...your struggles have made you wisewhen the counsellor tells you your struggles have made you wise......your struggles have made you wise in Free Verse More Like This
ask her how useful the knowledge of how many punches it takes to lay you cold on the floor will be in future. ask her if the endless frost that shivers under your fragile skin is going to turn out handy, a free cooling agent in the heated heights of summer. ask her where she was every morning when you took the pills and crumpled the plastic cup pathetic in your fist. ask her about the taste of toothpaste and bile, how she felt when the dentist marked the progression of decay and solemnly warned you to cut down on sweets. ask her how it feels to keep all those suicides filed away in her desk drawer knowing that they were never ‘wise’ enough to see another way out and through. ask her about the first time she drank until she threw up for hours after she’d become sober again because a boy wouldn’t touch her, or a girl wouldn’t give her a second glance. question everything because there&
Hannah Faith Notess, 'To The Former Self In Art..."To The Former Self In Art Class"Hannah Faith Notess, 'To The Former Self In Art... in Personal More Like This
Hannah Faith Notess
You didn't know the boy sitting next to you
in Watercolor 101 was going to shutter himself
in the car, stop breathing, break the heart
of his father and the whole college.
Let's be honest. His cones and cylinders
were as lopsided, as badly shaded
as everyone else's cones and cylinders.
When you hear the news two years later,
you search your own tatty portfolio
for clues, sigh If only I had known—
but I want to shake you and say, You didn't,
and anyway that phrase is a stupider knife
even than Ockham's razor. If you went,
with your grey lens of knowledge, back to that
minute, you'd still be painting the same
burnt-out cathedral under burnt-orange blood
dripping from the sky, collaged with quotations
from The Waste Land. You thought it meant
you were losing your faith; but look, there you are
sitting in church, five years in the future,
wondering (like a good Protestant) why
you want so much to pray for the souls of the dead.
the fruit is ripe but it has no seedsi want a jellyfish in a jar, want my own tinythe fruit is ripe but it has no seeds in Free Verse More Like This
spineless galaxy and when the walls close in i’ll shine a light under it like a lava lamp
and watch it bob
and it will calm me down so i can roam the forests of my sleep until
another morning shakes me gently on the shoulder and says
‘how do you feel, what do you want’ i want
the beast back, the monster-me
ever-wanting crash queen
teeth i can sink poetry in, the feeling of
in the soft skin beneath my claws, eyes
window-shuttered clacking back and forth
with the breeze we breathe until everything is
lightdarklightdarklightdarklightdarkdarkdarkdarkdarkdark let me tell you how
when you get bigger you learn to gulp up every fireball they throw to you,
swallow down, stay down- like this, do you see me
hunched in the corner catching suns in my hands and stuffing each one
down my dry velvet throat to
feel it char my insides black until i’m
shrinking as i grow,
i’m big on the outside but all that was in
an orchestrated litany of lies*an orchestrated litany of lies in Free Verse More Like This
your body is a chirping crocus. [yellow] it grew
in the dark. your mother’s body an elasticated hairtie stretching
to accommodate you
snap your budding head from the depths of sultry earth.
everybody take your seats now
young whippersnappers when the mountain comes through the clouds it will
envy the dead their youth.
confused we wandered two by two
into the ark. this land is stripped clean like a chicken carcass
where no flesh will rot. uncooked corpses charred black
melodic counterpoint. nobody is responsible.
the hedgehog has failed to relax its spines in death.
erebus quietly snivelling
“i am a bear. if you stumble into these woods, bring berries for me.”
diveno matterdive in Free Verse More Like This
when you hit
the water, the lake
little brother//youngest son little brother//youngest sonlittle brother//youngest son in Free Verse More Like This
swathed in sheets in the hospital bed, a skinny
silkworm of a boy
in a cocoon of restless lethargy and the
gentle murmurings of pain
which come to him even in sleep- he dreams
of agony like a quiet groping hand
which tugs on his elbow in the crowd, whispering
-do you know me?- as if he is the only one
who hears. we are quite prepared to believe
that he is the only one who feels pain
in the whole hospital; have no sorrow
or sympathy to share and cannot bear to see
these other children, all nothing
but chalkdust smears on the pillows
which offer no comfort, casting shadows
they have not earned.
a ward full of half-sketched pastel faeries with
waxen skin worn buttery; melting into purplish blooms
where quiet silken needles slide through
to leave wine stains, kiss marks, the ghosts of adulthood
promised but not delivered. -not yet-, we say,
-not yet-. when we look at our fragile
sanatorium prince lying
with a hard pea of discomfort under his mattress
April 4- double ethereeApril 4thApril 4- double etheree in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
plump than the last,
mountain ranges like
tomato skin peeling
away from the sun- as if
the none-and-all of residence
between one star and another, this
tired embellished existence, is
worth the echoless cry in the void that
binds me to you like an astronaut’s pale
bungee cord. we are weightless turtles
in space. tomorrow night i will
read the poems you wrote while
i was dying. your
old friends, the bears
slip your words
Don't be boringADon't be boring in Free Verse More Like This
makes you wish
you had written it.
restores your faith
Someone else's scripture.Someone else's scripture in Free Verse More Like This
The books of the earth:
New, Quarter, Harvest.
