I findI find my days
riddled with cigarette butts
and coffee cups,
bridges and brick dust.
River rocks rescued out of the rain
pages of poetry all lipstick stained
fragments of people,
cigars, Pall Malls, and Marlboros.
Smoke long stale
wafts in loops and spirals
through the morning air
as I untangle memories from my hair
and track hand prints and fingerprints
on my spine and my hips.
Finger tips follow lines of scars
that I lie about and love.
Swanning over old aches
a stronger soul.
I find bruises on my heart and my knees
the color of black, blue, and raspberries,
earned from too much time preying,
Praying for some almighty force
reveling when they did.
There's a smudge of paint on my thigh
from when my skirts
and passions rode too high
as I rode my inspiration 'til 2 am
with a paintbrush in my hand
to make something lovely.
Lips silky and swollen
from too many kisses stolen
from unsuspecting lovers.
I find my life riddled
She Is What She IsShe is what she is,More Like This
what she was.
Everything she will ever be
is right there,
so easy to see
if only one knew how to see it.
Perhaps it's a lost cause,
seeing such things,
after all not many remember how to truly see,
if they ever knew at all, if they'd ever admit they did.
She has been so much,
seen so much,
survived so much.
It's impossible to say how much,
and she's stopped trying to explain.
Those that know
know what they know,
and that is enough for now.
She doesn't need to be remembered
for some to somehow know that they should remember.
She's like mist, distinctly there but without definition in the tired mind.
She is constant,
in her own way,
or at least, you could say she is,
in a way.
Some things are the same, are always the same,
her eyes have the same light,
her smile curls in that way that is just so her.
Her love has grown fiercer, her spirit meeker, though not weaker.
Perhaps you do remember.
Perhaps you've seen her,
protected and loved her.
drivesisn't this the sort of thing i dream about?More Like This
a car full of friends, driving in the dark with the windows down and the smell of a sky on the verge of release
music that is barely heard over the air that whips in
the head lights sweep across the trees that line the river and on occasion i get a rare glimpse of the intelligence behind the bark
isn't this what everyone dreams of?
a belly full of good food and veins full of better drink
the warmth and lack of inhibitions that comes along only with trust and wine
is this not what you and i long for?
a comfortable silence shared shoulder to shoulder?
eyes closed against the air and the feeling that everything is about to slip away
almost wishing for the car to crash so that i might pass because i am content in this moment and i never wish to be unhappy again
Yes, I Have a PenisYes, I Have A PenisMore Like This
Do not assume (if I hold the door for you),
that I am making a statement
about your inabilities
to open the door for yourself.
If you hold it for me,
I'll say 'thankyou'.
Do not assume (if I pay for the meal),
that I am underestimating
your earning capacity
as a woman.
If you invite me out for a meal,
Do not assume (if I defend your rights),
that I am belittling
the attempts that you have made
to defend your rights yourself.
If you defend my rights,
I'll consider you human.
Call girl.Push my red silk dress of needsMore Like This
to the floor
eager to see
my flesh ensconsed by your own.
Never mind the thoughtful wrapping,
it's not what matters to you.
You're not the sort that savors your chocolate are you?
I'm not what you need
until there's something you want,
and lets not lie to ourselves,
it's about what you want.
I'm tired of saving you a spot
when you won't even open the door for me.
I'm not an escort
and I'm not a babydoll.
Do I look like a call girl to you?
Cause trust me honey,
you can't afford my kind.
What if I t-e-double-l you thaWhat if I t-e-double-lMore Like This
you that I f-e-double-l
in l-o-v-e and there was
any one could do?
What if I t-e-double-l
that my little heart
was black and blue
and now it's sparked
The RushThe Rush, The Devils, The DesertMore Like This
The Rush sails the sands
And combs the dunes for devils
Though hot, it’s not hell
Pitchfork havin’ beasts
Fork-tongued, forlorn, fiendish
Weep while we wither!
The damned devils lurk,
Scrawl across the sands their marks,
“There is no God here!”
God prayed to the Rush,
“Be valiant on your voyage”
Wept! Then crossed herself.
Night Falls and the Rush Prays for Sleep
Scorcher turned to frost
The great star burst to diamonds
No light, no warmth: Dark!
His heart goes thump thump
As it pumps and pumps and pumps
If it quits, he’ll die
“Rush?” Mikka Maw Cawed.
“What?” inquired the Rush, wild eyed.
“Our quest: a mirage.”
“Sleep, steal me swiftly.
My mind marauds to madness!
How I long for peace!”
Hoorah! cheered the men
Fin'ly a devil's captured
Next comes the torture
The Rush inspects it
Makes notes of its dead figure
And curses its corpse
Odd the demon seemed
Love and HateLove & hateMore Like This
are two words
tossed into the same ocean,
written upon the back of
one spiral-shaped shell,
around each other.
