Post-Masturbatory DepressionSperm drips from sink faucetsPost-Masturbatory Depression in Free Verse More Like This
Into a cesspool of everything I want to forget
Stale and stained bedsheets of shame
After the thrill of sexual climax passes
Pictures just look like sick acts of perversion that are orchestrated through fishnets
Peel me like St. Bartholomew
Flayed and honest
Why am I so sick?I don't need this.No one wants me.Why am I here?Who am I?
With chaffed skin and unsatisfied curiosity
I already want to do it again
Breaking RhythmIs theBreaking Rhythm in Free Verse More Like This
Hold on tight
and the rhythm breaks like your favorite childhood toy did when it got stuck between the seats of your mom's caravan. Can you relate to that? Probably not. Books stack like towers, leaning against gravity, refusing to collapse.
GreekWhip lash in my neck. Those crosses on the side of the road. Twisted metal stained with innocent blood. Intertwined with what killed you in the smoldering wreckage. This Ford machine treads on everything that proceeds it.Greek in Free Verse More Like This
Put your ear on the ground
Hear the devil laughing
Comical and pubescent
Faults fill my face as I age. When it is hot like this sweat fills the crevices like a down stream river. Also when I cry. I never cry. Except for when someone dies or no one loves me. I am Telemachus. Waiting for my dad to come home. Except I can see my dad, drinking in front of David Letterman. He just isn't there.
Split HairsCuriosity never killed anyone. Curiosity never killed anyone. Curiosity never killed anyone. Three is the perfect number. Three is the perfect number. Three is the perfect number. Dragons are slain by knights in white satin. I love that song. It was on yesterday as I was in my car. The windows were up because I have allergies. Fuck my genes. Knights in white satin/never reaching the end. And I love you/ oh how I love you. Broken skies are mended by street lights. At a certain velocity, it all looks like nothing. Color and line that hold on for the sake of image. We are only as strong as we say we are. I have a limp cock and a limp will to live. Which one will be the death of me?Man and Machine fondle each other. Oil mixes with seamen. Which floats to the top? Sometimes I say the stupidest things just to be noticed. Brunette hair that is soft to the touch. Lets stay here. If your long eyelashes flutter like that again, we could break the sound barrier. Sonic boom. Lets do it again.Split Hairs in Free Verse More Like This
BendTear the Tarot Cards off the wallsBend in Free Verse More Like This
Put the gun to your head and squeeze
Lesbians lick each other raw. Their flesh filling the spaces between their fingers. Horses run towards the sun until they disappear, burning like crisps. Light explodes over a baron landscape. The cracks and crevices in the earth becoming illuminated. She took it all at once. A phallic achievement for the ages. I only remember the top of her hair. Dyed in a way where the part was her original soft brunette.
My memory is fading fast
Rolls of TapeAll the synonyms are running through my head but I can't think of the word. It is like beautiful but a little less extreme. Red scrapes against the air. Drinking and eating and living are just words. Writing is just a word. I spit on the ground just to see the saliva run across the concrete. It was never about me or her or him. It was always about us. I don't know if I have ever loved someone. I have felt plenty of naked bodies. Mine against theirs. Playing with their dicks or their pussies. Whatever. I was never able to absorb anyone. Their flesh giving to mine and us just morphing into something beyond the physical world. Our parents said we didn't have morals and that we are bums. What else can you do when you are still just a kid? The clouds are getting heavier and heavier as their invisible stilts are giving and starting to splinter. You never know when to leave. You are just shoved out.Rolls of Tape in Free Verse More Like This
The MorningI want to kill my best friends. No one has time for me any more. Mahler's Sixth symphony. Three fatal blows. Three shots to the head. Our hero has fallen and everyone weeps. Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique. My head bouncing down steps as my body is lifelessly limp.The Morning in Free Verse More Like This
I can't talk
my face hurts
I am a total fuck up
No one cares about me
No one knows my fucking name
Krill crawling quick into the Whales mouth. The whale smiles.
Rain falls slanted. Wind whipping my hair this way and that. The cigarette I am holding is starting to burn my fingers. I throw it into a puddle and it floats like a piece of shit. Mechanic beasts zip past in front of me. I am tempted to step in front of one but I wait. I just keep walking. My favorite sweater drenched. I am cold and miserable.
I want a fat cock
inside of me
giving me love
and making me
My upper lip is stained Rothko Red. Cocaine rushes to my head. Zeus throws his lightning. God is dead.
Follow me somewhere
I am going to grope you
and you are g
Area CodesBottled waterArea Codes in Free Verse More Like This
and colored pills.
Curly red hair
her freckled breasts.
Light pours through
the window. We stay
in bed and toss the sheets.
I have no face.
She has no face.
The angel grabbed
End of a RulerBend backwards as theEnd of a Ruler in Free Verse More Like This
bullets blast fast.
It isn't a fucking earthquake,
it is more bombast.
Time slides slow,
tenses in the past,
six feet in the grass,
we're gonna die fast.
Mist-marred marsh filled
with moist murky moss.
Mister Mervin swerving,
cracked like Rick Ross.
houses for dolls,
gum bleed floss,
the sideways cross.
Fingernails peel from
the roots of the cuticle.
The multicolored scales
may be more suitable
for me because I'm
liable to litotes.
Somewhere along the line
I forgot how to live.
Love Like Concrete FeetHer lungs became iron balls that forgot they knew how to expand.Love Like Concrete Feet in Free Verse More Like This
They tried to recycle the rotting carbon dioxide circling through her system, pleading that this poison will revive her parched blood cells-
(Little specs of dust, that once carried very code that gave her life,
greedily soak up the carbonic acid as if it will restore their died up walls.)
The air sacs in her lungs fill with water as she drowns herself in thoughts of him.
(But she lost the right to ask for heaven's help
Because she had too many chances to make it right.)
Images of him fogged her mind like little feet kicking up mud from the bottom of a pond.
Stirring up clouds of murky brown, that resurface dingy desires with strings lacing in the shape of her neck.
And she just watched him slip away into the murk of the lake holding the stone attached to the other end of the strings.
(Deeper and deeper this is the kind of lake that has no end
and she was dragged in neck first.)
To Fly FreeShe's so little and low, all the way downTo Fly Free in Free Verse More Like This
Free falling until she hit's the ground.
She lets it flow seeping all around
Burying her body under a mound
Everybody sits afraid to stare
At the small body that once was there.
She always laughed that its not fair
That birds fly free and she can't compare.
OmensI guess before I continue anymore with the story I should probably tell you what I am. I am an omen. Not a good one at that. I walk into cities to destroy them. I drive people mad. When people see me all their dark desires surface, desires they didn't even know they had. I make men rape women, wives shoot their husband. I make people steal, murder, and lie. All this keeps me alive.Omens in Profiles More Like This
People have both bad and good in them. Everyday they are making decisions that makes them lean to one side or the other. I just help them lean to one side. I need them to be bad, I awaken the evil in them. I need their corruption to make me stronger.