Half, Full, Crescent.
"Spill your oils,"
the water says
to the moon.
How does the myth go,
who was the hero
that threw the word for
into the dark center of the lake?
What has life been
"Can anybody stay longer?"
the stars beg.
The cello eases its pheromones
over the smell of your lips.
I say, "You are my favorite countryside.
The color of your hair drifts through the trees."
You smile with the scent of warm dirt
on your breath.
I grasp doorknobs
as if I were underwater,
I turn pages
as if there were blood between my fingers.
The lamplight sunsets halfway across the open book,
my palms muffle the title.
My heartbeat evens to a horizon.
My hair dozes gently.
The hour will unpurse in the spaces between action
and vanishing point.
The hour will flash between
the horse's legs.
The hour will grieve behind a sheet of rain.
The hour will thunder with the downswing of comets.
The hour will vanish into someone
Non-moonA landscape opensNon-moon in Free Verse More Like This
Celsius, evening, sutro.
The waves open,
as the myth goes,
The confusion between urges
appears in the half-seen movements of fish--
the gleam of coins that are alive,
the necklaces of phosphenes
always dancing at the edge of my vision.
I watch for them, trying to reverse
how I keep valuing all the wrong things.
Meanwhile, pre-dawn suggests
that the promise of music
( ) The peninsula made island
by storm, turned metaphysical
by old video games into black sky,
( ) In folklore, some dark thing which dances
at the edge of the trees
and sings in the falsetto
of your ears ringing.
() A clean, white pixel
that drifts gently into space
jettisoned from a healthy planet.
* The panoply of dark flowers
. My body, as a notion,
lies in the vagueness
Rigamarole and deaf old man as the world.Everyone in rangeRigamarole and deaf old man as the world. in Free Verse More Like This
of my singing when I was young,
those who saw me
stooping to touch the pavement
as if it were possibly running
the tilt of the earth
makes all my flowers
As a boy,
sat in his backyard,
and making delicate piles
that he would usher black ants into,
then set on fire
with a kitchen match.
would make me
on the back of my hands
Green and red
harbor the low roofs,
brush the chimneys
as if they were me.
I think about wars
as pouts of fire
around the compass
that we can agree on.
to distend the molecule.
for a dry
portion of land.
all that dances,
the bone i broke,
the missing hatchlings
from the nest outside
The trees are as wordless
as the inside of a kiln
poseshereposes in Free Verse More Like This
my body poses me
a little further forward.
here there are folds like time
crashing to earth,
pinning shadows to sand.
here i sleep by making a circle
you rinse along. you shatter toward me.
the moment ages impeccably.
enter flute. enter root.
a knotting out.
enter monuments and the torments that tower them up.
i am cancelled, i am fire-shaped.
i am matte with myself.
one point of light echoes
in a mistake of wet leaves.
it is not what i am,
not what you are.
birds weigh a black line
down below itself.
a fly blackens a circle
into a room of blue air.
where you are
spheres in and out.
my body breathes.
the skies get so full.
so heaped with mashes of cloud.
here is where the antlers of the light
here you enter, as in undo.
you erase every other action.
i react like a palm frond
or a zero of water weakening in a cup.
here my body pretzels
into a soul.
and whether moving forward
or being pressed back
here i stand just so,
seven hours of who you might have beeni.seven hours of who you might have been in Free Verse More Like This
the breath you took
the moment you fell
lies in the dirt somewhere
between the garden
and the dip of empty earth
where rain pools.
all the lost things of your life
keep gathering in cottony patches overhead
that only the flowers
you have touched
years vine out.
between thumb and forefinger,
the clumsiness of
more than just one
on Judgment Day
your tomato plants
will come out of the earth
carrying your bravery
like beads of water,
they will gesture
with their leaves
magnificent and half-drunk
you left the house
to stand in the historic thunderstorm
the neighborhood dogs,
the ants of
the trees lining the water
and the green in the air,
and the distance
between syllables of river-water
replace the vanishing point
in all your
with the divine.
how many words
you could form
out of your name,
and how often
your hour in the sun
was all that mattered
FullnessHis wife was suspected when she failed to crumbleFullness in Free Verse More Like This
on her doorstep, where the police officers dropped her husband's ghost
like a dead animal.
The neighbors watched her--
they couldn't remember the last time death had come so spectacularly,
And without memory, conscience was impossible.
He was gone, his life was an end-table tarnished with spare buttons.
She hid for days beneath shadows of drapes,
middle-aged as a tree. Faded as shapes yellowed onto fabric.
Her skin the color from a face newly shattered,
bloodless as a cancelled lunch.
When she looked out the window, perched upon his side
of the bed, she formulated a toppled kingdom with a rumple of sheets
beneath her hand.
Something leaned across the air of her in a man's voice.
"The dogs are upon you, lamb."
He had left nothing, just clothing in its proper place.
They had dredged the river and they spooned his gumbo
out of the surges.
