Little fish swimming in the pub
Drowning in every body else's tequila shots
Chewing her scales and wading
Kids- little fish's youth
Wears her, uncomfortable
They're sucking plastic
Disposing of nightly
Waste in the water
And all of it
Is sent to sea
Washing up on little
Fish's front door
(You're all pale
And washed up on my shore)
One step. One breath. Each day is a new test. Laughing fits Crying spells. Picking at new scabs.
The space between life and pain is separated by a thin veil. I've opened up the curtains and cast away the darkness. The razor cuts of his tongue are silenced by my love. Yet yet yet the painful choices of my now paralyze thought.
Wrapped inside a cotton brain with small thoughts and toy trains. My ego seeks how to learn without leaving a perpetual burn. My brothers and sisters await at the gate. I see them clear i see them now but they can't wait.
Lets start anew today amongst the ruins of the festive clothes. A bird will rise with a red nose in tow squirting water from a flower. This bird climbs and climbs to an apex of thought. Behind the world and over forever. Rain slowly falls and floods the world, pain is gone, a rainbow appears. A new life begins today on a hazy green path.
This means everything and nothing at all. It's all nonsense and jibberish. Consciousness streams and flows. And it feels damn good to be me for one single moment. One drop of irrelevant rain into life's ocean. The pencil is dull so I must stop. Happiness ensues. The crowd cheers the end of the show. A young girl wears a shiny white mask.
Beautiful maple wood, undressed in cuts
of measure ~ with rings of melancholy ~
graced in grains of old.
By design and desire, it’s coated to
armor in blankets ~ rather cold wears ~
fitting un-pleasantries, erasing the
woods indigenous core. Such left
without its natural dressing, its fountain
of fortune and the promise of lacquer.
In new coats it concedes the culture of
the carpenter. Simply ~ to paint wood is
to dilute the piece of lumber. A
misguided brim of intent ~ and the
precious soul escapes the woods finest
elegance and thus left unfancied.
The promise of shavings, then sealing in
oils of old ~ readily suits for a trusting
stain. If not of woods polish ~ they are
stains of ruin. Thus concealing the
wrinkles of father time ~ lost in the fever
of the cloak ~ now soiled in many ways
in solid colors ~ such vogue, such sin.
Unseen are the fathers rings of time ~ if
sealed in finger paints ~ so I simple ~ a
toast to the carpenters of the living ~
and his brushes of leisure to amuse with
a cunningness of frame work ~ such the
woodworker dressed in leathers of old
polishes there every send…
Dig your teeth from out of the street.
Stumble back to your feet, boy, you aint finished yet.
The more we fall, the harder these callouses grow from crawling on all fours across coarse, crumbling asphalt; sprawled out like spider legs. Desperate to seem larger than life deemed fit. And we fall so hard. You can tell by the fine collection of scars forming constellations across our elbows and knees as if to say, "Look, we bleed so much like sky, why wouldn’t we believe that we could defy gravity?" Yet, come Sunday, we’re always convinced that flying will come naturally so, naturally, we fall again from the tops of tall buildings.
The harder we fall, the greater the impression we make upon the Earth. That’s the Looney Tunes lesson we are hellbent to learn as children from Saturday morning cartoons, and even here, with the wind rushing past our ears, we question how Wiley Coyote could ever be so fucking stubborn.
But these days a friend teaches me my grown-up, penny pinching lessons with wishing well thoughts about how I should slow down. He says, “you’re a snail with Nascar aspirations--obsessed with the novelty of speed, ignoring how your anatomy isn’t meant to move so quickly.” He says, “Everyone knows you’re a sucker for a pretty face and a sundress.” And I know I’m just being defensive, but his advice strikes me as off-putting as an Ed Hardy t-shirt when it dawns on me that he wears his knowledge like a bad fashion statement but did he ever even know what the rhythm in my pace meant? I’m not the kind to stand still and see where the train stops, I’m a freight-hopper without a destination. When excited, I speak faster like some love-child of candlestick and dynamite: Ignited. Spitting sparks from both burning ends. I know I’m primed for disaster, but I’d rather shatter and burst open than fracture and spend every morning after holding those cracks together; believing that a little glue is sufficient to convince the next bargain bin buyer to cradle me that I’m not broken.