Everything I know, DisappearsThere's no way to escape the complications I left behind. The memories are enough to eat me alive but sometimes you just have to leave them behind.Everything I know, Disappears in Short Stories More Like This
So many photos never found their way into the bags I packed,
(but a painting with two eyes blended at a crack?)
When sentences are set ablaze why put out the flames when they're intended for you?
Maybe action was singed by charred words.
-Ethane radiated from your pores while a flammable tongue encouraged growth-
The demons you feared the most only asked for an invitation.
You didn't have to let them in.
Now you're their hostess
This is you're storm to weather, now entertain.
Don't keep them waiting.
If you give me burdens don't think I'll come out unscarred
It's just that life's too short to let it leave you marred.
What happens when everything you loves becomes everything you fear?
Would it make sense just to let it all disappear?
The Book of LustHe lived in a world where you grew up fast or died young. He wasn't meant to live in this world, where ideas of beauty were cruel caricatures twisted and deformed by violent lust. The type of sex where the men pounded their anger away in some reckless whore bent over , face down in the pillow. A place where women tried to prove their worth by diving from bed to bed only to degrade themselves more in the process. In this world words of beauty were hollow echoes of ricochets and empty gun shells hitting the ground.The Book of Lust in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
He fell in love with the first girl he slept with, he fell in love with the way she navigated his body as if she'd explored it hundreds of times before. She knew ever spot to touch to make him twist and jerk in undeniable pleasure. He told her she was beautiful and said he loved every flaw she listed about herself. The next time he saw her was at a party where he walked into the room to find her on all fours with a guy in the front and another in the back. He then understood h
Under Microscopes And NeedlesSkin crawling in ripples; look at it under the microscopeUnder Microscopes And Needles in Free Verse More Like This
And they will scream at you.
With reactions of acidic qualities,
Is it really that hard to believe it's all corroded away?
It's a lovely staircase, each step carved to show the next stage.
-In Exclusive Detail- (isn't that what you wanted?)
But step on them and they will drop you through the floor.
Where did I hear this claim of feet that step like heaven
When all I can see are ashes beneath your's,
And new trails of raised skin, like the hackles of a pissed off
Every artist has a picture to paint,
But if you add to many colors it will
Only turn grey
And ask for apathy.
If the truth is too much to give then don't give anything at all.
Fair EnoughWhen glass breaks it doesn't shatter into diamonds.Fair Enough in Free Verse More Like This
It bursts into a million pieces of a mirror seeing different scenes.
Each reflecting back their shattered caricature of the point of view they see.
Laughing to the point of contagious cracks;
they can't help but invite themselves in.
Besides who's going to deny them from entering.
Its spreads in ripples
Then works its way across the surface.
Bringing waves of dramatic change that's only visible for a few moments.
(Most miss it.)
So many scenes to play, they could live lifetimes in seconds
(each crying for someone to keep up.)
But no one can.
Regret of RedemptionSo angelic praying to yourRegret of Redemption in Free Verse More Like This
God. Enjoying the
Euphoric sighs of guilt free
Sin burning as you drink
Your water ,so blessed, to
Feel it singeing the back of your throat.
You painted a heavenly escape with
Shredded paper from a worn out book.
Rewritten; with a different fairy tale in mind.
Ode To MonotonesHe had a colorful past mostly full of red.Ode To Monotones in Free Verse More Like This
One day he said to me that I painted my past grey,
Bleeding the vibrancy of any color into transparency,
Leaving myself in a monotone world.
I tried to tell him that they were colorful
Shades of grey, each different in their own way.
He snorted instead claiming it was all in my head,
Giving me a chance to feel red once again
Calloused WordsI tried not to stare into her eyes. I would get lost in her apathetic gaze and forget to feel. Silent like fog it hung in the air too think to see through.Calloused Words in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
She was stuck inside a haze again, chaotically trying to rearrange her brain.
I couldn't really see her through the mist that exerted from her pores.
Instinctively my hand reached out to her, but I pulled away. From what I saw, it almost seemed to be sacrilegious to touch her.
With skin like flowing cream, the lightest touch would send it crawling in spiderwebs of ripples.
(And I'm not known for having soft hands but I wanted to get caught like a fly in the strands of silk.)
She wrapped herself in silence to keep the tumultuous turmoil that pillaged her brain to herself. She was afraid the slightest sound would shatter that shaky level of concentration she needs to organize her disobedient mind.
I couldn't help but wonder if words would be able to slip through the chapped grooves of her velvet lips and how her voice would match her
a-positivemy father once told me that you can’t marry someone with your same blood type.a-positive in Free Verse More Like This
chances are your children would emerge with a myriad of deformities;
your DNA strands wouldn't coincide the way your souls would.
this hit me with the realization that maybe, in a time before this one,
someone foresaw the way we would look at each other and decided
we were a secret better kept hidden.
this morning was the first in a long time that i woke up feeling beautiful
without a boy convincing me so the night before. is this what freedom feels like?
heart spilling out of my chest and alveoli snapping into place.
this is untouched skin:
smooth and lightened, lotioned with a sense of confidence.
war-torn with wanton and longing for limbs no longer here.
is there a name for that two-in-the-morning feeling?
the way guts wrench themselves open and botanical gardens scream.
is this what capillaries do when no one is looking?
cry or maybe wonder if they will ever see light again.
there just might be an
swimming in spacelet's ask the stars to build us a castleswimming in space in Free Verse More Like This
so we can rest our shoulders like royalty -
put the weight of all these words
for a few millennia
and just breathe.
our lungs could use a few hits of truth
to open themselves up to the calming hymns of the heavens;
breaking ourselves apart shouldn't be too difficult.
(our wrists mean war - forests of insecurities & impatience)
wait a few more months
for distance to build itself a bridge between our arms,
saturn is stretching its rings across your chest,
deeming you responsible for all the black holes
and stray planets enveloped in the universe.
i went swimming in your blood stream,
no diver came in after me.
i dreamt that i was drowning in your veins,
the chill of september's rains still haunts my bones
from time to time.
colors without names flash before my eyes
making themselves a mantra of sins under my skin.
we lifted our heads in unison and crafted a tragedy
from all these mistakes.
the riverbed & jesu
rosemaryin my empty nakedness and filth, i fall into a rhythmical prayer &rosemary in Free Verse More Like This
remember the mayan chants my third-grade music teacher taught.
my incense burns for the souls of the dead and mourns for the forgotten.
my pillow case smells like the arts & crafts teacher from summer camp,
there is a bottle of bug spray that ruined my navy v-neck and the stain
is still there. the bob marley poster smells a teensy bit like pot, he looks
so happy. my guitar is a piece of shit i never learned to play because i
couldn't read tabs. the hollowed-out bedroom walls hold fervent memories
of hot chocolate and running away, my glow-in-the-dark candle weeps
childhood. my jokes are all just metaphors, my rhymes are the punch-lines.
