Ocean,I'm pouring the lake at you again;
to speak the river and swill the crick with you
where all waters flow to and they've crowned you
would find our what-if miracles in a far-off land
in empty bottles under swollen rocks
trickling caves, island curtains and lighthouses
with us so divided by the waves;
let's find our thrones and bind the world to our ankles
with roots and swim regardless
then spree hardship so
our eyes will be just foam in the grace of what they see
as the sun sets and we sing each others' worlds
to forget each others' names.
NeanderthalsThey saw us selling bones and shaping into teethNeanderthals2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the ground like giants feeding giant flowers corpses.
They imagined future ages digging up our dregs as birds
from nonsense geologic.
They saw placebos worshipped, bodies' scheduled
obsolescence and our spines re-stooping beneath shadows
so they held each other in some prehistoric alley-
way and shivered off the furs we bartered for.
to be a writerjump into the world headfirstto be a writer2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
crack open your skull on the ocean
sink like a forgotten shipwreck in the belly of a herman whale
come up for air
stumble across the words of the story-- tell it again
lie to a loved one, a stranger, both of them
get away with it in a stolen limousine
write lists that you will never complete
hang them like goodbyes from anywhere they will stick
fall in love like a wrecking ball, destroy a whole city (pretend to)
have your ernest heart ridden with bulletholes, alone on a timber hillside
find god, realize he is just as lost as the rest of us
give him a kurt laugh and look elsewhere
grow an ego with hooves & horns & three eyeballs
feed it four times a day, sacrifice your children
cut yourself open and bleed, intestine and sentiment in sulfuric puddles
if not by your own hand, find someone who will do it for you
do not clean it up
create storybook characters, or at least a story for them to be in
compare everything to the bible
pick your teeth with similes
the god-turtle carries four elephantsstop asking methe god-turtle carries four elephants2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
this is not a time for breathing
this is not now, it is not
this is one second after
one minute after
one moment after
one minute after one
this is ad nauseum and i
don't ask me to breathe
are too heavy
to breathe through
train tickets are like 200 bucks.i loved her fortrain tickets are like 200 bucks.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
the miles between us,
and i think i
might always do so.
she is printed in my mind,
like some halfbreed stoner dream
and i feel her colors like
sun. rain. hurricane.
leaves side vertically
in my veins,
the left side of a bicycle
wheeling around my brain
and she is a fucking drug, man.
i think i'm gay.
i'm not saying that just to
say it, either. i just
why else would i write letters to her
even though she'll never read them,
and why do i wonder how she looks
right on the verge of
sleep? i think about kissing her
a lot. it's always her.
she is my now. my then.
my way bak when.
but most of all, she is my
why, and that is
astronomer's insomniapour in milky wayastronomer's insomnia2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
stir until planets dissolve
turn, avoid the sun
.death says he's a busy man.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
got places to go and
people to see
book an appointment on the way out
things i have come to know about the sky1.things i have come to know about the sky1 year ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
you are endless, a backlit canopy
or stage of infinites; some say
you speak to them in low murmurs,
that you rain judgement down upon us,
i fear you not, you've caught my eye a few times
but i only looked up to see what
the hype was all about
when i was born, doctors said i was blue
—cerulean as the sky,
entering the world with clenched fists
and held breath—
battle though this life may be, always it
will be by my rules
scientists say the sky is like an onion;
layers of celestial sphere you can slice off
with a thumbnail, 217.5 miles of teary eyes
& thick skin
we know not of what it is that compels
gravity to roll this sorrow down our faces
in some cultures they say the sky is a
thronedom, an altar for the gods; weather,
an instrument of rageful indifference,
a beautiful devotion worthy of arthritis
and a place in our school books
you torture us as the romans did,
we the bread for your melancholy circuses;
apathy never looked so poetic
as you do when you pain
now here's to you, tomorrowDear you,now here's to you, tomorrow1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
this is just to say that you are beautiful;
that the earth you stand upon is as old as time
and you are not, for you are simply a moment
a star shining sand speckled pillar of brilliance
for which we make up stories to tell our children.
