I've been reintroduced to the Night.
I saw him roll in from the east,
Bringing the deepest blue velvet to
Penetrate the cracks in the pavement.
Midas' touch undone.
The golden people unfastened their masks
And hang them in the sky.
Thoughts of their vices occupy their minds.
Resume the hunt.
The lonely ghosts blend into indigo shadows
But I see them nonetheless.
Solemn faces with glassy eyes,
A heart that pumps no blood.
No one offers what they truly want.
Resume the show.
The innocent, they rest in their beds,
While we inhale the breath of Night,
Intoxicate to liberate, quickly now!
Before the morning comes.
Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 3:37 PM UTC
If the color of my bruise
Was the color of the horizon
With clouds my shade of olive
I might hold your gaze
When you say: you're my favorite
shade of purple blue and gray.
And to me that would
Be divine.
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 3:23 AM UTC
How easy it must be to direct
Another in the steps they take in life
You sitting safely on the other side
So quick to build a divider
Making wider the berth you give
A life you've never live'd
And so easy it must be
To hide the gurney, pass out flack
Friendly stabbing her in the back.
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 11:47 PM UTC
Looking behind me
To my speckled map:
Paths I've traveled
Treasures plucked
Darkened days,
Complete Mind-fuck'd.
Recollect the eyes
That've met my hazels,
The hands and finger tips
Signatures on my soul,
How love felt like wings
(Or like sinking in a sinkhole).
There are thirty years
Or 11,299 days
That feel like bricks in a bag.
Some are light
Some are sad.
At the bottom of the bag
Are four bricks I cannot reach
The beginning years
As a new earthling.
The other twenty six
Contain seven light weight bricks:
Years of joy and laughter
Of friendship and love
Years of belonging
And stories thereof.
The rest of the bricks:
Nineteen
Are labeled lonely and
Dark and heavy and
Soaking wet
(if bricks can be that)
With salt water tears.
So many so many years.
So here I stand
At life's rest stop no less
To unpack these bricks
My shoulders bare indents
That breath as I undress
Because the bricks are my story
But armor I wear as well.
My heart thuds thuds thuds
Within my protected
Chest citadel.
Unleash and unload
Review and reconcile
Ask myself if ANY OF THIS
Is ******* worthwhile.
I need to stay at this stop
'N take time to ponder
Before I resume
My lonely wander.
I need to learn to love you,
Solitary life.
Then I will succumb
To be your wife.
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 11:13 PM UTC
I'm that girl
Who stopped going to church
because of the color of the band
Wrapped around my finger.
Everyone's band was gold
But my fleshy band is white.
Yeah, I'm that girl
Who has two babies of her own,
Both of whom have birds nest hair
And trail blankets to my room.
Their toes are always cold
When we cuddle thru the night.
I'm the girl
Who doesn't believe the words
Of men who want to sleep in
Her bed.
She doesn't wear makeup.
"You don't need it" they all said.
I'm that girl
Who ***** at figuring out life
Or taking a hint
Or making the jump
But **** I'm good to run
(Keep people away, love at bay)
I'm also that girl
Whose world revolves around
Two little Suns that shine
Let them shine and shine and shine
And I'll take any of their hurt
It will be mine and mine and mine.
I'm THAT girl.
May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 1:17 AM UTC
bleached
beneath
a 10 kilowatt
moon
anticipating
geometry
the smell
of soap
that same
instant
calling into
question
bisexuality
without flesh
or
the vibration
of blood
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 1:19 PM UTC
"Raise your hand if you're messed up".
That's what I heard but not what they said.
My hand slowly rises and they grin.
Fresh meat.
Then they proceed with uncanny resemblance to TV.
State your name, to be added to the menu.
They want more details, er ingredients.
Their eyes are locked, watching for golden brown.
Lapping lips, heads droopy and bobbing,
The blood in my neck runs cold and then clotting,
****
This place is over-fucking-flowing with vulnerability vultures.
My fight or flight kicks in and I become needlessly angry.
Why the hell am I here?
He's not my problem anymore.
Why the hell am I mad?
He's not my problem anymore.
But I sit and I listen to the man on my right.
He shields his eyes and I know why.
The longer you sit, the longer they glare,
The longer they hope your gaze transforms
Into yet another hungry vulture's stare.
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 4:15 PM UTC
Feo
I hope this is revolting
I hope this is annoying
I hope this makes you turn up your nose
Oh reader.
I hope this is befuddled
And confusing and
All about losing
I hope this poem isn't
Rhythmically sound
Nor inspired
Not even slightly profound
This poem is reflecting
This poem is describing
This poem is actually what you see on the news
Oh reader.
This is unfair
And enslaving
Endless line of waiting
And this poem is
The non-fictious reality
Heavy with gravity.
Let that sink in,
Oh reader.
Feo means ugly
May 21, 2017
May 21, 2017 at 10:00 AM UTC
I never remember
my dreams
but three nights ago
I dreamt a
disturbing
dream
about a car accident.
In my dream
I watched a
bride and her groom
get plowed
over by a
runaway truck.
(I think it's odd
that I want a truck
so bad.
Don't you think
that's odd?)
The mother wailed
blood was on the asphalt
the sirens screamed in my ear
but they didn't arrive
in time.
I just watched
the gore.
Just stared while
their hearts
stopped beating
and air
stopped flowing
through the places
it should flow.
Then I woke up and
have been disturbed
by my dream
ever since.
I dreamt that dream
three night ago.
May 21, 2017
May 21, 2017 at 9:40 AM UTC
"--you know, I've either had a family, a job, something
has always been in the
way
but now
I've sold my house, I've found this
place, a large studio, you should see the space and
the light.
for the first time in my life I'm going to have a place and
the time to
create."
no baby, if you're going to create
you're going to create whether you work
16 hours a day in a coal mine
or
you're going to create in a small room with 3 children
while you're on
welfare,
you're going to create with part of your mind and your
body blown
away,
you're going to create blind
crippled
demented,
you're going to create with a cat crawling up your
back while
the whole city trembles in earthquakes, bombardment,
flood and fire.
baby, air and light and time and space
have nothing to do with it
and don't create anything
except maybe a longer life to find
new excuses
for.
May 21, 2017
May 21, 2017 at 9:32 AM UTC