i've been waiting in line holding the bottle of punch mommy asked me to
buy 6 years ago; i don't have money to pay for it.
hitmy cheeks are still red and swollen from yourhit in Free Verse More Like This
mid-life crisis last night. you took your anger
out on me like you do most days and i've been
trying to figure out why. sometimes i think it's
my obligation; i'm first born, only girl, maybe
it's because you don't like the way i write poetry.
but now i realize it's because you're a sick fuck.
you call me. over & over, until my ears block out the
noise of your voice because i've heard that story before.
every time something like this happens, i tell myself that
next time i'm going to hit you back. hit you with hands and
words and i'm going to beat you like you beat me. but next
times turn into next-next times and those turn into the time
after that, and pretty soon, you & i don't even talk.
last night i hit you back. it wasn't really a hit, though, more
of a shove. more of a i can't take this anymore, more of a stand
up for yourself; the fuck you i've been dying to say. it was only
losses and gainsthey say there are two kinds of peoplelosses and gains in Free Verse More Like This
in the world; good & bad.
the kind that just go to church because
their mommas make them, and the kind that
actually feel a twist in their hearts, a
pain their chests when they think of Him.
the kind of people that, when asked would
you like something to eat, always answer
no despite their sunken stomachs and the
kind that say oh sure, don't mind if i do.
the people who smile at the poor & homeless
and sometimes hand them 34-cents, and the
people who smirk and don't even feel bad.
two kinds, always two kinds;
good & bad
bad & good
the kind of people that say that
the two kinds are black & white,
and the people who say fuck you
to them, we're all still human;
it's our humanity we've lost.
there are the people who give a fuck and
try to be the difference, and then there
are the people who are counting down the
days until their caterpillar-bodies turn
the losses outweigh the gains, dear child,
the losses outweigh the gains.
the battered boyyou see a battered boy walking home from God-knows-the battered boy in Free Verse More Like This
where; it is precisely 11:42pm. you know that because
you left the house at 9:36pm and your strong, old-man
body has that uncanny ability to tell time with or
without a watch. that battered boy reminds you of the
time you spent fighting in THE war. you went to one of
the war protests because your then-girlfriend-soon-to-be-
wife-now-you're-a-widower made you and she said it was
the right thing to do, to support your country. you
remember feeling uneasy the whole time and you heard
voices and at first you thought you were crazy, but it
was really just mr. president talking about how creating
piles and piles and piles of dead bodies with america's
signature shitted all over them would make our forefathers proud.
the only image that stuck with you from that day was a
glimpse of a woman, black curly hair & green eyes, holding
a sign that read 'bombing for peace is like fucking for
virginity' and you remember thinking that was a good sayin
experienceshow long ago was it that youexperiences in Free Verse More Like This
stood so proudly
in front of your circle of stuffed
and declared your independence?
when was the last time you
made fun of a girl
called her a 'tomboy'
because she didn't like glitter
the way you and your friends did?
did you keep track of how many
times you told clarissa she couldn't
be on your team for tag because
she wasn't the fastestestest runner
like you were?
how long has it been since you've
come home from school
pretended to do your homework
waited until 11:37pm
taken off all your makeup
let down your hair
looked in the mirror
'i am beautiful'?
when was the last time you
screamed in his face & slammed
the door shut with a loud boom
and went out to get
do you ever see your children?
do you ever think of him
you stand in the middle of the crowd
and point fingers at the shriveled old man
in the corner
and you nickname him 'empathy'
and you mock him
and you judge him
the woman with 11 fingersyou grew up in an old woman's house.the woman with 11 fingers in Free Verse More Like This
you fervently remember running home
to the rich jambalaya she was cooking,
the smell being your guide.
this old woman was not related to you.
from the stories she told you, you know
that there was an explosion that set
your previous life ablaze in flames &
damaged your memory,
so the old woman took you in.
you remember the lemon chicken every thursday
and the ice cream sundaes every sunday.
you remember her old woman smell, lingering in
the shadows of her musty closet.
you remember her clammy socks,
always clinging to the soles of her feet.
you remember her extra finger
hanging off from the end
of her left hand.
you remember those glares you both got at church.
you remember the navy blue corduroy pants
she made for you with her own 2-hands-and
11-fingers, wincing every time the needle
pricked the extra ligement.
but most of all,
you remember those tears.
those tears, those tears.
little piecesthe problem isn't the fact that thelittle pieces in Free Verse More Like This
neighbor's dog keeps jumping over the
fence or the salmon grandma cooked
is a bit too dry or the razor the girl
uses has flecks of orange on it and
she can't tell
whether they're rust particles
or dried blood.
maybe if he begged for a sign.
(no i'm not talking about the
kind you held up at the football game
to ask julie to prom.)
if he begged hard enough,
the others would melt in the
palm of his hand.
my friend leonard has a keen spirit.
he asks too many questsions, though,
and doesn't give enough answers.
and i pray, for james' sake, that lilly doesn't
go through with her horrific plan.
don't lie, don't lie.
it's funny how the power of the news she
heard didn't cause any tears to form,
but the second the rusty 1996 ford
hits the gravel of royce road, the
waterworks explode faster than
the blowholes of the dolphins at the zoo
when she was just the tender age
of 2 years, 5 months, and 12 days.
killer clownJohn Wayne Gacy, Jr. was a mankiller clown in Free Verse More Like This
who didn't know what to do with his hands.
in 1978, his blood rivered over the streets of Chicago
and the floorboards silencing the stripped bodies of
26 teenage boys were overturned like a grave robbery.
there once was a time when i didn’t need whispers or phone lines,
when i fell asleep curled around bed sheets, a proclamation of autonomy.
he was a troubled man plagued with the ache
a father leaves by sticking around.
his mother laundered his pillow cases,
not once questioning tear stains or scar tissue.
i fold laundry quicker than usual, now.
i keep my head up as i walk, make pointed eye contact,
and smile at strangers on the train. it’s all a distraction;
even the bones in my neck miss you when you’re gone.
John Wayne had a knack for reinvention.
in 4th grade, he sewed canvas rice bags into a cape,
thinking flight was an immediate form of escape.
when he molested a boy named Donald,
he thought he was reciprocating sexual advances.
Reprimand, fatigue, lossTwilight came on slowly before dawn,Reprimand, fatigue, loss in Free Verse More Like This
everything tinted blue by the early light.
I wept at some reprimand, fatigue,
We were in the back of a companion's car,
and I tried secretly to weep
but you noticed. While I turned toward the window
to hide my face,
you reached around my back
and gently put your hand over my mouth,
cupping empty space
for me to weep into.