I, too, began the journey of scholarhood ripe with
perhaps too many
good intentions, a loaded spark rather than a
breathing ember, looking up & out for the scorching
radiance that lay just below the skin;
This is not to say that yours will bear any likeness to
mine or that you are governed by any relevant principles,
only that we share more than you might think
—the present is a gift to us from the invariable past,
from us to the inevitable future,
to be held without expectation except to live vicariously
through the blissful momentum of experienc
you should be home by nowlast tuesday the house took my hand & said,you should be home by now1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
it's more of a hurricane than a fire
since he broke in & burned
but sometimes I see her with a lighter
& she finishes what he didn't do
(I think she's afraid
of settling in,
but last tuesday I realized that she kept the lights on
to frighten away the bridges & the people
so no one will come inside
& smash the teacups, steal the pipes
because since he burnt her beds out
no one lives there anymore
blowing my teeth out the back of my skullI.blowing my teeth out the back of my skull1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
we are hynagogic wasteland words, unraveling
corpses clutching at bruised throats - white gasoline
and when your skin heals, i hope i've permeated your bones
( i will never be rid of you ).
neo-Freudian idealsin 1886, Sigmund Freud employed free association;neo-Freudian ideals1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
the idea that a sick patient, terminally crippled with a nameless plague,
could list off the reasons why his bed sheets had holes in them.
paraphrased: the art of free speech.
my mouth is a gun and your name is a shooting range.
damp grass, our backs, semantics.
the psychoanalysts say we establish long-term memory
by stringing it all with prior meaning.
a flurry of sweatshirts and ripped jeans, stroking skin
in sign language only lovers speak.
hands, tongue, everything else.
Freud said that sometimes, a cigar is only a cigar.
i tell him how smoke spilled from your mouth into mine.
stale breath and gentle fingers probing, squeezing,
i trace my steps back to the night we crushed leaves into potpourri.
the scent of cold coffee permeated into the forest,
the tree roots soaking up our caffeine.
i remember you most clearly in the heartbeat between page turns.
you are full and real, the lump in my throat.
you are the holes in
Blue DreamI discovered a manBlue Dream1 year ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
who makes me feel incomparable
the same way Columbus discovered America:
he existed beforehand and was probably better off
without a directionally challenged sociopath,
no matter what those Thanksgiving crafts
peddle to Neoamerican children.
Regardless, his persistence
withstood my apathetic exterior,
and I like his music even if I don't say it,
"You're okay," translates to something meaningful,
"Pretty great," says exceptional, "I'm really senstive,"
adresses that he knows what he's doing
with his tongue, his lips, his cock,
and ten competent fingers,
but now I'm making excuses. I have a big nose,
countable ribs, narrow hips, an ass like a sheet of drywall,
a shipful of charisma, countless manipulations,
social ineptness, political anxiety,
and over a thousand pages
of writing, which,
for the record,
in case he doesn't get it:
that's a lot of emotional bullshit,
and about half of it is melodramatic, petty,
unsubstantiated stories about my life
I lost my innocence, that day.When I was younger,I lost my innocence, that day.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
there was a time where all of my friends
Girls wanted to play mommy and ponies
I wanted to play tag and race cars
and so did the boys
so we did.
Not a big deal.
I was six when I went over to a friends house for the first time.
He was really neat--
He had a box full of race cars and a bubble machine
that made the biggest bubbles.
One day, as we were having snacks
(because snack time is serious business, no matter what age you are)
I decided I wanted another one.
It was a stick of string cheese, and I was six--
clearly I was a growing lady and I needed my dose of dairy.
So I walked up to his mother and said
"please," because my momma raised me right, "can I have another string cheese?"
And I will never forget the hesitant look I got
the curious head tilt, the squinted eyes;
it's forever in my mind. It's always there.
Anyway, I didn't understand why it was so confusing.
Really, I just wanted another piece of cheese.
To be honest, I don't remember if she ever
i just really don't care about climate changei am fourteen.i just really don't care about climate change1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
i am fourteen years old and they tell me
to take on the world, to hold the globe
like a precious creature in my palms
and to balance the continents
between my fingers.
i don't want to suck the toxins from
the atmosphere and pollute young
lungs, the exposition of explicit
curriculum drives me crazy.
it may be compulsory but having
it drummed into your ears and weaved
into your innards is not the way that
(i want to live).
i am fourteen years old,
and they tell us that kids are growing up way too fast
in a world that's self destructing by the second,
but ignorance is bliss - weren't they the ones
who taught us so?
no greyi am levitating withno grey11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
a cloud tucked beneath
i float in the ionosphere
with solar rays refracting
through my cell's cytoplasms,
like the atoms
inside my body are joining
back together with the
and i'm going
to be whole again, i promise:
i can see for the
first time in centuries
and my lungs are clean,
my chest is open
humdrumtownfive o'clock middle of nowhere tea,humdrumtown1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
he poked reality with an unloaded rifle,
roadkill doe; the sheet slid off
the flanks; in his
life he had never been so awfully
a strange sensuality in the sunset
"it's a dead animal, you know"
well, he would never go that far;
not as far as admitting he was
wrong - therefore,
heavy odour of rotting would never
turn to incense,
deer-legged Mary would never
bless him with a kick in the ass,
he'd be confined to
burning down houses, greasy fingers -
the sad cop-outs of
five o'clock middle of nowhere funerals.
