lay marbles along the groundit's raining again outside and i am not sure whether or not i should go to the post office, and post that letter to you, i even made sure i got your address right, picked a nice little envelope.
it's something like pleasance, something like a train wreck, a horrific plane crash with no survivors, all twisted metal and you can't even make out where a mangled something could have been where a body was, or is. maybe it's like how all the colours are all swirled into a representation of, how earth is from up way high. like when you're flying and everything slowly takes on a cartoon-like certainty, the world becomes a doll-house, i guess then, we're all made out of porcelain. please don't break, when i tell you this. when i say it.
when you lay down, do your eyes roll back into your head? sometimes i think they might, cold distant marbles they are. i wish i were playing on the cement on the street with friends and lots and lots of marbles, i wonder who'd win. it would be so exciting. we'd s
-truth-will you meet me in the spaces-truth-7 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
between our fingers
indivisible, but one
(and all the smaller pieces
that don't matter)
a hollow note
twenty minutes to dawn
(i know this because we've been here before)
in this moment, and this thing of arms and arms entwined, called embrace
this moment on soft notsosoft ground sheets
it's the same
and in this moment
this moment is again
and your voices
singing as the past
ceilings and walls
that do not house me
anymore, i hear you
you are farther away
when i am with you
than when we are
so far apart
i do not have a traditional clock
that could tick away the night
in even tones
to focus on
when i'm trying my hardest not to be awake
i only have digitalisations left
batteries unincludedyou are an hourbatteries unincluded8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
sixty minutes of sixty tickings
in this hour is every word
youve ever said
i have an old wrist watch my father gave me
i say old, because five years is a long time when it is a quart of your life.
i use it to count you.
staring at the straight lines and reflecting the tubed light into a dancing circle on the wall
a spotlight for an ant
i imagine a woven straw hat and cane
there was always dancing wasnt there?
there was, but it was never us that were dancing. its just a configuration.
you know, of talk.
something we forgot all about.
perhaps it wasnt forgetfulness but forced ignorance.
you know, being stubborn, like stains you can never get out in the morning.
reminder to selfwhen i grow up i'm going to get bags andreminder to self7 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
bags of seeds and scatter them in the
rain all around my neighbourhood,
chuck them into empty lots.
i'm going to get a mirror
and write you are
beautiful on the top of
it and put it on a wall
of a building on a busy street and
when i grow up i'm going
to write love letters to
strangers and big descriptions of
what i did today
and post them to street addresses i'll
make up and put toys and random
objects in people's letter boxes, like
a corkscrew and a live frog
and i'm going to get a white board
with a pen and put it in an alley way
and put a sticker saying my
thought of the day on
the bottom of it then
me and my friend, we'll
stand on the opposites of the
street and pretend we're pulling
on a big rope and hope the car
crashes aren't too loud
and i'll draw a map of everywhere i've
seen wild fennel growing, and mint and
mulberries and take you there. i'll make
you a tea that stains your teeth with
the water we got for free from the
you in your mouthi am curious about youyou in your mouth6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
of course, i'd like
to know how many sugars
if any, i think i'd like
to know how well
done. but i'm not sure
of course, if i should be
curious (or otherwise)
if it is indecent
of me to speculate
ponder how much milk
wonder what textures
maybe i should wait
for the situation
to present itself
rather than spend
these days thinking
i love the way i say ithow come perfection could be the smile of apology you made when you were always latei love the way i say it8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
how come perfection could be
velocity isnt lost each time
the bounce has changed
there arent enough sides inside
my skull to play any
just likehe said,just like8 years ago in Typographical More Like This
you taste kind of nice
ill give you a try.
its been too long
i know ive forgotten.
its just like riding a bike
i always used to crash
whichever waydon't you forget that yesterday used to be a tomorrow.whichever way7 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
to build-up smilesi'd like to seduce happinessto build-up smiles7 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
buy a new dress for contentedness
slut it up for ecstasy
pull down the sheets on frivolity
melt down the wax around sacrifice
excuse myself for rushing
i'd like to choreograph prayer
the build-up to the artifice
stop smiles from touching
begin the wake before the dawn
the black before the white; a pair
disbanded before a circle shared
one half realising, "i'm just another pawn."