It was all I needed--
a motionless bit of emptiness
while everything else
LightningboltsYou ease forward, prop your elbows on your knees.Lightningbolts in Free Verse More Like This
The veins in your hands fascinate me,
like those aerial pictures I remember from school
of rivers worming through lush green areas of places I'd never been,
would never be. The curve of your back gave off heat,
the imaginary line where you ended and the room began
was too real, too sharp to be seen,
just felt. The look on your face seemed burnt
into the wood panel walls behind you.
You rose, pulling at your tie with one hand,
unbuckling your belt with the other, as ambidextrous
as a chef, as unsteady as water
spilled over dry ground. You tugged the belt out of its loops
and as your slacks sagged slightly around your waist,
you took both ends of the leather band in your fist
and swung it at my temple.
A blankness flashed up from somewhere
that I suddenly realized was always below me.
And in that vertigo
I came back to myself on the floor,
suddenly fascinated by the lightning-bolts forming
in the way the creases of your shirt
The way the land is shaped1.The way the land is shaped in Free Verse More Like This
Photons, angels, names of counties
covered in snow.
Full of blue and purple stems,
there is pale water not yet frozen over;
filling it, the smells of cold
and an expired rain.
The earth grows gently.
The snow calms its patterns.
The way the land is shaped,
I want to live.
My body lies outside me,
as stiff as a bundle of sticks,
tied together with a belt and carried
over the back of who I ought to be,
toward where I ought to go.
Sometimes I peer out between openings,
jostled by the debris underfoot,
the ever uneven ground.
To stand in open spaces
that fill up with longing is to live--
every acre of the world
holds the whole ultimatum.
The air fills with shapes,
blips of air swirling in poured water.
Snow begins falling on the mountaintops,
the towns below diminishing to their shapes on maps,
In the abandoned fields and lots,
empty stems and rocks stick out of the ground
the bones of a person's face.
You have never opened curtains, never poured m
complications"you can'tcomplications in Free Verse More Like This
look at things
sensesomewhere in the marble countertopsense in Free Verse More Like This
"her lips pressed to her pillow
i ran my hands over it
as if i could smooth out the words,
but their flaws
just this moment
i am reminded of hills.
the way they might have had voices
but then something went wrong.
they pan out to a dwindling
sense of mist.
they echo away.
i zoom in.
i sense hoofs on dry grass.
i am looking at you,
i am looking at the way you were.
i island words.
i float around.
i pull a spoon
up the inside of a soup can.
it's noise and hunger
and dry hills
that are far away.
while you sleep
i pretend to write:
"she nests in her pale stones.
she pretends to sleep.
she empties countrysides,
her hair is a tangle
of soft light and scent."
i don't know.
the windows are dark
but i look out them anyway.
you can sense whatever you want out there.
you can fill the dark with murderers
or sunflowers or baffled lovers,
with edges of lakes
or pine branches or dead pets.
like thisthe emptier the room became,like this in Free Verse More Like This
the less i remembered.
now the room is stripped,
just walls and a chair on carpet that you would look at
it's only because i am about to leave this place for good
that i can sit so quietly.
there is something soothing about the possibility
of flowers bunched in a green bottle,
waiting for you in the next place.
whitish mottles on the inside of the glass
where water has dried.
like voices you heard once, but now only half-remember.
a version of something totally lost.
this is how the world is formed, i think.
i stretch my arms out
and look at the the bare walls.
how is it everything disappears?
the flowers are saying.
yellow-redmy bones ache. i think about soft petalsyellow-red in Free Verse More Like This
that are yellow-red, how the ache
my gut is the orange end of a cigarette.
your going away, like your coming,
is the stain of lipstick
on the other end.
that firstwho first said lovethat first in Free Verse More Like This
whoever first said
was watching light through glass
as someone walked away.
makes it seem
that i was
either ori sit down at the deskeither or in Free Verse More Like This
with my drink
and wish vaguely
that i were dead,
and because i'd take either
i take a hit
the drenchesenter where the fete gets held.the drenches in Free Verse More Like This
here where the bells keel.
we feel we jet here. legs, necks.
the neglected well deepens.
we were perplexed.
she peered, then her legs petered.
she reeled. flew.
we slept there,
dew keeps the ferns jeweled.
the sheen trembled. trees swept feelers.
we rested, then went.
fences kept stretches enmeshed.
where we were led exceeded ken.
grebes heckled the reeds.
we met there, where she nerved the drenched merges.
the swells mended, then wept.
we went between them. she threw pebbles, peeled them level.
knee-deep, then chest-deep, then held there.
she tells me, "mermen delete themselves when we meet them.
the femmes keep themselves elsewhere."
she threw me shells.
herself flecked here, there.
fresh smells emerged.
we wended, reversed.
lent perfected terms.
yet we never left.
Growing Up Too Fast.Honesty is the enemy of innocence.Growing Up Too Fast. in Editorial More Like This
Grab and GoThere is a single pack of cigarettes kept fresh,Grab and Go in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
in the freezer.
Next to the rum they are used for.
We keep the important stuff in the cabinet closest to the patio door.
Ready at a moments notice.
Life is good,
I should say no more.
Curbside LighthouseOne orange street lightCurbside Lighthouse in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Set against stars' beauty, dark's grasp
Protecting night owls
The New Year Shows OffJackets and mitts meltThe New Year Shows Off in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Green emerges from cold grip
Spring shows us new life
American FootballIt stops my breathAmerican Football in Free Verse More Like This
It gives me life
It was never meant to make me cry
It was never meant just for me
So let's just pretend
I'm not being...
OH-VURR-LEE (Oh-vurr-lee) dramatic
You'll always miss what you can't forget
It was never meant for anybody else
Cutie PieAll the cute and clever miscuesCutie Pie in Free Verse More Like This
Though misguided and misogynistic,
May well be your proof of success.
The Loss of Feeling in My FingersAnd so I satThe Loss of Feeling in My Fingers in Free Verse More Like This
Wishing for Oblivion
And only the frigid wind answers back
"Go to sleep."
GraspingOne more touch,Grasping in Free Verse More Like This
And we could have laughed at the world
One more tap,
And he would have had to turn around
One last caress,
And no one would have mocked us for our tears.
Embezzlements of LoveI start watching a romantic comedy and I realize that I have to start drinking.Embezzlements of Love in Free Verse More Like This
I start drinking and watching a romantic comedy, and I realize that I have to start writing.
I start writing and I realize I have never written anything into completion.
I even drink coconut rum.
I will always write short, unorthodox, poetry.