we called her memashe had salt skin,we called her mema2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
wrinkles that fell off her in waves
and seven greasy finger links with
diamonds at their tips.
tied to a wheelchair with
black licorice chains,
her stubby feet locked into
children’s sized shoes and gushing
with crimson at the souls.
she had ants tucked into the pockets
of her lungs,
her eye sockets bled with the
spirit of poetry and prose.
we found her sleeping,
caressed by a thick layer of
and enjoying a love affair
with the grim reaper.
overwhelmedtodayoverwhelmed2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i am small. worlds collapse
being dawnistart late-- come into the worldbeing dawni2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
all screaming face and flailing limbs
and grasping fingers
that hold to the womb, the room
you've lived. welcome a brother
before you have learned what the word
should mean; before you are carried
on the shoulders of another brother;
before you can begin to understand
the responsibility of you. watch yourself,
your existence, tear apart your family--
be the reason she wants him to leave,
be the reason he can't control
himself. be the reason two brothers
don't understand a father's love.
drown. be flailing limbs and stolen breaths
and splashing water and your father's hands
holding you down. when he is bored,
gulp for breath, gulp for air; don't let yourself
remember this for long. drown again, drown
again; each scenario a different prison,
and you, barcoded into bravery you don't feel,
can't breathe. trail a teddybear from loose fingers,
but be a big girl. stumble over words
like daddy and love and no, no, no,
please. fall up stairs instead of down,
on insignificanceisolation and claustrophobiaon insignificance1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
are a lot more similar than you
might think -
these bones feel like
an exoskeleton, all cages
and bars and the
inside my nose and to the back
of my throat
and around my wrists,
press myself against the wall
forearm to neck
i keep this rotting corpse alive
all i want is to look in the mirror and breathe out
and feel like i can still carry on breathing,
some people say the body and mind are
separate but we all know that's just wishful thinking
- self preservation, if you will -
go to sleep with an inkling of hope and wake up vomiting words
to the nineteen-year-old girl who killed herselfdear Madison,to the nineteen-year-old girl who killed herself1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
they say there was a blanket of delicate snow
at your service, flurries falling from the sky like old friends,
and winter has never felt so cold in Philadelphia;
even the willows weeped candlelight from the highest
branches— on friday Rittenhouse Square was breathtaking,
the sun setting on an amber day— there was a radiance
about you, a spark that burned a little too bright
and I know that you tried all you could,
but sometimes you can't help but choke on the flames
you fell from the roof gently, like the tired petal of a flower
compelled by the promise of gravity and a place
to sleep in the soil down below,
but the irony of a rose is that it is most beautiful once dead;
this is not to say that you are beautiful or not,
though that's all people seem to remember;
your existence brought the gift of faith to those of us
who need it most— you left gifts for your loved, and that was the
most beautiful thing we could ever hope to do
I will not end this sentenc
buried lifei could make my life like buckets,buried life2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
fill them all half full with sink water
wash my hands and make lists from the splash:
live on a sailboat, travel the world under stargazing waters
grow something from the ground up
fuck like a promise in the spires of the taj mahal
eat southeast asia like a cherry blossom sunset
swim to new zealand, romp with the black sheep
snuggle with africa in savannah bedsheets
spend a week in the silence of my steampunk mind
have tea with the dalai lama, tickle the wisdom from his golden bones
burn a man in the desert, from crop circle cities west of nowhere, center of out there
get punched in the face for something you believe in
commit a felony with a loved one, get away with it
inspire a revolution, dream like a loudspeaker
explore metaphysically that which you cannot touch, grab it by the earlobe
be shaken, not stirred, thrown on the rocks and left for the dry lipped vultures
cry in front of your brother
share secrets with a stranger, take them to lunch and
Nudemilk coats the insides of my lungs.Nude2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
your silence, it heaves in ways
each swell and thrust
of my windpipe. alveoli
punctured, white pelicans fly out
in guise of breath.
i watch blank clouds of condensation
coil and collapse like
steam stills in stopmotion
have no words, no bones
from beneath the skin
in your sleep.
teeth shred the shrouds of my scalp.
each strand curls inward, yanked
out fetal style. your hands,
they sewed white
orchids along my throat,
and i stood still.