I work from my bed; that's not
a metaphor. I have a desk and
no drive to sit at it. Movement
is impacted by various factors, not least
being the comfort of you. Why should
I work at a wooden desk when
I can work from your warmth instead?
WonderWhen the parade arrives he is entranced, a child,
fearless, with light shining in his eyes. At first,
I am skeptical—embarrassed at the offbeat
clapping, uneven dancing—but rhythm
aside, his wonder comes alive, a smile bright
after being buried under pursed lips for far
too long a time. Hardly fearless, I dance too,
starting uneven until I wonder why I worried
to the point of wandering from happiness.
a trip to disneylandpushing upstream
against the current
on my shoulder
at the water fountain
to save money
waiting 90 minutes
for the ride to break
a child's balloon
to drive home
CleaningFocusing on the big picture is
not one of my strengths, at least not
at first. Everything is covered in dust.
Dusting can't be done until surfaces
are cleared. Surfaces can't be cleared
until things get put away. Things can't
get put away until older things are
thrown out. Et cetera. Until
there is a floor, there is no floor. With
no floor, there is no room. No room
means no guests. Et cetera.
The first step to cleaning is accepting
that the first step will almost always
feel like the wrong step. The room
will get more dirty before it gets clean,
life will get more complicated before
things get simple, the world will go
on spinning even when you feel
you are at a standstill. Et cetera.
nighta love song
to the neighborhood
awake at nightfall
on the power lines
two cats skulk
waiting for sunrise
so they can slumber
Crow CallingCold nights are experienced through the ears,
the constant cricket chirping ceaselessly
over rolling rumbles from rushing airplanes
overhead, and the mirrored inhale, exhale
of a car rolling up, and past. For suburbs,
it's something resembling serene, silence—
or as close to it as cities get—sitting soft
on slanted shingles. When some solemn
evening gets pierced by crow's calls, the cold
sinks deep into the cracks of the night's
foundation, a caterwauling that casts
the night into cauterized stillness. Come
morning, will the crows still call?
canyon rengatwo leaves
on the water
through the canyon
the river runs
in the canyon at night
before going home.
like them, I return
Echoic MemoryIt's a coat with many pockets, each
filled with a different time and place. It's
standing outside the Lincoln Center
realizing your parents won't make it
to the concert you flew cross-country
to perform in. It's going on stage and singing
to them anyway. It's standing in a church,
shivers running up your spine because
for the first time you've created music,
real music. It's crossing a two-lane street
in a suit and tie after packing half a decade
of a life into the family van. It's waking
at nearly thirty years old to find yourself
carrying the joy of a discovery made
at sixteen years old. It's sticking your hands
into these pockets as you slip on the coat,
and finding a decade-old smile on your face.
sempiternalWhen I grow old
For when rainbows dilute and notebooks fatten
on times untimely passing,
when the moon falls out of kilter with a sun that
curdles in a sad, forgotten sky,
and the rain congeals inside the clouds
when the slurry of seconds sinks deep into my bones
and my skin crumples like parchment, my spine coils and splinters
and my fingers buckle, knuckle-cracking -
when my dreams fade like polaroids in sunshine
and my memories break free from their kitestrings
unanchored and drifting in such dulcet mindmurk and I watch
the world crumble from gold into grey.
I want a thousand laugh-lines
for they will be the maps to better times
so I can find my way back
OC Meme*Copy this into your Meme..
-Choose 10 of your OC's
-Answer the questions
-Then tag 3 people
1.) 3, 7, 4, and 9 go ice skating. What happens?
2.) Its Christmas!!! 5 throws a christmas party and invites three people of choice. Who does he/she invite? What happens?
3.) 6 catches 2 dancing/singing to the 'spice girls'. What's 6's reaction?
4.) 1 and 10 are stuck in a janitor's closet. How the crap did they get in there?
5.) 4 confesses his/her love for 8. What happens?
6.) 3 walks in to see 6 and 7 making out in 3's closet.. What is their reactions?
7.) 9 and 5 have an argument that soon turns into a fist fight. How did it start? And How does 2 try to break it up?
8.) 6 and 7 are getting married! But 8 is in love with 7. What does 8 do?
9.) You here a knock on your door. You open it to see every one of your OC's bursting in to your home. What do you do?
10.) 2 admits to you that he/she killed 9. What do you do?
11.) Everyone gat
InsanityWhy hello there insanity
Let me walk you 'round the floor
If you look off to your left
you'll see the girl i was before.
The tiles might be broken
But its nothing time can't fix
But if you think its art-work
Then all the broken parts will mix.
