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Hdr 1475708043421

Cory Garcia

POEMS
FAVORITES
2564
FOLLOWING
115
FOLLOWERS
110

** the Mean Hearts Queen has dedicated One Eyed Jack to the hunt of the Seamstress (One Eyed Jack sings)

note: Links to other parts in subtitle above
note: play song link above


who has summoned this deviant machine sent forth to axe another fiend
this strenuous beauty with looks that kill
make way for One Eyed Jack the diabolical hack
for when the Red Queen eats - she gets my fill

who is this incorrigible seamstress
with an unquenchable desire for stealing old man shoes
you’ll soon be dead girl

they say she came of age in the Red Queens cage a bloody kiss her prevailing wage
little miss Skin & Bones I’ve got to bring this creature down
replacing eyelet strings with painful things
revealing naked feet as the devil sings

steal for me
kneel for me
squeal for me
you’ll soon be dead girl

steal for me
kneel for me
squeal for me
you’ll soon be dead girl

playing the not so innocent fool
while making them drool
a fixation to seduce
as you cut each one loose
trick or treat
keeping the feat quiet - quite the feet
little miss seamstress
the hare for my hounds

steal for me
kneel for me
squeal for me
you’ll soon be dead girl

steal for me
kneel for me
squeal for me
you’ll soon be dead girl

i’m One Eyed Jack the diabolical hack
when the Red Queen eats - she gets my fill
a deviant machine used to axe another fiend
a strenuous beauty with looks that kill

steal for me
kneel for me
squeal for me
you’ll soon be dead girl

steal for me
kneel for me
squeal for me
you’ll soon be dead girl

bloody kisses upon your skin
bones dripping bathed in sin
work your magic once again
you’ll soon be dead girl

bloody kisses upon your skin
bones dripping bathed in sin
work your magic once again
you’ll soon be dead girl

to fish

quietly
taught
by his absence
to be
more than
or
less than
a man
had need to be

the fisher
king
who like
new york
in june
sung
of pomegranate
overflowing

at his behest
the holy grail
i sought and found
the day
my eyes
did feast
hungrily
for
and
upon
eve’s nursing lips
counting
in measures
the remainder
of
my days

2

you who have birthed
a million poems...

whose eyes have seen
whose hands have touched
whose lips have tasted
life
reconciled
to self...

whose written words
teach
untaught songs...

whose unique
voice
beautifully
tenderly
gathers
what has remained
shapeless within...

whose experiences
of life
and
mind
has shaped the spirits
and
souls of countless breaths
spilt
upon the tireless
altar
of existence...

you
who have chosen
to give birth
giving life
from life
even
snatching
what life remains
from the silence
of
deafening death...

thank you
dear sister
poet
for carrying
full term
these little
parts
of yourself
hidden
in plain view
these mysteries
of your soul
your hopes
and
dreams
your pain
and
regrets
conveyed
mercifully
across
the
abstract
void...

thank you
dear sister
poet
for giving shape
to the emotions
that few
and
all
can identify with...

thank you
dear sister
poet
for letting us see
and
touch
these precious parts
of you
that we now carry
within ourselves...

our empty hands
now blessed to know
what it is they hold
when they hold
nothing
which is to say...

...everything

For All That You Do
and
For How You Do It...

Happy Mothers Day
Dear Sister Poet

4

do you
feel that
more
importantly
do you
hear it
the pain
pooling
in
puddles
until
finally
emerging
as a
crystalizing
chrysalis
of
creativity
ready
to be
sliced
and
diced
for our
pleasure
split up
and
spread out
for the
manic
mesmerized
masses
smiling
in
bitter
sweet
agony
while
the band
plays
on
and
on
and
on...

do you
feel that
more
importantly
do you
hear it
when they
wake
up
in the
mourning
cold
curdled
and
craked
from
the troublesome
days before
worn out
and
done in
while slowly
aging
aching
and
anticipating
an end
to the miss
wired
worries
working
through their
troubled
minds
hoping
for some
semblance
of
energy
to fight
as
the alarm
and
the birds chirps
chirping
on
and
on
and
on...

do you
feel that
more
importantly
do you
hear it
as they
move
through
their days
sarcastically
smiling
and
searching
for
the meaning
of
it all
feeling
dejected
and
rejected
while
voiceless
passerbys
push
and
pull
them
in
every
direction
but
up
their trials
mounting
with every
second
while
sheep
sanctimoniously
slaughter
their dreams
and
their daze
and
days
drift
on
and
on
and
on...

do you
feel that
more
importantly
do you
hear it
as they
return
to their
broken
battered
betraying
homes
sick
and
tired
tired
and
sick
of
denying
trying
and
tying
themselves
to
satisfactionless
slumber
that seems
to last forever
though it’s
never
enough
to
call
come
or
cripple
their backs
for a love
that’s never
there
so they sing
their sad
songs
on
and
on
and
on...

do you
feel that
more
importantly
do you
hear it
the pain
pooling
in
puddles
until
finally
emerging
as a
crystalizing
chrysalis
of
creativity
ready
to be
sliced
and
diced
for our
pleasure
split up
and
spread out
the
manic
mesmerized
masses
smiling
in
bitter
sweet
agony
while
the world
goes
on
and
on
and
on...

on
and
on
and
on...