And I may finish the bottle.
certain soundscertain sounds you are used to hearing over and over again:certain sounds in Free Verse More Like This
click and drizzle of Keurig coffee maker
whoosh and creak of screen door closing
ancestral Russian-Hasidic inflections in the way you pronounce your H's
rustle of curtains and bedsheets
tap tap of your own feet
how can I help you
how're you doing
click and drizzle of Keurig coffee maker
snap of shampoo lid
roiling boiling water
identityi am not special;identity in Free Verse More Like This
i do not look pensive in photographs,
not even candids
i study serial killers sitting in sticky pine trees and i write stupid stories
and i dwell overly long on how i appear to other people.
i am no one in particular,
and i like it that way.
forever present tenseall i am is a series of moments,forever present tense in Free Verse More Like This
all i believe is i'm alive and all i believe is:
i'm alive and all i believe is i'm
all i believe is
every breath a star
some small sinanthonius, catholicsome small sin in Free Verse More Like This
sweet pale hands and a dark brown robe
they told you it was wrong,
why didn't they understand?
not sure what to make of your long ring finger
over-extensionhere i am cultivating my little garden of loneliesover-extension in Free Verse More Like This
a sponge, a chair, a shoulder
here i am with a wad of cotton batting, filling up my cadre of empties
line you all up on the shelf in the back of my head
pull you off and hey, lovely, how are you today?
how was the test the date the hospital the visit to the morgue
did you panic did you leave him did you hurt yourself
are you all right?
here i am lab doctor of chemistry far away, drugging up my
the desk chairlittle backwardsthe desk chair in Free Verse More Like This
you fell into me, lord,
you fell onto me and my long-fingered last-ditch chance at succession
the matte plastic face i'd been keeping for just this moment held,
held less a few cracks around the edges and eyebrows
a carelessly dropped spoon
a certain comfortthere is a certain comfort in having a name for your pain.a certain comfort in Free Verse More Like This
these things do not have to be cold and empty,
devoid of meaning
diagnosis can be
advice for a doctormind the connection 'tween protection and infectionadvice for a doctor in Free Verse More Like This
mind your gloves, son, mind your gloves, son
mind your gloves
mind the connection 'tween affection and detection
mind your loves, son, mind your loves, son
mind your loves
mind the connection 'tween perfection and reflection
mind your gloves, son, mind your gloves, son
mind your gloves
mind the connection 'tween projection and affection
mind your loves, son, mind your loves, son
mind your loves
mind the connection 'tween dissection and inspection
mind your gloves, son, mind your gloves, son
mind your gloves
mind the connection 'tween selection and rejection
mind your loves, son, mind your loves, son
mind your loves
mind your loves,
mind your loves
1.33I am my two strong legs now;1.33 in Free Verse More Like This
I am the sciatic pain radiating down one and the raised welts on the other
I am a functioning heart
and a functioning dick
I am not a castle
I am not a moat made of glasses and hair dye
when I adorn myself it is to emphasize, not to detract
I am twice the size I used to be
and thrice anyone you'll ever be
devotionI think I'm falling in lovedevotion in Free Verse More Like This
with an idea,
a desperate wish,
in the land of cold and sand,
treading the line between desire and asceticism
only to find you again.
but this isn't something that I can be stoic
there's a pantheon in my chest
and you're still the only one
I pray for.
you, something I reach for
but do not quite touch:
a bird or rose,
a slab of marble
the stuff of every
shrine and temple
that was ever touched by mortal hands.
and I want to lay my hands on you
unbosomingi'munbosoming in Free Verse More Like This
a pale creation bent
on my own self destruction;
in the right mind, but
then again i
i'm all out of needlesi've always hadi'm all out of needles in Free Verse More Like This
the sickness to drown
my holocaust bones
in thick wool. even
as summer dawns, making
my skin a mine for real
gold, i am still
head deep under the
adding a layer of dust
so that the world
may get the wrong image of
evolution of endearmentwhat is with theseevolution of endearment in Free Verse More Like This
needles poking out of
my fingers, waiting to spoil every
touch of affection,
of red dripping
down your thighs
spreading like a hot rash
before my feet,
were never really made for love
weeping limbsi wish i could show you how aggravated with my hands i amweeping limbs in Free Verse More Like This
i'd rip open my ribcage just to show you how i beat
so fucking incorrectly,
i wish god would have put my parts together
maybe if he did
this wouldn't be a
reminiscence of sweetI am trying my hardestreminiscence of sweet in Emotional More Like This
to forget all the things you tattooed
on my skin with lingering thoughts of you
I wish I could take it off
like you do a sweater once
summer has come,
but everything you left
for the garden, to buryifor the garden, to bury in Letters More Like This
wish you could know all the things you did to me
how you left me, how you
fucking left me
i am not a flower that can have the sun taken from
and be able to grow
i wilt in the summer
and not even in the winter, not
even in the spring
infectiousi find myselfinfectious in Free Verse More Like This
reusing the words
my father once
gave to me:
i am a useless bastard, you
deserve so much more.
verbatim, i sing
along the string
of my vertebra--
the vortex that
scatters you to
i was not born
a beast, but born
i am not your lover,
i am your cancer:
with me you
will be carrion cast
onto the lawn
KATRINALIVES A MILEKATRINA in Free Verse More Like This
from the sea.
she is sallow as a beach.
she smells like rain,
or a wet earth,
with pale hair clipped
behind her head
she feels as though her hair
would be black. but it is
it is colorless
GIVES MY STOMACH
she doesn't speak.
she is silence.
i speak at her, mostly
and her eyes
look as though
they've been plucked
from a lynx
they are blue around the edges
the deep blue you find
at the edge of the sea,
if you've been out that far.
at the center they are green
light like a riptide.
they tug you in.
unmoving, and calculating
i said to some
gave me head.
her hands are too far dug
into the coast of spain
for her to reach me,
far too eager
for my composure.
she'd suck me dry
like her mothers did
the caspian sea,
like the fields of sahara
once lush with green.
she is a barefoot girl.
she moans like the shorefront
in the dead of night.
i've made love to
note 22you are the thin sliver of thoughtnote 22 in Free Verse More Like This
that graces my thighs as i
undress for him
raw collection of poemsand i am missing youraw collection of poems in Free Verse More Like This
and i am fucking
when you climb into bed, think of me. the
rosary that downs the bottom of your
drawer is a silly reminder of what i had
taken from you
ice cold and his
i was warm
i look at myself and i see lines
impending on themselves
bending from the weight of my soul.
i am heavy
i am middle-afternoon
and i can't uncurl myself
from the telephone or the
idea of you
we work like polar
but i swear to god i was meant to
meld with you;
you go north
and i south,
thwarting what we built
between force fields
i look at my self and i see lines,
cracks in the mirror
all down my thighs where you
broke me in two
i will come back together
(only to be
split back a
part by you)
come home, come
i need early morning
i need lack of sleep
and i need the cold
to my soul
just to stop
the world siphoning the
air from me
i am not doing
Bel HeviWhen they mapped depression’s manifestation,Bel Hevi in Free Verse More Like This
they showed my body turning blue
as if it had filled with the water
of every downward-floating mermaid
with her heart and her gills on her arm.