He had entered the city by foot, walked the riverbank
braving the underside of bridges
WeepingiWeeping in Free Verse More Like This
put my face
lemonwe walk down the streetslemon in Free Verse More Like This
of a city named after an emerald.
a breeze floats by
and for a moment your hair lifts off your shoulder.
the way it doesn't touch you,
i want to touch you.
there are traces of lemon in your light,
a vague sense of mint on your fingertips.
the way honey tastes
drifts inside your shirt.
entering the city
walking calmly while the light falls
is like listening to your voice,
like waiting at the bell by the river
for a clamoring to do justice
to the patterns on the water.
the way the bells never end
i want to brush my hand against yours.
the way you drop lemon into your water
i want to live.
Far enoughThe easternmost corner of your name,Far enough in Free Verse More Like This
a bird lighting on a branch.
Water breaks and mends
hours on the sand that is
numb as wool, unpainted
as the ashes of what was once barn.
Despite the algebra
of moving forward
I am trying to remind myself
I look at the sky and think
The planets are real,
if I just went far enough.
The world consists of countlessness.
Of materials and the tasks it takes
to reach one from another.
The seagulls fly over the water.
Have you ever wept
and not known why?
The birds all blur together.
Grace is useless.
But the planets exist
and I am here too
just a thoughtdon't let your sadnessjust a thought in Free Verse More Like This
carry you. you can look at it-
and rock it to sleep in your
arms and let it melt in your
hands, you can put it out
on the windowsill for
the cats. they know
how to kill fast-moving,
blow it out with black dreams
and the sky will eat it,
she will cough in 200 years
but she will eat it. you can
digest it in a concrete pill
that you can't snort, but know
that the sadness will come for you in
the morning like the motley hawk to
the long-dead doe who thought sleep
would offer some peace, but no-
you thought relief would offer some peace, but no-
the sadness will come for you in
you will carry it, dragging it loosely
by your ankles behind a pale body. if you carry
it, it will wear down, sometime. it's got to go,
sometime- just don't let it carry you.
on the afterlifethere was a heaven, once,on the afterlife in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
and it was made of grass and
the ground that crawled under it
opened up wider than your mouth and
i saw mountains: i saw
beauty, it was a rough
inverted fountain. i saw
Jesus. he said 'death
is The Promise, and The Promise
never leaves us.' i saw
diamonds, and i saw coals
too it just took a while
to find them. i saw
lucifer. he was sewing
me a nightgown made of
soft liquor slurs. i saw
my brain. it told me
'thanks for the x, not
so much the cocaine.' i saw
my skin strung out to dry
after a long summer rain. i saw
my bones become the frame
of a house beside a lake. i saw
my tongue cradle babies and
tell them, 'the sleep is worth
the wake.' i saw a mirror made
of big blue tears. it said,
'the shit was worth the wait.'
THIS IS REALLY IMPORTANT TO ME SO PLEASE READ THISi really want you guys to read one of my favorite poems of all time. ~Svatantrya wrote it and she disappeared a long time ago with no word and it really made me sad. everything was deleted from her page and she was my favorite writer and it just made me really sad. i think about her from time to time and hope she is okay. anyway, i had written down my favorite poem of hers and i'm really glad i did because it is beautiful. i didn't save any of her other poems, but there was one about quitting smoking that i really loved, and there was a lot of sex and new york city and a brooklyn feel and she wrote about things in a way that no one else did and said things no one else would say and i'm pissed because i just remembered i had sent one of her poems to my ex boyfriend a long time ago over facebook messaging and i deleted all my messages recently but oh well. if by some slim chance any of you saved any of her others poems, please let me know because i would love to read her again. anywaTHIS IS REALLY IMPORTANT TO ME SO PLEASE READ THIS in Personal More Like This
i'm writing againthe last few notesi'm writing again in Free Verse More Like This
of yellow ledbetter
was the first crackle
of the radio when we dropped
acid by the ocean. it
was the most beautiful sound
i had ever heard.
and when the walls were
filling up with black red
blood and turning, delicately,
my life was wrapped around your
wooden frame, and your eyes
were spaceless visions
of a dead star. your name, ah
i roll it over my fingers
in your car i am a desert singer.
the wind scrapes my arm and weeps
with all the colors of green that
i've never even seen before. for once
i forget the mantra, 'we are the worst
things we ever did. nothing less. nothing
more.' and i tell you that i want to go fast.
well the day passed into night
and the sky was big and black as an oven,
with the moon as yellow as an orgasm, and just as bright
we watched it devour the water and spit
from it's belly to the tide. in your ear i say,
'open wide, open wide.' we are just as
heavy as we are light.
it's good to stay
tethered to the earth,
to have my feet in the ground,
Tattooed in My Tear DuctsI don’t know any big wordsTattooed in My Tear Ducts in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
and I don’t drink tea and I haven’t read
all the classics and my hair is a startling
shade of ash blonde, if you’re being
generous. I would call it grey. I will not
impress you. And maybe that’s impressive
enough. You will always get an honest
reaction from me.
My mother drinks tea though,
earl grey, and chai and chamomile,
she thinks it will heal her, make her
sleep. But sleep and healing are not
the same things.
I have run from monsters
to find them in my sleep, and by run
I mean get high, and by monsters,
I mean me. If sleep is a mirror
we are all doomed. I’ve seen myself,
eyes red and raccooned, reaching
for some comfort and I had to explain
that my lips swell when I cry. All I wanted
was for you to say that I look pretty when
I have come to realize two things:
one, that everything I want is not good for me and
two, I am not the worst things I ever did.
