Little songLittle song3 months ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
There is a street named Mr. Street and on it is a bird
who sings all day and sings all night and never says a word.
There is a house named Mrs. House and in it is a man
who thinks all day and sleeps all night and seldom has a plan.
There is a moon named Miss Half Moon and in it is a face
that sees the street and sees the house and each thing in its place.
There is a hand whose name is Hand and in it emptiness
that will receive the days to be and and asks if they will bless.
There is a world whose name is World and in it is the time,
the time to have and lose and have again, the human, human time.
Licensed BluesI have a license to drive, babe, but I won't be driving for a while.Licensed Blues6 months ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
I have a license to drive, but I won't be driving for a while.
You can be the driver - I'll sit beside you and smile.
I have a license to walk, babe, though I may use a cane.
I have a license to walk, though I may use a cane.
I go a little slower but I get there just the same.
I have a license to think, babe, the kind that's hard to find today.
I have a license to think, the kind that's hard to find today.
I got it in the old school and never let anyone take it away.
I have a license to sing, babe, and I have a voice.
I have a license to sing, and I have a voice.
Well, singing the blues can be a beautiful noise.
I have a license to love, babe, the kind that comes in a set of two.
I have a license to love, the kind that comes in a set of two.
You have the one that matches mine, and I'm so glad you do.
In the heartIn the heart2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
In the heart, doubts
In the doubts, a small room
In the small room, a table
On the table, a map being soaked by rain
On the table
In the small room
In the doubts
In the heart
waiting for a silence.I am waiting for a silence;waiting for a silence.5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a silence crickets are yet
a silence whom death
would sue for identity theft
a silence half
as death's foot
a silence that will echo
in every crevice and depth
outliving its own memories
until there aren't any left.
a silence devised
for intellectuals playing chess; the kind of
are in debt.
would not dare
an arrogant silence that wouldn't remember they had met.
behind every reason
I am not asleep
why you don't love meI got yourwhy you don't love me4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and some how
LetterYou pulled me.Letter4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
We made dents in stainless steel and
spilled out passion like
flour onto the
Everywhere was covered in tasteless
Somewhere between the wanting and the waning a
knot slipped, a
thought clicked and I was no longer the
immortal face, but rather the numbing
elixir. You touched every
freckle with a burning hand and ebbed:
I'll forget, I'll forget.
It took until now to recant. You
watched me with stubborn eyes like I was
ImmutableWe take happiness from withoutImmutable5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
like a coat, donned in opposition
thought's lightless hum,
the desultory sprawling veins.
In search of quiet equilibrium,
we estrange ourselves
all shot through
like embroidered cloth
with the shivering filaments of sorrow.
A cigar is just a cigarFreud and the penis shaped cigar clenched between his teethA cigar is just a cigar4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
stare at me from beneath everything I've ever written.
Clearly, he says, this obsession with monsters stems from
a childhood trauma. You're in love with deadly women
because your mother never loved you. You're in love with
the devil because your father never loved you. Your sexual
repression has led to isolation. Your isolation has led to
this anxious pathology.
Why darling, he says, and the cigar jumps, everyone
knows the girl you wrote into this labyrinth is you.
Once you address the source of your problems,
this unhealthy writing compulsion will cease.
So I cut my hair and left my basement for the first time
in twenty years. I took the bus to the center of the city
and spent half a lifetime in warm dens and nicotine smoke,
in bars full of women with amorphous eyes and gentle fingers,
in strip light burst my eyes light, in the back of a stranger's car
behind the abandoned earth. Like a wounded animal I touched
her face. I le
we are word findsWe are thrown together,we are word finds4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
every little piece made into
a word find
ready to be sewn
every little inch, inch.
Treading over minds and
hearts ripped into
our souls are letters scattered in the
nothing to stop
To be one we need
heavy hearts to be lain down,
every little piece to be puzzled together.