They told me
depression is a tandem bicycle.
That it stretches, elongates, reaches,
spreads to both ends of the spectrum
from a thrumming red to cobalt black,
from a violent joy, like a catalyst in a combustion chamber,
to a deadness, a negative entity in non-existence.
My fingers may radiate words
but my heart is a vault full of
It is a simmering and freezing, incapacitating, sorrow
they measure with their electrical wires,
and is that supposed to placate
my fear of drowning,
is that supposed to unbend me from fetality?
I fold fender for fender beneath
my mother’s sheets
as my body turns to blue
and bitter, black frost-bite,
and is the idea of agony as tandem
supposed to restore my faith
in modicums of
in parcels of good days
when I did n
A Myna Bird MelancholyIt seems my body is reminiscentA Myna Bird Melancholy in Free Verse More Like This
in ways I am not.
The moral high-ground of truth
or of destitution or of somber readiness
- of it, I am forgetful. And to be forgetful
is to have known the sleek,
shallow depth of dreams,
and to just as swiftly die,
as a myna bird melancholy
with its heart strung on a wire.
For to wake from dreams is
to strip the gizzards from one's own body
and to, thereby, insinuate the self
blind into the bowels of atrophy.
I am awake when one shouldn't be,
aghast and ralphing; retching my soul
out through my eardrums and eyes and orifices,
Because, honestly, what is there to live for?
I lose myself in the succorless centers of mine eyes;
the rapidity of a 2 am shower that pours over
the aching rheumatism of my bones,
streaming into the corroded exterior of my agony,
blood sucking at the drain.
Hours pass, but time seems to simply saunter by
unchanged, as my body clings to things
it craves to remember:
truth, destitution, memory itself
- any remnant of humanity.
Body-SnatchedBody-bound,Body-Snatched in Free Verse More Like This
Whatever you want to call it,
I cannot disperse my lips;
cannot close my eyes to find those glimmers
they say are just on the brink of something else.
I want to capture them there
- between the freckle on my eyelid
and the swirl of my iris -
but they float, less than tangible, from me.
I cannot shift or resume
cannot lift my shoulders
or expose my legs to the same oxygen
the trees once breathed
because there are valleys full of rivers full of fish
full of pebbles in my way,
flooding the ruckus of my bare body
between left and right
and my knees when I step away.
I feel the need to run until the soles of my feet are sore
and my throat is freezer-burned;
to cast tomorrow behind me
in search of something I once knew how to do,
but I don't know where to run
And I can't find the stairs.
morning-fingersI dream that I am wading through a field of violent colors and I could continue on forever, walking, trailing my fingers through the grasses, drinking in the coolness of the earth.morning-fingers in Free Verse More Like This
I am chasing a whistling tree that weeps on the horizon-line, lonely, ephemeral and, in some ways, recurrent as a dream in which I am body-bound - caked in the colors of skins and leaves and scars.
Only to relapse, once more, into cascades -cool, morning-finger drizzles- of soloria.
In the bruising-blue sky, three moons simultaneously rise to glimpse the planet, whirling,
and the air is just calm enough to be called a breeze.
Convince YourselfIt is the breaking of bonds:Convince Yourself in Free Verse More Like This
two bodies peaking at the chest,
not so much sharing
as simply in the same space;
wayward arms grappling, legs flailing.
It is a pulsation of--
a remembrance and want of--
pulling apart so hard
and ricocheting backwards.
[If it were underwater, it would be a dance.
It would make the fireflies cry
that they could not be there;
could only see it (blearily) through apposition eyes,
everything convex, glittering like cobwebs:
diffracted rainbows obscuring the (re)solution.]
It is all engraved in a shudder:
a shiver, a tiny tremor
deep in the braided chords
of her espalda;
quavering like the bowels
of the farthest caverns,
stalactites vibrating with timbre.
As she buckles forward,
those rubies bulge down her seam,
those Rosetta stones divulging secrets
in long dead languages [languages never invented]
In the Shallows. I bent over to touch my toesIn the Shallows. in Free Verse More Like This
and the ground tore open like a backbone.
I tried to feed myself the sky;
to splice my tearducts into the universe
so that, when the pavement cried, it would mean something to me.
My fingernails punctured that slimy membrane
congealed with stars,
and I brought a slice of it to my lips,
hot and slippery like a jellyfish.
Peach juice, chalky-sweet, flowed,
fleshy particles snagged in my teeth,
and the colors erupted within my mouth.
Synthesia took over my lungs.
The hollows between my knuckles flooded with synovia
and all the ectoplasm threatened to separate from my cells
with a sound like thunder.
Diphthong tasted rusty like leukoplakia as it tiptoed across my tongue.
Tomorrow rose like the skeletons of trees,
groping for a feeling similar to catharsis
[catharsis tender as the broken wings of do
5874265Winter has taken hold of my heart.5874265 in Free Verse More Like This
In the dark of night she slunk in, leaving frosty-footprints on the glass,
and sang me to sleep with lips as soundless as an owl's wing-feather,
dusting my eyes with powder to help them seal shut.
With snowy fingers she incised my breastbone
and plucked my ribs like the petals of the last flower:
one for me, one for her, one for me they cascade to the floor, white and crumbling.
She raised herself up, back arching, and drove her feelers
- silvery tentacles, glistening like dew -
through my system, latching herself onto me,
drilling nails into the soft-spots on my bones.
She hooked my veins together like a bundle of cords and seeped down into them like battery-acid:
eating away at my nerves until only the tips of my fingers
remembered how to feel.
She stroked my heart, cooing softly,
thumb and forefinger reaching down with elegance and demonic-grace
to take that tiny thrumming machine into her hand,
viii. Audrey The moonlight was onviii. Audrey in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
the water, & you made me want
to be a person.
for fear the end is coming soon.My body does not want to wake upfor fear the end is coming soon. in Free Verse More Like This
to this morning. To a day that
contracts rather than expands,
gradual as a wine bottle.
I want to spill forth,
my bundled limbs unbound,
mouth open: hungry for cherished ones,
yearning for words.
My body longs to feel changed by a single hour,
to be engulfed by the penumbral sky
shimmering through the trellis of clouds.
But it is simply casting lines.
My feet do not want to feel the floor beneath them,
to push up against my spine
and endure the lathering of new skins
as roads on my bones.
To feel the years
dropping like pennies into my stomach.
Blue Moon BurningIt’s night.Blue Moon Burning in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
The car exhaust runs warm in my ears nose and throat, but the smoke’s too wild to see up the pipe. I guess it doesn’t matter too much, really, except for it smells almost exactly like the way that buildings breathe when they’re on fire (boxed-out, stories-tall steel dragons without all the teeth) and I’m half-wondering if one of them’s hiding in there too, burning up the engine box all sneaky and secret. So I’m squatting there in the winter darkness, quiet as I’ll ever be, with my nose at the butt of my dad’s ‘78 Cadillac—The Blue Moon, we call her—as it sputters slowly to life with a spare set of keys stuffed down the gullet of its keyhole.