I am not the worst things I ever did.
I want this tattooed i
bastard and the beastwe were in a room full of chinabastard and the beast in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
just you & i
and i said hey, don't you go anywhere
and there was a low growl fornicating in my stomach
your eyes flashed bright on me
and my eyes narrowed on you and
it wasn't about my friend
or the murder
or your psychosis
it was that you left me
with my own psychosis
sagging heavily from my shoulder
and i hated you
and we were in a room full of china
you & i
your skull felt sweet along my knuckles
your blood tasted sweet on my hungry skin
my honest nature with an angel's head
and a mouth full of slobbering sex
i mounted you
i was moved by your defeat
my eyes sang salt and salvation over
my bare and bouncing breasts
and i shattered your body against the glass
and i hated you
just you & i.
we were in a room full of china
when i murdered you.
on fueling the fire with your own spityou are so gorgeous, janie,on fueling the fire with your own spit in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
and do not let anyone
tell you different. okay?
okay, gradie. what
you do not know, baby,
is that outside of your arms
i want to die a thousand small
deaths because the world is too much
when you leave me so empty. what you do
not know is that outside of your arms all my
senses are brightened because you just lit them.
what you do not know is that outside of your arms these
waters are rising and i am not treading the levee walls carefully.
i welcome my tragedy and its ecstasy.
on 'proper' datesyou're wearing that white t-shirt, barelyon 'proper' dates in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
tucked in and see-through-touch-me thin-
it reminds me of that one time
we grew up and dressed all nice:
we took straight shots of vodka
and you took me to green valley grill,
which makes me think of some lush
vineyard or dairy farm on a hill
with fat orange moonrises and
sweet milky sunshine all the time,
all the time. and maybe even bare-chested
women serving endless kisses and wine-
we walked in, my arm through your arm- because
god almighty the world is done, over, if
i can even walk in high heels sober-
and fuzzy vodka-winged daydream fell
and shook like a dime on the ground.
every male: prototypical 40+ with
a woman half his age (double the bust)
and a fat salary, 100k+, and a dick so shriveled up,
that the girl's gotta be drunk and he's gotta
over-thrust for her to feel a thing.
we just thought the whole thing was funny
and the bread was fresh and you rubbed me
under the table, hand on knee, hand on thigh,
i wonder...where did that come from?i wonder... in Free Verse More Like This
it just popped up
like a bubble
escaping from under a rock ledge
to reach the surface of the water
To-Do List: June 201001-06-2010 Condoms and timtamsTo-Do List: June 2010 in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
01-06-2010 She fears rejection everyday
02-06-2010 I hope she makes you happy, and gives you what i couldn't...
02-06-2010 Long hair is impractical for washing dishes
02-06-2010 Just saw a homeless guy who reminded me of you
02-06-2010 Finally got my jacket back!
02-06-2010 Well that didn't go too badly at all
03-06-2010 Thank god it doesn't smell like you
03-06-2010 Your pillow will have to suffice
06-06-2010 Girlfriends get shotgun
06-06-2010 Dear June, you fucking suck.
10-06-2010 I want you to come here so i can kiss you.
11-06-2010 How the fuck do pretty girls stay warm?
12-06-2010 Your mother is poking me again...
15-06-2010 I'd have just broken your heart anyway
15-06-2010 Not a satanist, but a skinhead
16-06-2010 Those lyrics were more accurate than you know.
16-06-2010 And i've tried everything but you.
18-06-2010 Mac 'n cheese and spinach dip
19-06-2010 Broken seal never good
22-06-2010 God i hope i don't fuck it up again.
23-06-2010 At least yo
To-Do List: November 201102-11-2011 Looks even more like your ex-girlfriend nowTo-Do List: November 2011 in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
03-11-2011 Conversations about pens
04-11-2011 Printing pictures of the queen
04-11-2011 To-do lists now with voice activation
09-11-2011 You are my best frenemy
12-11-2011 A day in a book
12-11-2011 The backyard is not the same without you
13-11-2011 Prayers for the queen
13-11-2011 I am always the last person to be thought of
13-11-2011 The non-thought - worse than the afterthought
13-11-2011 And here, the storm breaks
16-11-2011 Bloody hips from a corset
16-11-2011 Business on escalators
16-11-2011 I have some fucked up friends.
