a day hadn't passed
as i pictured your body on the pavement
passing through shattered glass
i sat and wondered
which mole was lacerated from first to last

look before you lane change, apply the brake and halt
too busy applying chapstick to kiss your diety
your soul spread out all over the asphalt
and there you were hemorrhaging pity

upon your carcass they gazed
sigalert on the 5 at 4:20
all respects were duly paid
even though they couldn't identify the body
a tribute of roses was still laid


I, Harbor, warn you not to port here

little girl of woe
dream boat that you are
when the wind doesn't blow
you have to row your ship to the bar

three pennies in a Koi pond wishing well
i trudged the lake and combed the bed
Sally's soul under a sea shell
yesterday, i found her severed head


The Practice

You don't practice
so you're stuck on the bleachers
leaving your parish
before the preachers
with a porno magazine
that heralds augmented features
standing accused of descension
by the bitter heart's of pretension
as an act of contrition becomes
submission. but i digress, i've transgressed.


The Mine

Mary was so solitary
When there was nary a query
She talked in soliloquy
In a little house on the praire
Never a diamond, not for a quarry
Buried by the chapel where they were to marry


For those who atone in an empty home

searching for meaning
digging in the soil
discovering a smile
in the foliage past a clearing
for an epiphany in the three bears porridge
somewhere in the forest of neverlast

dealing with benediction
in the land of truth and fiction
trying to light a fire with two sticks and friction
with convictions that bind you to a felon's restriction
without a book of instruction

crucified upside down
like saint peter on saint patrick's seder
without the ascension of absolution's pretension
refusing virtue's curfews for remission
without asking permission of yesterday's demons

the truth of passion's pledge

The end

Text: (c)2008 Timothy Dooner
Publication Date: 12-11-2008

All Rights Reserved