resistanceThe key to happiness is to always be fucking something
I am incapable
because I let it
go only to a certain point
arrhythmia is a tremor,
a Malthusian catastrophe
less solvent than snow.
The renegade who serves
my synapse sequences knows
this, and she develops fevers
to quell my dependence on
our forest of censored souls.
Mine is a passive immunity.
She makes tsetse flies,
fills them with blinks,
and releases them as impulses
that vaccinate my love against
the hurting. I'm not so deep
and I know nothing of suffering.
The deliveryI attach feeling to color and fall in love with the weatherThe delivery3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
for it contains all beautiful things: symmetry and citrus,
the summers that become more and more opiatic as the chords
fall further away. I am never even there to pluck the strings.
My lover laughs melodically under his cotton blanket
and his skin tastes like plums and seltzer, the wrinkles in his smile
holding all the zip and fructose I need on these short days.
The telephone rings and it's my apostasy tempo allegro
returning me to memory's calderas, cloudy and dreamlike,
pressing me deeper into them and therefore sustaining them.
But I can subsist on photosynthesis; for so long that love
endures here, this is the only place I want to be.
drenched.when i am alive i feel like thousands of oak and vine-cloaked doors aredrenched.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
pounding right back at me, and i can hear the thunder of healthy blood
quick through my veins and fingertips. i see your eyes through the sawtooth
pine trees and you have never been so far away.
fog is a selfish thing she does. mother earth. she threads it through the mountains and
train tracks and steals everything back that she used to keep locked up.
she takes denver back, seattle, boston, anywhere, really, that she
feels slipped through her calloused fingers.
hours, even days, pass and she sighs and gives it all back to you, and me,
us. i wonder if we take her for granted.
one year the leaves came and went while i was asleep.
i can't tell you if i was more angry or hurt that they weren't
strong enough to keep the cold out. all i know is that we all lost
them that day. all those beautiful, stupid glimmers of hope
because, you see, as fragile and delicate as spring looks,
it can kill all your thoughts and careful
if.the boy with olive eyes and a freckled face andif.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
capable, callous crusted hands
writes poetry on his smoke-scented
scribble pads, words that tangle together
like bedhead on a sleepy lover, beautiful
in the very same vein.
i see the future part around us,
like two serpentine turns on a deserted,
dangerous highway, with cars colliding
on either side, and double rainbows
hanging in the sky
in a strange juxtaposition
of good and bad
and dark and light
and nothing in between to guide me.
i feel like a careening child
crashing into the waiting hands
of a scolding parent, and when the impact
hits, i can no longer remember
who (or why) i am.
while thinking about the two of us, i fall
off the plane of mortal existence,
into the deep and empty abyss
of the word "love",
which has become as hollow and meaningless
as the sentiment itself.
he falls behind me, and we fall together,
until we are nothing
but a tangled mess of sweat-silken
hair and limbs,
and things are as they should be
PrionsI just want to hear youPrions3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
tell your stories all day long
for I have grown resistanta catch in the pulmonary
synthesis of breath and concept is antagonizing me,
the cured smoke rings; glass as strong as dip dyed
oceanwith a surface tension tougher
than the collective incubating in the spillage
of the rational suicides; I have grown resistant,
conflicted about your ethics: (I take issue
with your ecology, the flora, permissible
I have grown resistant to the fatality)
for engagement is immediate,
I just want to hear you
tell your stories all day long
these feelings should be finiteI'm terrified and I know there's nothing unique about this, but I'm standing here completely out of touch with the rest of the world, realizing for the first time that we all feel things a little bit differently, which is why this doesn't hurt for you at all. I figure the only logical reason for how you could do this as if it means nothing was if it really did mean nothing at all for you. It's easier to hate you this way. It's easier to forget you without the burn of your kiss against my skin. It's easier to stay mad if I don't have to remember the way that it felt. Most of all, I can forget this as if it's a memory in someone else's lifetime if I accept the fact that we're all different. I can be different like you. I can let this mean nothing.these feelings should be finite3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I could mean nothing if you let me. If I let me.