3

shaking
more
than her
ass
so sweet
to greet
she’s kansas
on canvas
hoping
and
hoeing
to get
her
thrill
her
fill
playing
the good girl
here
her
hair
is done up
tight
and
appealing
smiling slyly
cause she likes
the oz
in me
i click her
heals
three times
east to west
her rhymes
like wine
fine
and
mine
to hear
as her
body
comes
crashing
down
on my
bed
her cries
pouring
into the night
there’s no place
like home
there’s no place
like home
there’s no
denying
as we are
sighing
and
flying
higher
and
hotter
than any
balloon
drifting
slowly
over the
green
grass
of her
labor
kissing
wishing
and
fishing
for rainbows
safe
shores
and
pleasant
banks
sanctuaries
for
an angry see
we are
trading
tricks
for
yellow
bricks
while
crushing
our own
hearts
to pave
the way
to a love
neither
one
of us
can afford
to
ignore...

what a wonderful world...

6

i pray each day
to set my mind
to frame
all moments
a thousand times
in passions light
stripping them
of all
that does
not avail
thus bare
within
the heart
revealing
heaven
unto
the poorest
beggar
in us
all

the sweetness
of 1st
loves kiss
the touch
that quarrels
not
finding favor
in GODs
full view
no longer
hidden
but
embraced
befriended
with open
arms
made drunk
onto death
and
life thereafter

a thousand
times
crying out
in passions
light
bid I
to frame
all
moments
thus
and
thus
and
thus
ado

1

writers
writing

readers
intently
reading

the writers
thoughts
placed
gently

within
the readers
mind

the writers souls
soil
prepared
carefully

making fertile
the readers
body

within the writers
emotional floodgates
releasing
resonant waters

the readers
passions ignited
and skillfully stoked

in that moment
when the two collide
and the smoke clears

the reader
can feel
the writers
in spirit

the culmination
of desires

left wanting...

kept waiting...

remaining forever ...

unfulfilled...

... until now

4

• classical contrasts

(Woman 1)
Forced to see
Clenched teeth
Shouting unheard cries
Innocence stripped
Exposed flesh bloodied
Carnage feeding the reaper

(Woman 2)
Eyes closed
Wordless breaths
Speaking volumes
Into singular moment
A gentle pool of wine
Igniting the phoenix

(Woman 3)
Darkness closing in
Swollen eyes faking
As hes taking
All her dreams
The tears of her life
Putting out the flames of this broken home

(Woman 4)
The light dawns
In the waking
Her making
Her longing
Her water of life
Spilt in effortless creation

(Woman 5)
Her options closed
Hellish humility
Falling out of favor
Her life disintegrating
Synthetic freedom
Entrapped within and without

(Woman 6)
Every possibility open
Heavenly transcendance
She climbs into the womb
Of death and rebirth
The pressures of existance
Released into and upon

(Women Together)
The scorched earth
Of futures passed
And come again

Come again
The dawning
The waking

The
Making
of
Life

4

passions
bastard
children
our young
love
brimming
to the slosh
with
millennial
passion
the ancient
students
of a child’s
game
we are not
much
for crying
but
when we
do
we do it
write
and
right
so tight
the type
cast
in the
mold
of our
vacant
bones
each
sinuous
tap
of our
fingers
placed
purposefully
and
profoundly
upon
ghost white
blank
paige
the page
used
proper
for
and
by
us
to prey
and
pray
each tear
each year
spent
freely
falling
and
flooding
pale skin
broken
and
barren
for
and
by us
these
landscapes
yearning
to drown
the drought
and
doubt
that
caused them
we let them
steam
and
stream
boiling
in heat
these multitudes
thrilling
and
filling
the world
to overflowing
with
the knowing
of sweat
sweet
touch
unhinging
and
binging
till all
that’s left
is to pull
anchor
uncorked
madly
flipped
adrift
we find
no better
company
than ourselves
and
the aliens
we
meet
to
meat
lighter
and
later
much later
worn
to the bone
stripped
of all
struggle
clothed
only
by the trials
of our birth
five times
normal
our tears
subsiding
we prey
and
pray
again
while
our feet
touch down
on ground
still wet
with interest
for
us
and
the time
that we
have left

2

every book
left
on the shelf
longs
to be
handled
to see
lips
pursed
blowing
and
dusting off
the pages
of
their lives

to feel
inquisitive
hungry
hands
turn
the story
of
their
solemn
souls

these boundless
leafs
leaving
their
lonely
overcrowded
and
far too
understanding
shelves
behind

no longer
caring
where
or how
they are
read
as long
as
it is
with
meaning

in their
knowledge
knowing
that for the
right write one
they would
rather burn
their remaining
unread pages
for heat
than ever have to face
being returned
to those
stuffy shelves
again

2

*read top to bottom then bottom to top

writers
writing
readers
intently
reading

the writers

thoughts
placed
gently

within
the readers
mind
the writers souls

soil
prepared
carefully
making
fertile
the readers bodies

within the writers
emotional floodgates
releasing
resonant waters
the readers

their passions ignited
and
skillfully stoked
in that moment

the two collide
and
the smoke clears

the readers
can feel
the writers
in spirit

the culmination
of
desires

left wanting...

kept waiting...

remaining...

forever ...

unfulfilled...

... until now

3

Hey mister
Where are you going
While she’s showing
Her wares on the corner

Hey lady
Why are you pretending
So condescending
While they try to own and disown her

Hey sister
Why are you judging
While she’s trudging
Each day a mourner at her own waking

Hey brother
Why are you staring
While she’s fearing
Of tomorrows new found aches

Hey father
Why are you hiding
While she’s confiding
Of a lack of and more than a hug

Hey mother
Why are you crying
Always lying
About the girl who never sleeps with her clothes on

The Truth Is

Her lines are perfect
For more than a bed
Her covers blown
Still she wants to be read

Fast and hard
Or slow with meaning
Each day breathed in
Like a page turned in a braille bible

Till then she’ll dance
All night long
And for a price
She’ll sing her song

While she waits for the one
Who truly wants to listen
To the girl
Whose heart cries

Read Me

6