love is like birdi think im getting a bit too fidgetylove is like bird8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
staring silence onto walls again
looking through people,
ignoring flickers of recognition like goldfish picking at flakes
or my fingertips
im walking with an aim of nothing
i shudder at the words im supposed to be saying
like its supposed to supposed to
and i could eat my apathy with ribbons
splattering sugar on the cement
[i didnt buy them]
i collect--much too many a thing
i collect people
in my head
short films of them
it doesnt matter that reality lies to me with
black and white shades of grey turning everything into a big mess of purple
when i like you
black when i like you
black when i dont
and everything is purple anyhow
i need no glasses to tell you i dont see the same colours as you
but i know you
and i know you dont know me
i never knew you
im suffering from high doses of pleasantry
the easiness between us, is only me playing the game the way my mother taught me
with a smile and mu
it isnt really an island, butthis skin i'm init isnt really an island, but7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it isn't me so much
as my toes
are my feet
my fingers are my hands
my eyes my face;
and it isn't me
so much, when i smile
or cry, or fall apart
down splitting sides
it isn't me so much
these lips (that speak
for me) and i rarely invade
the privacy of my heart
but then i get lost, in
all the things that are
supposed to be (me, but
aren't), in who they are
and why (no matter
how hoarse i make her throat
with screaming after her)
she doesn't come when i call
I have Is in the back of my hedonism.
When I finish there will be a river
Translucent and cascading
I know you are a busy man, but just try to think of it from my point of view."
What, in a g-string and bra?
When I begin there will be no end
act i into(beauty)act i into7 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
obscured into a blur
i become fluid with the silent
motion of the lines
my eyes are a continuing moment
along the spectrum of heard
seen tasted felt
this is the wonder of is
i miss the genesis
the before the flood
the fluid motion
of calling home the birds
with a scattering of seeds
the tips of your hair
dapple bright ecstasies
on your reflection
they drip the terror
from your throat
a tracing of your skin
under my skin print
injects memory into my fingers
and solidifies in silence
it was raining when-
it was raining when-
it was raining when you held your parasol high
and laughed at the sun
it was bright light then-
it was bright light then-
it was bright light then when your umbrella on
pulled laughter from the bus
(a he i
my condolences for your
wake up, wake up
it isn't morning
but for the tumble
for the tumble
i give you warmth
is this how it is to fly?the sleepy storm of your aeroplane fingersis this how it is to fly?7 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
hurricaning gentle rushes along the tips of my ear flesh--
no, i did not say stop
as a child in your arms, I wish for more wishes
too few are the moments we glide beneath our eye sheets
tucking our tears into slippery sleep
when does wait turn into savour?
jester flowers dance jangly yellow beneath my feet and i feel
the gentle grumble of the wind's distaste through my ear pipes
along my jaw; my straining neck
a furore of bent elbows and outstretched arms tasting cloud whispers
on my cheeks, on my lips, and my hair no longer obeys the law
is this how it is to fly? arms wicked propellers and spinning
turning running sideways centripetal;
my centre? is where, is where?
i am your el(e)-o-c(tro)ution
you are my hard starboard.
everyone was once a smaller face to cry
Spiderling"Next!"Spiderling8 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Shuffle, up, shuffle.
"Three teal, seven harlequin, ten spotted mauve… one spiderling."
"Gimme your ration card!"
"I… I… I… I… here…"
Mumble mutterings, "three teal, seven… spotted mauve. There ain't no spiderlings on this here card!" Eyes ablaze and as meat.
"Please, for my… back, the pain."
Slam down hard.
"Everyone gets their fair share. Nothing more. Always less. Nothing more. Next!"
Twenty coloured pills danced down his fingertips and I quickly picked them up as they bounced once, twice. Never let them more that thrice. Or pop! All over the counter. And no more. Always less.
The ration dispenser flicked my card at me. It twanged laminatedly against my forehead and landed on my gloved palm. I tucked it back into my pocket; card and pills packed safely. No one dares traverse the insides of another's pants these days.
They say everything's contagious.
It is the year of our Lord, 2100, June twelfth, eight fifteen post meridian and I am cold. Our lady is but a bloated memory fl
I Love -Hate-I Love -Hate-8 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The way you scuff your feet. The way you pick the roses past their bloom, so you can jingle shake their petals as you walk, without a bride. The way you haven't brushed your hair since you were ten. The way you're comfortable with taking turns in dialogue. Your pauses of breath. Your silver step. The way you croak good morning in the lazy afternoons. The way you only like your yolks runny. Your meat soft. Your bread hard. The way you fill the cup with too much hot water. The way you let things steam until we're blind, with something not unlike tears. Your apologetic 'no's. The freedom in your 'hello's. Those jeans you never wore. The picture in my head of your fingers, your thumbs, the backs of your knees. The smile you wore as a badge whenever I was leaving. The way your face becomes the same blur as I swing you into dizziness. Your look of disdain when you've realized I've written the day away.
Love is a lot like hate.
Of what a kiss should be.Today, today I felt as if I would break. In a gentle way. With the pain of some kind of realisation. Or theory. Or delusion, fitting to such strange situations. Perhaps not strange at all—same? The acidic grind of the same wheels turning the same cogs the same outcome, the same clock striking time to sleep.Of what a kiss should be.8 years ago in Post-Teen (Mature) More Like This
I don't think it's up to thinking about what I should have dones, how I could've changed things. What you could of… it's only blame. And regardless of the supposed weight lifted off of one, it never takes away the negation of the entire experience.