Okay, so admittedly I don’t know much about cars—only what I’ve picked up from the manuals my dad reads me sometimes when I wake up at 2AM and can’t fall back asleep.
Which brings me full-circling back to where I am now:
knowing things(feelings are so, so complicated. they sit inside you and curl around you and mutate into something so powerful that they can move your body and manipulate your mind.knowing things in Philosophical More Like This
sometimes feelings can make you happy, but sometimes they can make you sad, too.
but if there's one thing about feelings that you can count on, it's that most of the time nobody can really ever tell why they are what they are. there's nothing that exists in our heads concrete enough to be sure of. but there are those times when i get a hunch that i know the reason.
it could be about a lot of things. sometimes i think it's about pets. i mean, most of the time it's not, but sometimes, sometimes i lie in bed with my cat cradled in my arms and think to myself that my one true wish is to have her outlive me. or sometimes i feel sad because everything in the world is so young. we're born knowing everything and by the time we die we know nothing. the young are the wise
stupid lies that people tell each other「ローマではローマ人のする通りにせよ。」stupid lies that people tell each other in Free Verse More Like This
"When in Rome, do as the Romans do."
"Jesus loves you!"
"But what is the meaning of life?"
"What goes around comes around."
"I'm only a little bit blind."
"This is from the bottom of my heart."
hallmark heartslife is like life,hallmark hearts in Free Verse More Like This
and nothing else.
(only and idiot
would try and compare
"a box of chocolates"
and stars in far away galaxies
that are nothing like the sun.)
hitori, futari (alone, together)一人、二人、hitori, futari (alone, together) in Free Verse More Like This
almost haiku, iv (i'll still be climbing)linger in the old worldalmost haiku, iv (i'll still be climbing) in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
even the man who ate the sun
believes in miracles
girl who goes homethey say that when you're in too deep it's best to keep the blinds drawn. don't look up, don't look ahead; do not go home. they tell you to hold hands and duck deep underーthat even the fingers of the sun can only stretch so far. it's dark.girl who goes home in Drama More Like This
(and then—suddenly and inexplicably—there's a light.)
II: Your room smells like Cheetos and pot.
I: If you hate it so much, breath through your mouthIt's my room.
II: Ugh, and your breath smells even worse. Altoid?
I: Fuck you.
III: Oh my god, you two. Shut. Up.
I: Okay, okay, cut the bitchy attitude. I shoulda' known better then to let you raid the tea box; you always get crazy when you drink more than two cups at once.
III: I do not! You little
II: Now, Now, girls, be nice.
I: Okay, okay whatever. No one gives a crap.
II: Hey, pass me a slice of jalapeño pizza?
III: Souh . . .so whe
skin colored bonessometimes i sit down and she is there sitting next to me and i can't remember how. and sometimes i don't notice until it's too late because she hides behind those little gaps in my words (the ones where i question what i have to say).skin colored bones in Emotional More Like This
everything about her is small. even the long, fat, brown hairs that dangle from her head are small. everything so small and tiny, with a pointy face like rubber. and she's always doing somethingi guess she has a hard time just being around.
when she's near me, i have to try not to think about it. the touch of skin against muscle against bone (and after that i'm not so sure). everything reaching out widespread thin fingers and becoming close and cold and leaving trails of space where it was just a second before. the feeling of ribs pressing up against my skin, of fingernails bitten down to nothingness and feet in direct contact with ground. one thing touches another touches another, and it feels so grimy.
i can't see much of anything when i lo
in passinghe's walking in circles with his teeth clamped down on his fist. insomnia hit hard this month. it's almost three-thirty-four in the morningalmostand the wood floors of the attic are wet and moldy. a few hundred years old, probably, and they creak around even when he isn't stepping on them.in passing in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
so there he is (he's right there) walking in circles and staring out the windows into the city. nothing better to do. the windows are all open: it looks like a harvest moon outside it's probably just air pollution.
the door opens, and this one strange looking girl walks in with two cigarettes dangling from between her teeth. saunters up to him real slow and shaky, like her legs got drunk with the rest of her. she's got lotto tickets. nine of them. i can feel it, she says, it be comin' up real soon. we gon' get lucky, boy, we gon' get lucky.
she rubs her hands together, smacks her lips. she's wearing his favorite shirt again, and a pair of bright ora
o so very (so very so very so)o how she did not understand him.o so very (so very so very so) in Free Verse More Like This
five men. four were painters and one held
rags to soak up the blood. she did not under
stand how five little boys (each with a well
worn set of man's hands) donned in white and grey
and otherwise looking rather aware and real and now
could be o so very been.
still young, she said. she told them to run. that is
what she told them. she caked them in glitters
and dressed them in gold and told them to run.
and that was all she could identify was that.
that they were simply o so very been. except, of course,
the first four (who aged past her in a year), and the
fifth one who dyed his hair grey so as not to be
out of place.
(and let us not forget that he was the
one who mopped up the blood).
nonetheless wore cheery smiles and
wore his glitters and his gold every day.
first four spoke in accents they didn't have
(the fifth one didn't speak at all)
but she knew and knew and knew.
she had been too latetold them to run.
and o how he'd ra
Rain-lightWhen we look, there's a sense. Thoughts slow and become smoke, fog, mist; a light frost. Underneath the breeze and the crystal dew, morning comes in the dark of rain. Sunlight is miniscule and insignificant.Rain-light in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
- A sense of here. Now, seeing. Upon wakefulness is recognition of a coexisting universe. Do we ever know how clear it is that we live in two different worlds? Sleep is consciousness; more alive and real than reality.
But we do remember the rain, every day of our lives. She is a light of another nature; a wetness, water - there's always so much water - and life in its purest form. When rubber boots gather mud and birds sing, shake their feathers; the musky spray of plant scent, the iridescent green. In her cool hand do we rise, widen our eyes, and breathe in silence.
Opened arms - for there are no barriers out here - bring us in and stroke our cheeks. We're children of the water and we try to return to rebirth. Stepping out, forget how cold it is, treadi
Lie DetectorThey told you that when you jumped, you'd be fine - not a scratch on that pale body of yours. And it's not that long a way down, is it? You can do it. Just a little more...towards the edge...Lie Detector in Philosophical More Like This
Guess it was true. The more you looked over the edge, the lower the distance you had to travel until your feet hit the ground again. But I had serious doubt that what they said was true. Perhaps it was some illusion they provoked you into following; that it's not really an elevated surface you're plunging from, and it's not really jagged rocks below. Their words dressed it up and made it sound friendlier to the innocent ear. Because the victims didn't know any better, did they? Take advantage of what you will. They'll be exposed to the truth soon - make use of the remaining time.