You talk in big words that I get sick of hearing after awhile with big ideas and wide eyes and a small heart. I once heard that you can only love something so hard, for so long, before the feelin
deflourgod'sdeflour3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
got a thing
for women in white dresses,
legs broken and
like the knot
of a dead man's
quadrantidsyou wake up early & the dawn tellsquadrantids3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you what the neutrinos mean
and with a sickening crunch
your tarnished shade climbs to the underground,
the creationists' thinktank of pianosong & sorrow
where the lifeblood is a barricade
where the lethargy tastes fine & becomes addictive
where the children have cosmic dreams instead of memory
where you're with me like you were supposed to be
and all the collective setting suns
can't bring darkness upon the light you give me
my heart is lawi called to you,my heart is law4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
at the waterside.
the days we spent, in
trying to figure
out just how far down
the ocean really went,
just how many
bird-eyed creatures called the waves
and if our hearts and secrets
blended to the
defeaning, deepening blue.
i meant to write a letter -
i meant to write a letter
and send it to the proper address
and wait for a reply, like
the good girl that i am, or was.
i could blame the government,
a state-wide hurricane,
my dead aunt and her bankrupt
husband, my harried mother.
(perhaps you still loved
the concept i had left
behind, but we both knew i
could never get
reductionI'll tell the truth:reduction3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I am a thief of the
if you want honesty,
I don't think that we will
give it one or two
or three years
years tense with opposing forces
and unusual magic
and our reaction will be
complete. we will both
go back to our own kinds.
haven't they always defined love
in terms of chemistry?
but like dissolves like.)
and here is the confession:
here is why I am odious:
I know this and
I will not withdraw.
here is the electron bridgehere the
anode, cathode, the ill-fated
I set this up like dominos;
I wield it like words.
I am an oxidizer,
and I intend to get as much of you
as I can.
I am scraping our hours
May you find silence in every stormReflection is a clingy whore, and SeptemberMay you find silence in every storm3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
is an incoherent borderline who flees
courageously from permanent stories.
I have not forgotten how to suck
the charcoal clouds out of the sky,
how to dream fevers out of lullaby,
or how to force the synapses of spirits.
On the way home, I stopped to consider the music of the rustling fountain
and the leaves shooting water in the breeze.
And I knew love by the pitch of the owl's hoot,
I knew soul by the order of the hornet's stripe.
They wanted an apology from her.
Shannon, they said, you broke the fucking universe.
And before I could stop twitching electricity
from spitting neutrinos
the pavement hit my lips
and I saw a galaxy rise.
monolithi need march and april of last year.monolith3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i need, i want
i want to words. i want flow.
i want that
cold hundred mile an hour burst of wind and
fingers icicle shit magic
keyboard damaging, fountains of black keys
a taste the other day,
enough for hope and small for despair and
i'd just break and flower like i used to
those practical auditory hallucinations in the forefront of my skull, that
i wish i had what i used to
there's a harvest in here somewhere, a thought worth having, a break in the lines in the ice
in the space
i don't know.
there's plenty of rough material, he said, but it's unrefined
and the burlap sacking can only go so far
only go so far
only go so far, she said
brilliant eyes,broken-glass noses
a thousand tiny crablegs waiting
and you know you wanted it, you know
you know you wanted it
i'd call it love, if it wasn't suffocating.every time it rains,i'd call it love, if it wasn't suffocating.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i think of you.
because that's all there is--
and a quick breath of air
before we all go under.
every time it rains,
i swear i'm drowning.
paradisei am ready to run away;paradise3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to a place where light shields
me from darkness and my eyes
shut before the sun can kiss
the horizon good night.
all the spiritmodestly thaw deepall the spirit3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
now the shade
the lake, the moon
all its margins:
in an empty house
for weary hands,
for the ghost,
all the spirit:
Coruscated EyesI am the sibilant whisperCoruscated Eyes3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that brings darkness;
the one that causes night to fall
as you close your
softly shining eyes
to see the last embers
of day fade
n o t h i n g n e s s .
Surrender to my gossamer touch,
like the besotted butterfly that
knows no better, and
say not a word.