Why do we say we feel hollow when we can still feel? Sometimes it's only an overload of emotion. Not a lack there of. I think it's feeling paper thin. Part of, but apart, like tissue wrapping paper, translucent; like cellophane and just as gaudy. Made to be thrown away.
I think it was craft. I think it was a dress being crocheted, filling up with time, sleeves, neckline, bust, waist, hem… and then the unraveling, until all it was, was eno
when you wish you had-n't-stringing your eyes with garlands of stars iwhen you wish you had-n't-6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
wish to impeach you, maybe impregnate you
with a will to breathe
but what are you but an incoming breath
to me? an unapologetic zephyr gracing
my inner vineyards
ruffling the leaves with whispers
(i understand it
isn't so collapsible, and
i'm forgetting i forget
but when the winds turn
you're a harlot, ruining this year's
yield of self
(importance and confidence)
and i'm understandably drinking
the vinegar left
trying to breathe in the lights
i gift you with - always
and i have only the stars
the stars to blame.
If you keep your eyes closedI start, but I begin to faulterIf you keep your eyes closed7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
catching myself on cliffs of wind chapped lips
gnawing uncertainty with white spears
(oh native tongue)
what's spinning you?
The bastard child that thinks I'm a yo-yo.
I begin again, only to fall into
the same too big for you shoes, same glazed (aspartame laced) over smile,
and you. you are... a loss of anything to say
say cheeseHow can you manufacture emotion?say cheese8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Such a bold statement. Look capital letter. Punctuation.
Must be true.
[i smile everyday for you, it kills me, every day, just a little bit more of me, falls to the floor, and i step on it]
in the future. nowi cannot tellin the future. now7 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
whether or not
it's the weather
or my toes are
cold for other
on top of me
like all the
oceans and all
and dead things
and oil spills
and a need
it is only a romantic notion
a dream for a higher purpose
special things that seperate
there was something worth it
up there, you told me
no one would ever think to look for me
(i too, deserve the sun, sometimes, sometimes)
you asked never
you asked never to
never to sing
you asked never
never to sing
you asked never
never to sing
never to sing
never to sing that song to you
watercolour my eyes a song
over the mountains
hold my ears close
and berate brush strokes - to my
solidify words in my mouth
so hard and crystal sharp
they bleed into my stomach
and grow trees up my pipes
blooming you morning
on all my photographs
a decade ago i
generally speaking. I loveToday it is simple.generally speaking. I love7 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
It begins with caves opening to reveal blindness for little seconds before my eyes painfully adjust. Travels on up a steep slope that jagged legs, crinkle left and right to straighten, when everything is level. Ten minutes pass (remember: Im always almost always lying about the time, but its only because I dont remember), and on the eleventh, Im wet with water that couldve touched so many dead things before it washes over my lips.
But still, morning comes with clean. And when I open my eyes to streaming water I feel happier when it is not mine; let it wash clean my orbs, blaze them fire-dance red and inject some life between me and the paramecium waltzing on my lidded hallucinations.
Its so I dont get lost in the sound of the fan sucking up all the steam of me. So I can focus on two red dots collided with blood maps surrounding two dots of chocolate indecision. So I dont have to dwell on the reason why clothes fade.
When no one is around youLook, I'm going to start saying your name like a swear word, okay? I'm going to muster all my little kiddedness and scream it like I can offend someone, see.When no one is around you8 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
I'm just going to say it at inopportune moments, and clasp both of my hands over my mouth when I say it in front of the wrong people.
I'm not going to say it like a magic word anymore, I'm not going to say it like it invokes enough happiness in a papercup that I can swallow down and easily discard of the carrier. Crush.
Well then. I'm just lying arent I?
I'm not going to say your name at all anymore; I leave it up to the screams.
like them: awakedon't telllike them: awake7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
me what it
to know sorrow
the crisp way the morning is
like apples, how i don't eat
them anymore, how i'm not
and don't need
coffee, no, thank
than rainbows, more
colourful than butterflies
on your dress
or trapped, gassed on
your lips spill truthyour ardour pearls into cups to catch my eyesyour lips spill truth7 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
but we do not fall for weakness; pin pricks beneath
my toes and i keep falling
your empty hands caress the washed streets of my cheeks
but too late for the deluge
you stroke tomorrows downstream
you are a word i suddenly remembered the meaning for
misusing it this whole time,
i feel such a fool.
im caught in an updraft of your hello
the easy way that smile turns into my name
turns to a frown
im seducing the last traces of your nonchalance
beckoning him out with promises
i sense your lips do lie, but we both know
a kiss can last forever and
forever can end with a kiss.