I had little to say on the subject; whatever I said resisted their ideologies. My challenges went ignored with a short glance backwards, as if they knew I'd conform quickly and so nothing I ever said was worth thei
Magnets and MiraclesForever exists.Magnets and Miracles in Philosophical More Like This
It's there when we glance forward and backwards, along the line of our footsteps through time, barriers of space and existence trawling along the horizon. It looms above us; a foreboding shadow of deep regret, deep longing, the screams of the pained echoing in the atmosphere, and nobody dares to listen.
We reach dizzying heights and we see the scattered trees and the armies of tin soldiers marching in time.
It was a place we knew, until the ringing of the bell was heard, and suddenly we were divided. The bombs fell while the erected statues of hope were cut down like sheep, trembling like abandoned babes in the livid cold as they took their last breaths.
We hold out our hands and beg for that golden pendant of change to land in our palms, our eyes staring up at the big blue sky in question, and something rains down on us, softly.
Not what we wanted.
But in this place called forever, high hopes do no favours.
High hopes are nothing but a wall.
A Great Day For FreedomI've had this feeling for a while now.A Great Day For Freedom in Philosophical More Like This
When everything would erupt at a touch. I'd see a flame before me, burning quietly, silently, flickering a little and then righting itself again.
And I'd wonder what I was looking at, if it was real or not. I remember I stared at it as it stared back at me with its great eyes full of clarity, certainty. I felt a shudder through my soul like water was being poured over me. It vapourised and flew off into the air like a thousand tiny birds on the gust of letting go. Out of reach.
If these eyes would open wide enough, maybe then I'd be able to recognise it...to learn from it. It won't let me touch it.
That day hasn't approached yet. And who can explain this to me? Who understands sensations well enough, to know how they feel against your heart as they nestle next to it and sleep, sleep to the heart's pulsing?
It's like a lullaby for them.
I think it might be called freedom. I'm pretty sure.
BrutalIt was genuinely because this kind of relationship wasn't something she was used to - no, it was far from familiarity. It was one of those concepts just out of reach, and to see him parading around like nothing was happening angered her. Of course she wasn't used to them. She didn't know how to control herself, and to feel the emotion bubble up every time he looked at her ever so darkly aroused the suspicions. But he never took notice.Brutal in Erotic More Like This
He was too...too driven. Too focused. Too intent.
And what did it matter? It never really mattered.
"How'd it go?" he asked, in a nonchalant manner.
She blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. "What?"
He seemed to roll his eyes then and promptly fell onto the sofa like he hadn't had much rest in the past few days. She cocked a brow. The Duke, looking tired. This was an oddity in itself. She knew with his endurance he wasn't one to be run down easily; on his countenance it was probably his own fault anyway.
Nonetheless, he proceeded to talk with utmost robustn
a songI am listening to lovea song in Free Verse More Like This
until I crumble
chiming soft as heartbeats
but loud like sirens in my head
and harmonies are spread
over the earth's skin
skimming as the static
of unified souls hands and eyes
dance as we dance
clumsily, stumbling, stamping;
our feet are sore but
my hope is strong, finding
balance in temperate
climates, the furnace that
is the heart neither hot
nor cold, except in times when
I must speak soundwaves in
my sincerest apology;
I grow to meet your eyes
as all of me swells like
the ocean's majestic
tumult, lapping at your shore,
pulling, coaxing, wishing;
this nature of uncertainty
I can't control but
this time it's your view
I want to share
holding shells up
to our ears
hearing the same song
an endless ebb and flow;
standing on the shore
listening fade in and out and
loud soft loud soft loud soft...
Your personal Prometheus.My coldness melts in theYour personal Prometheus. in Free Verse More Like This
lemon drops of the morning,
but not because of her.
These are just her ice crystals of rain.
And when it falls,
she looks up for a
It's not hope,
it's not welcome,
Neither in rain nor shine -
- she sits and watches
through the glass walls
of blue marbles.
I burn in flares of passion,
however useless it is
against concrete sky.
Let me strike fire in you, your personal Prometheus -
- just for the clouds in your head,
for the sake of lemon-scented
mornings and too much water.
The landscape of your heart
knows no levees to keep it safe.
I'm the fire in the bush,
a springtime victim of the
flood that is you.
But I am sheltered from the storm.
Tomorrow you'll hang your wet clothes by
the sun-soaked window pane.
And I'll melt the world
just so you are warm.
3 nights of moonlight.three nights of moonlight3 nights of moonlight. in Free Verse More Like This
weave and curl in the fingers of time.
to be washed away in a wave
of milky silver on a darkened starry shore.
i see my heart in my shadow
beating fondly to the sway of trees, and
the air is warm in each breath
of moondust drifting and falling like snowflakes -
- this is the frozen ground we walk;
barefoot, with pieces of clouds in between our toes.
my innermost land stretched out
like a runway for the hands of celestial grace.
a trembling of ancient skin,
the world after Phrygia, Thebes and Troy
upon moonrise, hearing whispers
that men have fallen, blood was shed.
this is the Oldest Lady,
she remembers the birds that soar
across the blanket of dawn,
in the three nights of moonfall.
This shall be our victory.Oh but to feel the motions of existence rip through your soul, be it for better or worse.This shall be our victory. in Philosophical More Like This
In our meekness we fumble for sense and await the day where...some sort of impending battle festers. Again and again. It's not in our nature to give up; were we even given that virtue?
"I can't remember our creation."
"You'll terrify yourself."
"It was your fault."
Fault it is not; perhaps a diligent step towards courage to finally - finally - resist the pull of what we may call...indistinctness.
It is something universally recognised. We needn't even speak of it; it's a silent language. "Oh, I've had that battle before."
Indeed you have, for there is nowhere else to go but into war. What is the reward we reap? Justice, and truth. No doubt that we all know what we argue for.
"Liberty didn't get us far."
The Waiting GameI sit, darkly enraptured.The Waiting Game in Philosophical More Like This
This is akin to something I've seen before - a shifting of planets, a turning of the earth, an abrupt starburst of life. I watch it, I listen, I feel it take me up in its embrace. But alas, it doesn't whisper like it used to. It feeds lies into my thoughts; black clouds of smoke and fog, and plaintive cries of loss and mourning. I am numb to it. I am ice, I am stone, even if it echoes down endless corridors and touches fingertips with mine. I feel nothing.
I wish not to suppress it. A longing to bring it to life rages on inside, unrelenting and just as strong as everything I've felt before.
But what can I do? There's no room for change. I know I'm going to stay up too late again, and suffer for it in the morning when the sun is too afraid to make an appearance in this melancholy season. Coffee I must cut back on; it's getting too black, too poisonous. Nothing keeps me going. I live on the dregs of my motivation.
Yet I long for the sweet, engulfing sadness that