Brian Warfield
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Our Eyes Are Locked in Embrace

1/29/2012

 
I want my severed hands
To caress your severed breasts
Cut off and placed together
In a brown paper bagIn the trunk of a car
Being driven far away
Leaving us here
Next to each other
Without hands or breasts
Staring into each other's eye sockets
Where our eyes once were
Now in that man's stomach

Your Lips Are Like a Simile for Your Mouth

1/11/2012

 
When I kiss you I
Put your whole lip in
My mouth

I feel it move
Try to escape like a
Worm I want to suck on

The tongue of the lip of
The mouth of the mouth
Kiss of the taste of the bite

My lip in your lips
Between teeth
Between legs between

Meals dreams breaths
Open and closing of
Drawers clothes doors

Your mouth when it
Stops kissing starts
Talking saying goodbye

I want to put your whole
Mouth in my mouth
To keep it shut up there forever

i destroy what i cannot create

11/21/2011

 
exercise #5

the exercises with random words i find challenging, but in a good way. this exercise had me look at page 108 of nine books and cull words from them for a poem. the words were of my choosing, but from a select set. there are choices within limitations.
the words were create (kids), limitations (law), reliance (gardening), bruised (romance), abuse (religion), abandon (bio), relieve (horror), and seized (history).


i feel the limitations of my flesh

the inadequacies of self-reliance

bruises of self-abuse mark my arms

leak through my fingertips

stain these pages

i want to abandon my failing body

give these words relief

my only offering is a seizure

poetry emergency escape route

11/18/2011

 
exercise #4

"Suddenly the city, your city, is a place where places to write come to mind. You must always know those places at all times." ~CAConrad


i've seen these streets before
every day walking to and from work
for the past three years
passing houses like waiting adults
outside the carousel
when the ride stops i am slung off
///////// poetry catastrophe
phone call last night said
someone is dying
phone call that the world
is coming to an end
phone call telling me
to get out of my house
there is a poetry emergency
take shelter outside your homes
i find myself at the park
where no one else is
i look at the future park
in one year and it looks
exactly the same
i look at the future park
in ten years and there is
nothing to look at
calling all poets
there are some futures
you can't change
but you must be present
i'm trying to really see it
this is a poetry crisis
and you're missing it

orange glow

11/17/2011

 
exercise #3

i'm not sure about the quality of these poems. they certainly aren't indicative of my style. i'm more interested in the process, so maybe i should tell you about that. for this exercise i had to eat dark chocolate and hum on the subway. it is interesting to unquestioningly obey instructions in pursuit of poetry. so on the subway for nine stops i wrote nine words, and from those 81 words made this poem. it is hard not to see this as just a string of random words i wrote down while under the influence of chocolate in a subway. and yet i also thought about these words, edited them, extrapolated meaning from them. and so now, also, these words seem meaningful. they create a story for me.




"orange glow"

i feel orange
time travelling
stuck in the middle
only be, stop
wake now into something

the forward stripe
of my fake face
leans toward a
tiny absolute grave
almost born

soothe, eat
some what salve
strange meat
like jade soles
keeping me from solve

when will i dig
in sand and air
to stop the slow creep
bring the fire
make ton come

then orange glow
will comb, transform
try into must
stop time burst
up sky



i have never seen morning under force

11/16/2011

 
i started doing CAConrad's somatic exercises. this is the poem i wrote for the first exercise.
(Soma)tic Poetry Exercises: written at Jason Zuzga's request for FENCE Mag



to have nothing
alone
on the outside
of your eyes
naked hunched over
i haven't had anything
for years to eat
drink sleep or be
raking in the sand
burying my hands
the worked-to-the-
bone poor
of other countries
i am here hungry
the ache that hollows
out my insides
the sun beating down
living in one room
watching children die
the bones
of your wrist
something inside me
rises out
my spirit
vomiting forth
i have never been poor
i have never seen
morning under force
i have seen your eyes meet mine
and inside those eyes
the wealth of nations
i am poor possessing nothing
having nothing made
by my hands
from my bowels
bringing to bear
no new life
all of my (         )
are still borne



    Author

    I write short stories. This is my blog. I'm going to write whatever.
    These stories may be a bit more experimental than what I usually write.
    It is your job to tell me how I'm doing in the comments, please. 

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