Let me rather be particle matter. Let me be braille for the breeze. I have no doubt that day will come eventually. But not today. Today, I find Grace in reanimation, and if they say Grace is the face of God, then I’ll practice my best Christ impression and rise again from this human shaped crater like the world’s least intimidating zombie apocalypse. I’ll bless my eyes blind with crosses tilted off-kilter like dead cartoons do because on Saturday mornings they’re always reborn with epiphanies sprouted like angel wings and I imagine, come Sunday, they’ve somehow mastered the art of flying.
What is Love?
I'm not talking about
What she wears Above
Low cut shirts
And tight fitted jeans.
Just to use what's In-between
But what she says.
But it's how we show it
Is always defined,
by a persons Action
Not two people that have
Two people that have,
reason to Believe
The people who show no
I love you soo much Click
Lets see what you're wearing above Click
A couple with
So we both have more,
to talk about.
"What are you doing tomorrow"
"How did your day go?"
Because we all have to borrow,
we're all in debt for the time
In our lives.
And that -First time smile-
Where cheeks are turned,
hearts are burned.
With the same response
"It took you a while"
It takes the right person
To take just a while
To see if smiles aren't
Fake to see if they don't.
Shatter and Break.
A kiss is the biggest,
It means I'm defeated
It means I'm the weakest
Because it has more meaning
Than the greatness
Of just locking lips?
Do you see, what I'm Seeing?
See because were Free
And not just
But we have Free
Reason to Speak
And it gives us Free
I Love You
Are chucked in to the wild
And used soo freely
Would make a person melt
The feelings are warm.
They feel soo familiar
So be careful how they're used
because the words also kill
Are they Free now?
With jewels, clothes, and
materialistic things don't
Bring the Love she brings to me.
"I've been broke(n) all my life"
All the points
Point you in the right direction
For Success to Succeed
This is Reality
she wears a set of keys
on a chain round her neck
one for each of the nights alone
unlock my heart with these she whispers as if it were obvious
but then she casts her love letters into the river
saying that nobody ever understands her point of view
so we might as well all be blind
there are no real desperate words
on her tragically trembling lips
but what dose come out jiggles like a carnival crier
to the harmonica players thoughtful song
she used to sing it in the coffee shop she loved
back in one of her yesterdays
now her days are an egg shell blue patchwork of plaster fixes that
define the destitute box and its failings at life's tiresome money game
its trail of paperwork attempts to find a prophet
who could give us a defining moment and photo op for time magazines cover
somebody to tell us that we are on the wrong road
she spends her days taking care of me and
sweeping up the dusts
of all our yesterdays
and neatening up the lines of mason jars
filled with jams and jellies
the sunlight falling through them makes a rainbow she smiles to me
as she settles into a cup of coffee to stare wistfully off into the morning
i ask what's shes thinking but she never dose say
she just runs a thin hand through her auburn hair
and laughs that its snowing somewhere far away
that some field in a distant wood is peaceful and filled with the grace of innocence
that one finds in the stillness of fresh snowfall
that one finds in a newborn child
or a newborn day
I watched the rain pierce the concrete jungle
I watched the people moving with purpose
I saw the cat I continue to feed perched in my window
the smell of coffee lingers through the room and engulfs my nostrils
the sun is slowly starting to make its way above the horizon to greet me
I hear the busy cars and cacophony of sirens that seemed to never rest
I feel the vibrations the subway trains send up my spine as I wait for it to halt
I observe the girl pacing on the edge near the train "this one, no the next" until she decides not to jump
there is a beggar by the staircase people ignore without hesitation
there are musicians and artists trying to make a living
there was once a lady in high heels and fishnets but you don't see her anymore, apparently she was "asking for it" I'll never be quite sure what "it" was but I'm sure it wasn't rape
there is a businessman that wears a suit like it's his disguise, he won't be coming home to his wife tonight
there is a businesswoman trying to make living in a man's world
there are children at play in the park unaware of the worlds problems
there are two empty spaces only blocks apart where two great buildings once stood only to descend into ash
there is a police officer who visits these two empty spaces everyday and a surge of guilt and anger transcends through his body like an electric shock "if only I could make it up one more floor"
there is a widowed woman with a young daughter who also visits these spaces "your father put his life into his job"
there is a hot dog vendor on the side of the street who gives his leftovers to the ones who collect souvenirs to live in a shopping cart
one vast island known as the big apple filled with enough stories to last a billion generations
leather of codes