17-11-2011 Broadbeans for breakfast
22-11-2011 Work satisfaction from a non work related conversation
24-11-2011 A rose with no thorns
24-11-2011 Bike riders with bells
29-11-2011 Cake binge
29-11-2011 I am letting my grandmother down
30-11-2011 Sometimes initials aren't the only thing you have in common it seems
To-Do List: January 201206-01-2012 Twiggy sticks, pringles and teaTo-Do List: January 2012 in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
06-01-2012 I like the fact that my feet still don't touch the ground
06-01-2012 Indian food tastes like depression and happiness in one
12-01-2012 Dreamt that we all got along
18-01-2012 Just looking at your news feed pisses me off
18-01-2012 Packing for pay
18-01-2012 Sometimes i strain the water
19-01-2012 Remember; you can always blame your parents
21-01-2012 Chicken and maus
22-01-2012 Counted like cattle
24-01-2012 According to my father i am wonder woman
24-01-2012 Your sister is catching the same train as me
24-01-2012 I saw your mother today
25-01-2012 I guess now i can put my hands up when Beyonce sings
25-01-2012 Planes bring on concussion
26-01-2012 I am a positive bunny
29-01-2012 Checking my phone for nothing
30-01-2012 Women with sensible shoes
31-01-2012 I will never escape your name
Rawr! Cheep!sometimes i look atRawr! Cheep! in Free Verse More Like This
sparrows and think
'how can this happen!'
To-Do List: February 201302-02-2013 Be a happy man eduardo, you know yourself.To-Do List: February 2013 in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
06-02-2013 Sparkles in the sink
09-02-2013 Second hand shoes
13-02-2013 'I love you' is not a substitute for 'i'm sorry'
19-02-2013 Vacuum and a wine bottle
27-02-2013 Waiting for the rain
the fountainthe first words were notthe fountain in Free Verse More Like This
sun and moon and stars, but oh god I will wear this
power like a bearskin - like a drum machine in a chicken-bone
instinct is the sum
of all the parts we're too afraid to eat:
black wires, white bulbs, wicks from tallow
candles. if they
would let us, we could make wax
we could hunt the essence
of smoking fluorescent galaxies, all our
strange living lives and neon paradises, all our
blue planets and disemboweled sacrifices, if only we could
breathe while below us the round sky winds down
and holds bone to our throats, so we
are spilled, forced up
if sugar were
sweet, then could
NaPoWriMo 1: Aphakiait churns in loco parentis:NaPoWriMo 1: Aphakia in Free Verse More Like This
the watchful murmur of a thousand eyes,
the cult of full-moon secrets unraveling.
it's snowing in the city, and she's wondering whether
it's true that
the smoothest arc
of her greatest art-
is one of those soft peaks
drag out of your
oh - the lens is gone,
and the sky is strawberry-red, mouthing up
the spires of the city and the choruses of bird-calls
that bind the looping anthracite veins
together like a
propeller, an alleyway in December, her feet
tripping over more than the gored engine and wings
of some Cessna, for this is the new landscape
of the night, and the magnetic
of siphoned sleep.
FirearmI could tell you all about the crest and swellFirearm in Free Verse More Like This
Of passion on the dash, the jerking foxtrot trot
Of lips without an audience. Remember when
The road was void, and you were mad and fender-bent
Against the air, smuggler of memories? Me,
I can't recall this morning's breakfast, even as
The smell of tea is swarming in my senses,
As eager as an open-highway dawn.
fisheyeÅ is a split so å is a somersault, so serve us all underhandfisheye in Free Verse More Like This
from ARN to KMA, while the weather washes our words to PDX
from the smoke of grey-hat hikers: say it, blondeblueeyed, on the road
to Dublin in the rain (what is good and what is tolerable)
as you clatter up the mountain pass, white bear in the orchard
when you took the tame hand of thought, webbed and newborn
like a city of living lions, cut portals, trains, trains -
girl with a tulle screen, back from the wildest party in the fields.
not forestoh and if only we could spinnot forest in Free Verse More Like This
ropes pulled wrong and round like ligaments,
and loose skies scalable
by sleeping minds -
only if the railroad tracks were coarse
with spinal fluid, then, and the cars were brought up
full of yellow fire and a few years,
regurgitated like honey for true eyes, thrown past
the last wall to the bear's liver and
dreamed back through a procession
from there, to a carpet floor
flat with my silk flowers.
Phillies"Look, there's Nighthawks." Yeah.Phillies in Free Verse More Like This
The glass could be an oven door, behind which
all the baking heat curls back upon itself,
but I won't visit that knowledge upon you.
You operate at such high speed
and pitch, lining
your hands in ink, chasing the endless
up-and-down of undampened
your moon and stars pawned off,
the story frozen. No. Look, there's a work
some upturned nose,
or sky chameleon.
osmolyteslights beaming in the morning,osmolytes in Free Verse More Like This
espresso fast saving the drone,
lips blass with pervitin and sugar,
shorthand for the spilling of blood -
body-talk snapping the shutters.
the sun has a thousand-yard glare,
blasting refined divine bone structure
and ugly as fish-balancers,
miserly as fishmongers,
and chemical as the bicameral clip
clop of horses' feet upon dull
dream pebbles, the stone in the veins
of butterfish and escolar,
morning wash on the tiles
and in buckets, glinting like daggers -
all of these misclick marigolds
that run from the ground like water.
the sky begins, streaming
from the lip of a shark's fin,
a blood profanity,
as when, sometimes, the world
listens too closely -
like the deed itself,
like the need itself,
the skull is a case
for the brain is a case
for the body.
wingsyou wieldwings in Free Verse More Like This
a suspension of azurite,
sea color sticky sweet on the
brain of the brush.
think of cat scratch fever and wine,
of thick ears of clementine and
dry bread and sugar and
doses of marzipan and
think of turbulence from
the icy tap on the window,
of sounds and songs silk-screened
and twisted in musk perfume
and pressed between breaded fingers.