Aeons of floating
senslessly beneath the waves.
there's not much left
of either side.
I pick up its
dried out leftovers
from an empty beach,
where spiral shells
once came from
For L.C. eleven hours and forty minutes.For L.C. 11 hours & 40 minutes.More Like This
We met on a Saturday, saturated by rain.
Steel grey eyes,
Her face punctuated by freckles and a shy, sweet smile-
hours like minutes passed as the raindrops fell;
her skin opalescent in the low, yellow light.
Deep red wine, like mahogany, the colour of her lips-
a taste shyly given; shyly taken.
- A comfort best experienced, indescribable.
Her arms like slender branches,
her nimble fingers laced through mine.
She kisses my hand,
a sweet, delicate gesture
A satisfied smile,
looking up at me through her lashes
her hand placed over my heart,
nothing spoken, no words needed
and I turned to water.
Eleven hours and forty minutes later;
we said goodbye and wished for many, many more.
Sparks and smiles.My heavy heart slowly beats to sad songsMore Like This
from the battered black radio I keep in my kitchen.
I think of you, can't help but smile,
though sadly, lips like lead.
I guess that I'm simply exhausted
after stealing days with you,
now wishing for more-
and silently hoping that it's not too much,
my exuberance at finding you,
the sparks and smiles,
the insatiable attraction I feel for you.
Never thought I'd find someone I can lie beside and want to wake,
just for a kiss, a smile and a squeeze
but you look so peaceful sleeping beside me.
Gods know I don't sleep much.
Watching you undress in the sunset,
backlit by the golden red rays
the slow smile of yours I love so much
as you ask me if I'm joining you.
Happily would I have spent forever beside you,
in the bed that fit us just right
when my hand found your hip
and down to the small of your back,
you shivered slightly
and pressed your body into mine,
those endless grey eyes looking up at mine,
closed only when you kiss me,
making me say things
I'm sorryI'm sorry.More Like This
I never meant to frighten you,
not even for a moment.
I never wanted to
make you feel
I don't know
if you see the way
his eyes soften
when he talks
or know you were the first person
he mentioned when we met.
I knew your name before he knew mine.
I never wanted
to just know him,
I was terrified and eager
to meet you and her.
I so wanted to know I was welcome.
I shouldn't be so easily bruised.
After all I know that hurt of yours too well,
and that pain makes knives of soft mouths.
This isn't about me,
I think we both know that.
I never mean to make it so,
and you likely don't mean to make it so.
But neither of us are perfect, not even close.
It's about you,
and a battle you
never ever need to fight alone.
One you'll win,
(And you know,
and he knows,
and she knows)
I can't leave,
I just can't,
and it's not something you'd ever ask.
I can't speak either,
we're both sorta bad at this whol
My Green ManMore Like This
The moon rises
and I rise with her,
roaming in gossamer dresses
and bare feet stained with earth
and ashes from my hearth.
I bind flowers
and love knots
in my long hair.
The scent of roses follows me,
and he finds me,
The Green Man.
The beggar prince of the woods
emerges in his leathers
at his consort,
his wild witch.
They called me a goddess, once.
Now no one remembers my name,
but he knows, he always knows,
My Green Man.
He had a name too,
once upon a time,
"when wishing still helped"
as he says.
I like to whisper it to him late at night,
to remind him I still have power.
I wish on the stars I see reflected in those autumn eyes.
His eyes sparkle when he kisses me,
and the world goes soft and white.
He was mine since he saw me,
caught in the fairy ring of fate.
An arranged marriage of the souls,
with Mother smiling down
and a million fairy lights
forever looking on.
If he is the forest
than perhaps I am his sky,
two Gaian spirits
forever dancing that mad
Don't TouchThese lips,More Like This
They belong to a higher power than you could claim,
that's right, they're claimed.
Don't touch what isn't yours.
The mind is strong
but the flesh is weak,
even the disciples
but I'll pull fifteen all nighters for the man I follow.
Love may be fluid
but my love's kept
in oddly colored bottles
all through his home
watery thin love
has been turned into wine
by the divine,
the one I call mine.
And we might fall,
lacking angels to catch us,
but we don't need a shove
and we don't need you,
I Painted You FlowersThey called me tasteless, talentless, crazy,More Like This
but you always knew the truth.
You always knew it, even when I didn't.
You knew where the color came from,
and why I didn't use it when I didn't.
You were always the one who gave life color,
the one who took it away.
I painted a night sky for us.
When you asked me to bring you the moon,
and move the stars, I did.
I gave us a sky under which to love,
a field to dance in,
a road to travel together,
but you never knew how to get there.
I gave you my heart and the work of my soul,
hell I gave you my ear!
But slowly you forgot what you always knew.
They say I went mad long before you,
but truly my love, I was simply mad for you,
and what's sad is that I'm still painting flowers for you.