And the doorknobs may not work
But you can crawl through like spies
The holes you made with your fist
Are looking just your size.
The mirror in the hallway
Has seen some better days
And although you may see yourself
It's not uncommon to also see haze.
And the windows may be drafty
But i promise its not too cold
And if you can deal with that
I'm sure that you'll be sold.
And you see here in the closet
That the lightswitch doesn't work
But that only because
There are inner demons that lurk.
The picture frames are empty
But thats only an attempt to forget
All the fun i once had
And the soul that I once bet.
There's shattered glass in the bedroom
From when you told it was goodbye
And i let the bird out of it's cage
Knowing it would die.
But the basem
It Has Come To My AttentionIt has come to my attention
that people like me
are generally not welcome in fairy tales.
It's the talking birds that do it.
The minute a sparrow shows up to pipe a direful warning
it's all over
down at the first hurdle
The body in the fifty-fathom well
will have to wait
the old woman turned into a hare
the murdered mother in the juniper tree
as I whip out my Sibley guide and look for the entry
with the fieldmark labeled capable of human speech.
For this crime
I have been accused of a failure of wonder
of having chained up my inner child and sent her
to work in the salt mines.
But the truth
(if you really want to know)
is that I have read too many fairy tales
and lived a bit too long
to be surprised by anything that happens in
the cottages of lonely woodcutters.
I can even venture a guess
to why the bear speaks with the voice of a maiden
(my heart goes out to her)
and why, when the animal has saved your life,
you will be required to make a harp out of its bones.
These are o
There is nothing more devastating
Than losing a loved one
Knowing that you will never
Hear their voice again
Or feel their touch, or see them smile
It's heart breaking
Time is a powerful thing
One that is forever
Time takes everything
And makes it it's own
They say that time
Heals all wounds
Time only created more scars
As the ones that it caused before
Begin to heal
To lose a loved one
Is a tragedy all in its own
But don't be sad
You will see them again
Because while time takes everything it can
Will take you too.
Time takes everything
And eventually it even takes you.
afghanistan doesn't exist.my disposable income
is fed to the local
pharmacy in exchange
for bright coloured
lacquer, with rainbow
names like 'bo peep'
and 'gum bear'.
how could you ever
feel shame or guilt or
sadness with a name
like 'candied violet' so
adorning your carefully
manicured nails? how a
cocktail of 'coralicious'
and 'tangerine queen'
could make you feel
like anything but a
i sleep in the tropics
in summer and in
the carnival in winter
and it shows on my
nails. i don't own black.
or gray. would you
admit that your sweet
dreams see the things
your waking hours
refuse to? would you
dare let it slip your
lips that he died out
there in your head?
does the world need
to know that you're
worried when he's
joking? when he finds
it... funny... that he's
getting shot at in a
faraway country? that
you can't crumble into
his lap and clutch at
his collar to please
don't go? that you
never knew a soldier.
i don't own sand colour
or army khaki, or the green
peculiarity of his eyes.
Paper MacheDrop your paper hearts into a basin of tears
and dry them in the sun
Well tape the middles back together
Glue them back to back
PallorI cried myself sane and then
moved on. How strange, that a man
can split open like a rotten peach and find,
at last, nothingness. How strange to realize:
only then can sunlight enter his veins.
Death dissolves us. Nothing has changed
but everything is different. I spend an hour
pressing my fingers against a wall, the skin
whitening as blood retreats.
There is no regret, no fear. Only a man
who whitens against his final four walls,
the empty chair, the selfish and wandering grief.
Only a man whose face slowly unravels and the way
I wash my face, make dinner, let myself forget.
The Rumour of IcarusIcarus
there is a rumour that your father killed you, that
he bent your wings until they broke and then
told you, "Fly."
If this rumour is true, then it lives in the throats of
those fragile boys who wear your death like Cain's mark,
whose tender hands split like swollen tomatoes when
they pluck strangled seabirds, whose
arms slump beneath the weight of their father's genius.
And this rumour lives on
the under-skin of their eyelids so that when they die
or simply sleep
they dream of their fathers
or maybe just of Daedalus, standing with
his hands full of feathers and wax,
their blood-flecked down under his fingernails.
your face is gone, icarus, you are a warning & a tragedy &
the patron saint of boys who will not listen but also you are a god, icarus,
a god to these boys and still, when you fell
said Bruegel in oils, Auden and Williams in verse
no one gave a damn.
they also say that your father strained the sunlight into an amphora
and told you, "Dri