Red is the blood that binds us.
erasmusi.erasmus4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i hit my head four times at work today,
and my scalp is bleeding. it bleeds all day, all
night, until my brain is grey and parched. it
needs a good soaking in a terra cotta pot, it
needs fertilizer, it needs four hours of consistent
sunlight. dappled shade, dandelions, a light
breeze to prevent fungus. tender loving care.
i crack it open and find a medley of things.
through the crevice in my head. there's an open
field of green grass, bubbles, bokeh. in the center
there's a great tree, oak maybe, because the
acorns crack underfoot. i touch it, and there is
every memory i've ever owned, etched there into
the heartwood. there is everything i've said, the
words dipped in dark molasses or tar; they look
the same. there is every time i hid in the closet
with a hatchet or headphones, a rash around
my eyes. there is laughter and every asthma attack,
every used q-tip, bandaid, the stitches my family
doctor removed when i was 7. all 12 of them.
Mapleinethere's a lamp postMapleine4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
behind those trees
and it looks like a forest
she calls nine one one
but by the time the
it's too late, she's already
HesaraghattaBangalore: tinHesaraghatta5 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
houses lean in mass
saffron lake, perspiration
Call my name, I won't answerI think I lost myself somewhere in the skyCall my name, I won't answer4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
among those white tea cigarette
you like to call clouds
Crane WifeYour artistry grows wearisomeCrane Wife4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and I know you stutter and stumble over
blue eyes and ravaged, rough luminosity -
vulnerable to the hipster lips of vogue modernity
don't strain your heartstrings for apathetic boys
my straw doll, babydoll, the labor of stitching your pieces
in place after the schoolyard boys are done butchering you
my hands grow calloused
and I see you making that drug deal
trading the feathers of your muse for
absinthe and crystal dreams
you wrote the greatest American screenplay
but you sold the rights away
Speaking figuratively, metaphorically
I tell you I theoretically love you
and ask, rhetorically, do you too.
Laugh it off.
I'll find you in my path, repetitively
and I'll mend your burlap crane wings
The mystery of your silken poetics entices me,
crane wife and I know
if I spy through the cracks in your fingers
to discover the secret of your ritual
your crane flight will leave your silks
line 9 is BrokenBecause the television is brokenline 9 is Broken5 years ago in Other More Like This
Pierre gets zits
Pierre gets zits
Because the television is broken
Because pierre gets zits
The television remains broken
Because the zit is
Pierre gets a television
Pierre is a zit
The television remains broken
The television is a zit
The television is pierre
Zits and televisions
Remain broken in
The television remains
The color is pierre;
lights out, child of mineshe wakes up to the sound of white bottlecaps shifting weightlights out, child of mine5 years ago in Surrealism More Like This
like the boughs of a taciturn ship
only to realize thru bedcovers
and forgotten colours
that it was just her vacancy sign.
she hugs her knees to
the nausea that slithers along her major organs
bedposts and wire springs that construct her waking life
and now perturb the numbers in her head.
the streetlamp outside her window is
just a metaphor for something she shouldn't read into
but always does.
jettison cigarettes on her marline veins
more the colour of phosphene scarlet letters
like the one only Nathaniel Hawthorne could rectify
and she could embody.
stop. stomach wails won't be pacified.
through roundabout monkey knots and cheshire directions
she breathes in singsong tongue-lapses
. s t o p
Alonegreen tea sinks intoAlone4 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
the mouth-lagoon: meditate,
the steam is like cloud -
no, a letter to you.sometimes i wish i could show you the things you've never seen -no, a letter to you.4 years ago in Letters More Like This
the beauty like the alignment of a thousand suns and a thousand universes in your smile, the way it feels to be free. the fragility of someone else's heart in your hands and the length of the list of wishes you've made in your life. one day they'll all be yours to love. one day, you'll have
everything. one day, i'll read my children your stories and tell them about the girl i once knew, the one who told me to follow the rainbow, and the girl i taught not to care, one upturned table at a time. i'll tell them that it rain heavier than ever over her, but she never stopped singing into the darkness. they'll ask me what she looked like and i'll tell them she had the eyes that could defeat
the horizon. i'd give her the world, one tree, one cloud, one poem at a time. because i knew better than anyone else that she deserved every last bit of it. every last goddamn bit. i'd paint and write and bleed and cry f