Over again.And there it is, as if I needed the proofMore Like This
that you're the one, THE one, the hallowed
sacred, unfounded, near-impossible
I tumble over the edge, over again
into your endless eyes and flawless skin
tell me again that you're beautiful just for me
tell me again that it's because I love you
This is an end-of-the-movie type feeling
with the climatic music, roaring into a crescendo
and me and you, we've beaten the bad guys
we've saved the world babe...
And to some sort of grandiose finalé of explosions,
roaring, epic music and the lighting up of the cinema
I fold you into my arms and you look up at me
I cascade into your endless eyes and we kiss.
The kiss, of course, lasts till the credits finish
but not to us, because this isn't a movie
this is real, this is us, this is our story.
And you, gods, what can I say about you?
I think the phrase is try and stop me...
I started with your eyes, those mahogany eyes
and their clarity, light and vibrance of life
Mirrors from Afar -Chapter 29"Look! There's fireworks!" Peter's aunt picked up Anna to show her what was happening outside the window. They weren't very visible from this side of the house, but they could still see a few sparkles appearing over the top of the houses' roofs. Everybody gathered towards the windows, trying to find the best spot to see the fireworks go off. Anna was watching in awe, holding Veronica tightly whenever there was a loud sound. Peter backed away slowly, nobody noticing him as he walked back outside in the backyard to have a much needed smoke. He glanced inside the kitchen before he closed the backdoor, taking the tucked cigarette from inside his pocket. He looked up as the sounds of the fireworks got louder. They were completely visible from this spot, and Peter took a moment to enjoy the exclusive view.More Like This
He fiddled with his lighter for a moment before he tried to light up his cigarette. The cold breeze was blowing away the flame before he could.
"Come on," Peter muttered, cigarette hanging
Peeling a Potato-Shaped YouI picked you up from a gutter in radioactive Russia. Somehow, you had fallen out of the body-bag you were carried in, and I nearly kicked you further into the muck. I heard your pleas though, begging for my hands to pick you up. They ate a hole in the fabric and sent you rolling before my feet. In normal circumstances, that would never happen, but there is nothing normal about a world covered in grief.More Like This
You were a real piece of work. It's got to be expected after all, in these parts, but you were still fascinating all the same. For instance, you were covered in that signature brown dirt. Most of the time, it was brushed neatly before you were zipped up. But you'd been out too long in the open and it showed. Reptilian shoots punched through your skin and waved like a many-armed grotesque plant. They looked like bleached coral that decided to grow out of your flesh rather than in the nutrient-rich sea. As I ran my fingers over your suppurating sores, I wondered why I picked up the sort of
PoetryMore Like This
I want to write poetry on your skin.
I want to sink my teeth into the ridge of your hip
until there's a five-seven-five pattern there.
I want to take pens and markers and razor blades
and carve an epic into you,
laving typos with my tongue.
I want to claw sonnets on your back,
fourteen lines of fingernail marks
in perfect iambic pentameter.
I want fingerprint-bruise-couplets
on your forearms
and red-half-moons of villanelle
on your inner thighs.
I want you stretched out and
tied to the bedposts like new paper,
clean and begging
for me to cover you with my words.
I want to etch my love into you
before you forget.
There's ash in my eyesthere's ash in my eyes.More Like This
i think i am dreaming, because i don't feel tired, or worn, but curious, and strong.
two rows of monks, chanting, becoming not persons anymore, but living conduits. through which their voices become not words spoken, but sound transmitted. passed one upon another and such and so on until it threatens to drown out all thought you might have, all planning, all vision, all hope, given way to the same mindless droning.
and there you stand. now i am certain i am dreaming. i smile to myself. i smile, because you are not here, and you are not here because you are you, and i am i. and if by somechance, somehope, some. how. you -were- indeed here, you would not be you, for you would never come here, not for i, at least. and i, being i, would never wish anyone here, you and not-you alike. and yet you are here, and here, most perfectly, are you. standing before me on chessboard marble, arrayed in all your fine apparel. precious jewels, shimmering hair, a mirage
Red StringLet me tie a red string around your finger,More Like This
so you'll never forget me.
Don't say that you won't,
I know how you can be,
Holding things tight til they slip through your fingers.
I promise I'll never let you forget about me.
This isn't just any string, oh no,
this is the kind of string meant
to tie hearts and souls.
It's strong, and it's beautiful.
It's always been there, really,
though you can't see it (I can),
but it's good to remind you,
to summon that smile to your sweet lips.
Let me tie a red string around your finger,
so you'll never forget that I love you.
This love is the kind of love that demands recognition,
that shouts from rooftops, fights wars for it's possessor.
This is a love so vast that it leaves room for little else,
Denying sleep until it can invade one's dreams.
It shines, like a shooting star it lights up the sky,
and like the stars it sings.
It is its own being, this love is,
almost solid enough to touch, sweet enough to taste.
I wonder if it tastes like coffee and