now put your hands up,
put the brush down,
the spinal braid,
pull the sky
ElectrostaticA corpulent redhead woundElectrostatic in Free Verse More Like This
up of berries and anaplastic
marmalade steps out
into the street, soft and frizzy -
ay, there's the rub. Drink
the red string always lapses
and recovers a blissful doubt:
such staticky dreams
of picking up seed
a bad description a bad descriptiona bad description in Free Verse More Like This
squinted into exploding sun
and it stung and
it couldn't stop happening
I was blurred indistinct
and we're a perfect square
area of impact
the screaming doorbells
whole systems of
in my head
a failed extraction
sunshinesunshine can't stop mesunshine in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
I'm clicking in churches
I drown in the surface
I'm broken like fingers
I'm teaching a lesson
to golden god-idols
I'm screaming at children
at millions and millions
no noise is a language
no screen is opaque
I'm cutting myself off
I'm bleeding on strangers
crowscrows oh distance incrows in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
toes the patterns in
scriptures of strict little
shook hard on the sidestreet
I drank all this poison
I burn in flat sunlight
so long I'll go non stop
until I hit sweet spot
the point I'm assigned to
to spell out instructions
in flame on the walls where
where full of glue of glue
with holes that go through things
I'll drink to completeness
with holes in my head with
outside it gets endtimes
I'll drift to the surface
skull-skull fuls of infos
compute how I'll feel fine
I feel fine
I feel fine
I am in
to be in
her skin is
her skin is
I swim in
I feel fine
I feel fine
I feel fine
spelled a bookspelled a bookspelled a book in Free Verse More Like This
I culled mine
in jello hell
I skulled it
showed her who
shot at crowds
to too many pieces to touch
engage your glitching brain
and I'm wrong
and and and meand and and me in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
she's like words
like bird and shoe
and when and who
like like and she
and shoot shoot shoot
and and and me
and beep borp bloop
tapethe hole of holestape in Free Verse More Like This
to his doom
bleeds the color there
in empty corner
with a bang
an ugly color
of what lurks
stuck in throat
but this isn't happening,
the masterlistconstructed of limbs andthe masterlist in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
a brain made of pins
a real slapdash job
I thank a blank god
who is empty like I am
all surfaceless structure
the bones all encoded
the great garbled monster
my mouths are abysses
just holes to put food in
and through which a noise is
dissembled and ciphered
just noise to begin with
but when I get through with
the noise through my matrix
comes out as insane lists
of types of arachnids
of wars before firearms
of common house-plants and
of joke-books for children
of people in prisons
the words in a language
of dead statisticians
a masterlist I made
the list of lists finished
I've numbered each letter
and burnt in frustration
my boredom with breathing
it never stops ending
spend money on nothing
sit here and count numbers
in idiot rapture
a pure fascination
the true television
a true absolution
the last last solution
the last absolute thing
the best last a
there is no sound there is no soundthere is no sound in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
there is no sound escape plan
but it's best not to have one
el em en oh stay there
tell me all your silly names
and outline your stupid dreams
when it's tired
and it's quiet
and the system
state of the art
we'll know to run
and scream and end
there's no escape plan
and it's golden
the way that no one told them
and no one's scared
not one was spared
no one was scared
I have a bad plan
and I'm afraid
I can't stop laughing
I don't feel brave
=-=+===looky lou. i'm stable. i'm hanging out with my mom who's sixty-two. i told her i love her for the first time in six months. i helped my sister understand herself.=-=+=== in Personal More Like This
my old landlady. mary-joe. with the phobias. the irrationally intense fear of poisons, and distrust of the reports of her own senses. i made her feel understood.
i fucking love. and it's not vague. and it's goddam warmth and imagination.
and i want to decipher the code. i want to hold someone's ignorance up in front of his/her face, calmly and coolly, and state the facts. some will tantrum. some will think i need help. some want to punch me.
i love me/everything. shit makes sense. i feel better than i ever have in my life.
this is only energy.
RenovationsThey will come again, and when they do, the others will hide.Renovations in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Mr. Brown will curl up in his hole in the eaves. The Wife in the crawlspace, and I'll be here, clutching my dear ones close. I'm wrapping my legs around them, and I can hear them fidget against the soft sac, their little tremors not unlike the desperate throes of flies, but warm, beautiful. It won't be long now. Now is the tender time. Soon I'll wear them on my back, and we can leave this place. But not yet. Not yet. Now is the time when a swift strike would kill them, and me with them. I will not leave.
I can't leave. I've hidden as well as I can. A small shadow between the braces under the mantel, where their lights don't penetrate. At least not yet.
Too much light. Too many sounds. They come with their sounds, with their fangs at the ends of their legs, shooting explosions into the walls, toppling everything. They are giants. They grumble at each other, tear up the floors, rip down the lights. Destroy everything that has
.i've written so many poems. in Free Verse More Like This
about love and luck and the
unbearable sadness that surfaces
whenever i think about you.
but you isn't a person,
you is a metaphor for the
birds suffocating in the clouds and the
leaves fighting off the wind.
and when i see flowers
all i can think of is death;
because i am a poet,
and my kind of poetry is the
kind that keeps me up all night,
as i memorize the ceiling
and count every minute
until the sun rises.
it’s the kind that makes me
wish for a bridge because then
maybe i could finally be free.
my kind of poetry,
it’s the kind that kills me.