child of no garden I want to be trash shining metal bucket streets
echoes of his scars crash deeply from his quick glance and words
his crushed inner faces blow by me like shotgun shells flipping ejected
a warm burn enters my ear and falls to the ground like pure seed
there has been a siberian tiger heart perhaps
a trumpet's bright coming tip in the night is his voice
but night has no color, only the air of space and eternal infinite collossalness
he has not been there, he knows I think I have been
his voice hunts in silence the opening of his throat
I never felt my neck arch as though I were angelic spinning holy pollen
my feet are broken from my birth's uncertain angles
my white skin is somber to me and it dreams of thick, muscular hair
his back hunts me like a prowling silent perfect killer
he has no meat for me in his most beautiful kind thoughts, nor ice
I know he does not want my soul, its irrelevance like bad country music
he glares at me his eyes are beautiful in their transubstantial wizardry
as though I a child with no hope to ever be less or more
this is the way beer cans bounce of cars better than wet silken breasts may rise
he has felt his lover's wine fully enter him in his sweetest moments
I am a child of no garden he would have
but thoughts of exclusion are often only private codes of want
his serbian tiger motion is utter but I am child of no garden until I can dance
I know he so poignantly relevant would in some fierce and mad
teach me of my father
that I might be coddled beyond redemption my white skin
he wants to giggle a soft stance or a minion of pretense
I am fully truly what he sees, yet I cannot touch him
he has no time for me I would see my heritage's murderous take
he knows I bow down to his conspicuous innocence
he has forgotten the child he knows I think I have been
he wears a leather of codes I can never remember
They say that love is meaningless
They say that it is everything
They say it hurts
They say it heals
They say it like they know.
But what do they know about love, really?
Do they see it the way I do?
Do they recognize the pure innocence of the young;
And how they look at everything with wonder,
Like a tea-spoon
Do they feel the sinking feeling of your stomach hitting the bottom of the ground
Every single time I see your eyes?
And how it hurts to see them in my dreams.
Do they realize that I'm stronger than the average person
Because my heart is so big I must protect it;
From the control that you have over my life?
Do they understand that I am weak and will rely on you to give me hope
Because my smile will fade and only you can bring it back?
Do they see that I believe not in romance but in love;
And that there is just one person out there for all.
And I can tell from the moment we meet?
Do they hear the song I sing for someone to love the way I do;
Where your heart becomes filled with the hopes and desires
Not of me but everyone else?
Do they feel the call I make from deep within my soul
To wake one day and be half of a whole
And do so everyday until I'm old?
Do they contemplate the existence of life without love;
And come to the same conclusion,
That life without love is no life at all.
Do they wonder why I am a repellent
To all things that my body and mind pray for
Silently as I lie in the meadows of thought?
My whole life, everything I do;
It revolves around you,
And you keep changing,
You always have nice hands
You continuously move and shift through dimensions
While I stay here waiting for your vowel
Not changing at all except for the growing hole only you can fill.
I have not met you properly,
Each time it someone else who wears your mask
I long for the constellations of your skin
To brush the earth of mine
And make new starts and galaxies
That only we can wonder
I am waiting on a drum stool
That replays the pounding of my heart
Full with love and devotion
But no where to place it
For you have not arrived.
They say they understand love but they do not understand at all.
Love consumes you and controls your thoughts
Till you are absolutely nothing but love.
I am love,
with no one loving
To give my love a meaning.
Come and find me
Be my swan.
"I'm fine." is her response.
but, she isn't. she's just hoping to convince herself that she is, when she smiles and tells them she's fine. Just to ease her little mind, she's puts on a mask. She folds up all of her problems and disappointments and shoves them away. Just for the day. Thinking maybe, just for now, she could be happy. Thinking if she forces that fake smile, it would one day become genuine. a real smile. A genuinely happy smile. That's all she ever wanted. But the thing is, nobody knows. nobody knows who she is inside, or how hard it is for her. Not her parents, not her best friend. Because she wears a disguise. And because if they knew, they'd say she's exaggerating. She wants attention. She's just having a bad day. well the bad day turned into a bad night. A bad week. A bad month. A bad year. But she doesn't want a bad life. She doesn't try to make herself miserable. She tries really hard to be happy. Sometimes too hard. She's learned not to expect anything from anyone, because with great expectation comes great disappointment. So much disappointment. Enough to make her sadness turn into emptiness. she's rather be sad than empty.