Hear the muffled aubade
with the copper-washed gold of dawn,
and flourish in the night so filled with
I am the sibilant whisper that brings darkness.
I have the gossamer touch to
lull you into
the cradle of night.
And I sing that muffled aubade
which grows clearer with
every passing hour. . .
I am the sibilant whisper that brin
moments before sleepthere are times it seemsmoments before sleep3 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
when darkness is only an
extension of self
The simulacrum of walking home aloneThese woods are brimming over with the voicesThe simulacrum of walking home alone3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of apology and alcoholics, and he's not even holding my hand
but there's no timber sequence that could sting me here
and he talks about his family with such exuberance
that he could speak a smaller world into the night's open psyche
and make my friends from swollen places present, good night, love,
so that when my layers fall away in sequence to the footsteps
of another old lover I can't get over, he allows me to
pinch the seething days that keep moving forward
and remove them from these wholesome instants.
Sugarless Butterfly Wingsfly with sugarless butterfly wingsSugarless Butterfly Wings3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
restore the bittersweet air
dance and make majestic creatures sing
wondrous festivities under soft sunshine glare
silver-glossed pixies laugh
in the wind soft-hearted petals sway
all light souls hide a horrid past
but not even the heart of gold survives to stay
man burns like a butterfly
life burns cold by the grasp of the reaper--all things are black
peace burns like a wicked lie
fate burns like a cut digging deeper--all things can't last
restore, rebuild, replenish, repair
drown the fire and end the bitter-taste air
revive the silver-glossed gods, clear the sickening sting
restart the graceful dance, entice them once again to sing
now soft petals sway for the golden hearts that never went away
to fly in peace above splendiferous festivities with majestic butterfly-sugarwings
fairgroundon a fairgroundfairground3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the orange trees
in the lamplight
like a movie set
with no director
and so many writers
not in the shot
so life is a whole lot
like a carnival game
shooting for prizes you'd
never thought you'd want
then the nursing home hallways
smell like piss and you
always choose talk
over card games but
it's another day
of the woman next door
screaming in pain
which is hard
since you're screaming with her
every moment you are both
living and dying
which is all of them
all the paychecks broke and
borrowed. all the jobs
you kept and didn't keep.
all the epiphanies when
you suddenly realise you
only need to be
rich enough for coffee.
all the newspapers
soaked in the street and
the benches on which
you'd read. all the restrooms
you'd cry in or
throw up in or
stumble out of on your knees
until you fall asleep.
every diet you'd read
in all the magazines and
stick to religiously
for two and a half
all of them
Unsung WordsIt's the way one word would roll out of my tongueUnsung Words3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and your world could come undone
It's the way I cannot help but feel the need
to patch you up, heart and skin and bone
It's the way your soul's brokenness calls out to be loved
by them and them and most especially by me
It's the way your toes curl at the sound of my footsteps;
how your smile can exist by my smile alone
It's the way you are a piece of me, my peace
when did you become my home?
It's the way I know I will be able to find you
even in the darkest of nights
It's the way your past scars and scabs have become my own
every blue and bruise you bore made you more beautiful
It's the way haunting melodies belong to us
and I always think of you
It's the way that even with me in your arms I'm battling
loneliness as I crave for you each minute
It's the way you haven't realized how I want you
even after proof of our once existence fades
It's the way it can't be helped that I will choose
155this is not the time or place for us to speak like this. we are sitting in your car at the walmart parking lot. it's not a mile from my house, but it's better than stopping at the dead end of my street.1553 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
we don't move for the five seconds following the moment you cut the ignition; from there, your eyes drop to the stuffed animal you won me -- a token of the high-noon days of our summer -- that oscillates between your hands.
the sun shifts from low to lower, dipping behind clouds and city silhouettes until the lights come on. the list of things i need to tell you becomes unreadable in the failing light, so you press a button and i can see again.
i wish there was a button like that for you, and for me. maybe it would be between the fingers of our opposite hands, so if the webbings of our thumbs met in embrace, you would remember the way you felt for me in the nights we spent on friends' couches, just revelling in the feel of each other's bodies