[ features. ]it might be time to do another feature because it has been just over a thousand years since the last one.[ features. ] in Personal More Like This
the process of fading* by *AlicjaRodzik
petrodollarthe hill has been butterfliedpetrodollar in Free Verse More Like This
and everything that causes noise speaks
in a foreign language
a radio chokes itself
saying the sound of empty country is snow
the distance between freeways is arrested
as reports about frost come second-hand
(things the soldiers fell like:
trees, leaves, airplanes)
an owl blasts through the mountain,
angels, expatriated from our father’s paradise
do taxes in a public park
Overpasses arc like the rings of a dying planet
Nobody can find work
now kids have taken to demanding
explanations from god
while last night the anarchists
doing their best to imitate the pacific
found only the silence of constant traffic
AliensThey have no notion of past or present,Aliens in Free Verse More Like This
everything is about oceans.
When they ask for you
it is really a story about seeing the ocean.
Listen. It is failure of bridges that builds angels.
GROCERY BAGGER/ COLLEGE STUDENT:
Is this the depression
we've all been experiencing?
Please have a seat and forget the edge of that coast,
you were not intended for this distance.
GROCERY BAGGER/ COLLEGE STUDENT:
I believe we're all owed an explanation.
Where is this manifest?
I've never ridden a horse, I am being dreamed about.
You would not believe
the stories redwoods have.
You each get one phone call.
GROCERY BAGGER/ COLLEGE STUDENT:
But the voicemail I've been trying to reach,
"I dream of psychiatrists telling stories
about dreaming of women
they've seen in unedited videos on the internet.
Sometimes they save her from that burning nightclub."
If you're going, leave your voice
somewhere in a room I know.
Time Travel for Ex AddictsThe only thing you can take with you is musicTime Travel for Ex Addicts in Free Verse More Like This
And a couple of streets if you have room
Leave the T.V. behind but turned on
You may not bring a watch, digital or otherwise
Nor may you bring the possibility of rain
After dinner get yourself lost
There will be questions. Don't answer any of them
Eventually the voices will start to come together until everything is noise
Next type the name of a young boulevard in the interface
Lie down near that street while it snows and count backwards from 100
You will find yourself in bed but don't worry
it isn't yours
A voice will fall from the sky and say,
Please remain hysterical
in the event of an emergency.
If something goes wrong you will die.
Para Espanol oprima numbero dos.
There are no other options
Fight sleep, it's a poor substitute for making planetfall
When you close your eyes you will see light
And it will remind you of traffic
You have to think about a song now
Any song will do
named after women
When you see a fe
emails to and from a friendthe weakness of their faith is that it becomes baffled by the occurrence of mountainsemails to and from a friend in Free Verse More Like This
believe me, i've loved you once
[to articulate the fall of airplanes]
pain is your voice leaving the body
we aren't going to make it
they left our bodies on the street
I didn't know you know how to smoke
things go wrong, i suppose,
things will go wrong
no one talks about you
it's like this, i guess
it's like all those songs you loved
that I can't seem to remember anymore
consider the detriments of freedom
you write to people that don't exist
i'm so sorry
i can't find your exit
you haven't called in so long they updated the memorial
to include a photo of a bird
it's like this everywhere i go
Objects will grown in their affections for other objects.
I'm so sorry I can't find your exit.
"The entanglements of atomic structures preexist San Diego;
you can believe everything all at on
oggod postdates the accidentog in Free Verse More Like This
because he's god
all misappropriated miracles aside
god is not distance
is not reception
is not people
scientists take bets
on the end of the world.
the earliest religion was something like this.
she says, breaking down on the phone,
i've felt your version of nothing
a nothing preexisted this universe
the political redemption
because we are broken
was counting the voices they left behind
'write so you haunt these people,
so they never forgive you'
we are not the transmission of the waiting
what then? the mistake?
"all i dream of is dying in a plane crash"
in the other universe,
the accelerator calms the particles
and bodies assemble from dust
The dispatched often describe the future-
lack of flowers, abundance of chrome, levitation;
the people's smiles invented five hundred years earlier.
what is missing appears like light
interrupted in trees stocked just outside the dimension
my president is speaking to the survivors as you leave
inlandbecause upon arrest the ocean sits withinland in Free Verse More Like This
but never occupies
because when I woke the anarchists
were demanding suffrage from heaven
because the news announced whale bones
pulled from a mountain in turkey
because i went to the liquor store
and the missing posters were gone
because every noise the city makes
is a foreign language falling extinct
infrasoundtoday each strange invasion owns our broadcastsinfrasound in Free Verse More Like This
and their wreckage is believing and the arms wrapped in metal
and how we gamble with the breakdowns from people whose absence fills you
like a motel thick with prayer
or a prayer soaked in motel
or the closed revival in clothes on her floor-
the silence last night as my neighbor told me about the accident
told me about his brother-in-law
told me about losing jesus in a peach desert in california.
after the last helium mine is abandoned
all of my research imagines you,
the gulf of this crash poured around the body-
each disaster divided and swollen with wheat
belizeduring abduction always listen-belize in Free Verse More Like This
they pull a mountain to the gurney
and cut the planets free
and the garden, in its horizon, lifts like a horse
until the shouting is a baffled continent.
No, we don't make it but take your pick:
the blue voice trapped in the array
the grey train ruins strangling her hills
the woman remembering a streetlight.
these miracles belong to us.
we will take them into whatever dark space we are marched.
After? a glass migration flowers these machines
and survivors emerge bright from the metal
ContingencyThe survival plan was contingent on blues,Contingency in Free Verse More Like This
after the subway is bombed and the pigeons settle like grief
Sometimes we communicate in diseases sometimes
the angels that haunt the space between factories
exchanging all the promised inertia for flowers
that bloom and die instantaneously
And after the country would appear as people
stumbled upon the shore in language and crowds of telephone wires
And then the protocol says
everything is bad weather in this fall-
the endoskeletons of factories are crawling through the fog,
as our horses
quietly return to the ocean.
autoflowerreorganize the bodyautoflower in Free Verse More Like This
my artillery is a hall full of dancers
because to avoid death the ocean divides itself
and divides itself
until she's a shadow full of rooms
or eventually even the acid and the earthquake
But we've imagined this backwards.
the elephant's battered radiation talks all prophets from the building
Upon the stockpile mouths flood dry
and so many cardinals
of that hollow universe
And so what, auction the wind
After, no one will be left to speak
and I laugh because the same parts divide us
For the machine:
I hang these plane crashes from your clotheslines
Synaptic Hijacking (the psychology of marketing)"Its intension is to elicit feelings of warmth and happiness among Facebook users who scrolled backward and forward through their Facebook histories. So focused are Facebook's designers on this mission, notes Boyd, they're trying to mimic the power of the neurotransmitter serotonin, which is considered a contributor to feelings of happiness in humans.Synaptic Hijacking (the psychology of marketing) in Personal More Like This
Facebook design manager Julie Zhuo broke it down this way: As a design guideline, serotonin is 'our term for those little moments of delight you get on Facebook.' "
blanket article about privacy violations/intentions of NSA projects here:
Zuckerberg refutes/specifies requirements for government cooperation here:
The desert drownedWhen the practice was disbanded/ all the surgeons packed their knivesThe desert drowned in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
the plaza to be eaten by the fault and the shore lines/ the silt and rocks cut health care costs/ the cactus and the brine/ the sun came down and the desert drowned
the parking lot was auctioned off to a wealthy privateer/ the old man died a sinner but his ghost was in the clear/ a farmboy in the slaughter house puts down his millionth steer/ the thief knelt at the chopping block with a whisper in this ears/ :”the sun pulled down, a son came down, the sun came down, and the desert drowned.”
The stars called home from a payphone booth with a door that wouldn't close/
and the ringer kept crying on the other line but nobody was home/
they told the change return “we've got grief to burn and that is why we glow”/
"dear father, why've you left us in the cold?"
And the desert gasped with it's salty lungs and the ice caps melted and the sea expunged/
any dust or doubt or sin ere done/ any will be mayb
Kim Kardashian is Already Bored with MotherhoodThe emotional jerk of family movies.Kim Kardashian is Already Bored with Motherhood in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
I've started crying at films, again
but it is as irreverent a reaction as my
spontaneous, manic laughter. The way it
starts, and does not end. Never at
the right spots. There are scores
of albums I cannot listen to because
they remind me of people who left.
Life is simpler when you don't have friends.
When there are no close relationships.
(She dropped herself like a sad hint. I believe
it was the drink. I'd like to think. She turned
twenty today and I laugh politely and I smile
as we all gather in the kitchen and talk about
the mindless music, pop-politics, media, human
behavior, sex habits.
She stands close to me and I ignore this, and the fact
that she is a "very nice girl". I know what always
happens next, as she is casually tossing herself at my
sad personage, so I leave. I am getting older and
emotionless, and I am tired of inflicting myself upon
"This is my man, here." I am introduced.
I know that I am not supposed to make conver
New San Francisco, part 6Like the hang-high doubt,New San Francisco, part 6 in Free Verse More Like This
like the buying and selling of America, my dear.
Still, the staggering wasteland and patience kept,
and wives, cleaning their husband's laundry for the day.
Women being women. Men going to church. Children kissing each other's cheeks like it's nothing. Seconds away from the past.
I scrawled, I kiss the night, in my-fair-city.
Oh, John Muir, look over yonder: It's your coast and it's God's coast.
Seattle was a fink compared to these streets!
I hang that head without thinking twice.
Your soliloquies will always light my way,
if only looking backward.
Time is what you make it. Time (inaudible) in the night.
And once this pale folk (me) wrote: "The sun won't rise."
But, here he is disproving all that chatter.
Trojan horse of the mind.
A fabled drummer, all run
agape, aghast. A ghost! You slipping slumber.
You seal, lost in the petroleum wake of new city.
Modern lives: no room for crotchety old jeans soaked with grease.
Men dispersed i