Do you remember when I put my
head in your lap, and you let the knife fall down?
I spent that year walking in circles with my hands out.
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 12:19 PM UTC
If you could find my azule ink
In the gullets of lack-long sun fish:
You would find a young woman at shore always letting out the string. Yet, sun is bleaching the cloth, sand, wood, skin and I don't think we would recognize any of ourself by the end of it.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 4:35 AM UTC
People cannot tickle themselves,
perhaps needing fingers unfamiliar
to please them.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 4:59 AM UTC
Charles ate a Rocky Mountain
oyster shell from the spleuchen
of a bee resting on a bed plate,
but then fell asleep.
Glandular curvulas search for
the meaning of life;
to **** and be ****** by the nerve centre.
Clooties of the Yellowstone national park
make regretful decisions, that lead to excessive
crying, and dry/wet heaving for
MTV'S SPRING BREAK BLAST:
The ending is on pp.22 featuring beam rays
telltale sign of stirless beaches and nights irritating
my irritatory sun causing me
to
fumble
from the letter shape of my family tree.
Quintessentially, but not really, reptilians smiled
to eat sour investment of telltale
signs of testicular cancer,
while sending SMS messages to
acquaintances blabbering
"Come over and watch a movie ;)"
and gloating of recently acquired masseuse skills.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 3:27 AM UTC
Cerberus
The temporary home that I
Occupy is guarded by Cerberus. Three
Pit bulls barking at the gate and jumping
On my chest with sharp claws, but this
idiot wasn't always here.
In early years walked in the evergreen
rain; listening to raindrops click on canvas
of a hood centimeters far from the head, and
when night would come, stare out in to
pinhole nights bargaining with god
on pain and boredom. “I swear if
you would give me a sign, I will do good.”
Then the crickets would laugh, while
The trees hissed their endless secrets, so
There was nothing found that day.
In this trailer, now, the water burns
My skin; bringing roses of blood to
The surface, and leaking
Out of my gums, so each night
I drink the wine to fill my belly
With ideas of T.S. Eliot, or Ginsberg,
But looking like a ******* quack, and
Crying to old songs that used to hold
Different meanings.
My mother lives inside the sea;
A million lost dust specks sinking
To the bottom of the trenches,
Swimming about sea creatures
And fish that glow in the
Endless darkness of the depths.
I thought so many times that I’d
Follower her there through the
River, and if you give me a sign
God, I will, but I keep snagging
Myself on the sage brush outside
The front door, and my legs
Grow heavier. When I go to sleep
Tonight I’ll fall asleep in mind that
My dog is resting in the landfill
On town’s end, and I've thought
That I could grab him there; maggots
Filling up the eye holes. If you give
Me a sign, God, I will. The
Fan flies over head, and the
Computer hums loudly for one second.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 2:58 AM UTC
Insomnia
I wish so dearly that you could see my love for you
but it's stuck in my chest
and all I have to express this completion and warmth
that you give me
are symbols and sounds
triviality, symbols, sounds... Don't come close
To what is real, when you're near
The summer insects celebrate the coming
of seasons as I lay in my cot, and ponder
of how I hate the changing of weather
because It reminds me of how I'm dying
and I feel like a lonely magazine laying on a coffee table
in a deserted office, once all the tired peons have gone
to their restful homes
I sit, in darkness, immobile, yet waiting
for something unfathomable
I'm thinking
I wish so dearly that my love could see what I feel, but It's trapped in my chest
and these seasons passing drives me insane. I just remembered I'm dying.
Dying.
dying.
Sleep.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 2:53 AM UTC
The springs of the trampoline
squeak to our movements, till we
fall dead on mesh.
I pulled off screen
to my window into undeveloped
darkness, and ran to you
after I heard you calling in my yard.
Home sounded like vents
and boom box hissing, and mother's
silent shoulder silhouetted
by some artificial glow.
I love you, shoulder,
and all the pages that I
put a finger to flip; under
the covers, covered in dark
where I adorn myself in cloths
to my coffin— too slow, then
come out wrinkled in the schoolyard
to get laughed at.
Here now, where I'm
sleeping in some friends
wardrobe, you called out
to me again, from a car
with tendrils of rain
streaking the glass,
but I didn't pull off any
screen. I didn't run anywhere
I just sat and sighed.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 2:52 AM UTC
She lied in the unmade hotel bed,
in nothing but dark white underwear.
Dark-green black-out curtains,
with a slit in the middle, filtered
and framed the sorrowful light
of noontime; leaving a bar of sun
That made dust waltz in the musky air,
and illuminating the small
Of the woman’s back and hips,
making the skin shine. Her husband
stood at the foot of the bed looking
in the mirror and glanced back at her
napping and she looked so harmless,
like a child− or an animal; like she had
never been hurt, or sunk her teeth in another.
Two nights before they fought about silverware,
and he watched a documentary on wildlife survival
in which a hunter strangled a rabbit to death,
and it made him wonder how it would feel
to hold the animal by the throat, while it
squirmed and cried for breath within the hand.
For some reason, He concluded it would feel
easier to smother someone to death with a pillow.
The couple decided to leave the city,
To pretend they had a fresh start,
from the fact that it had been a whole
season since they had last touched
the room came with bed made,
and complimentary soaps on the
counter.
when the woman got up,
they walked to the shore a block away.
The sun was turning red, and falling
below the feminine silhouette of the earth,
and the wind picked up moving the water,
like a mirror unfolding and dividing indefinitely.
The woman walked farther out on the gray
sand and told the man to take a picture of her,
the sun behind her illuminating each tendril of dead
skin flouting round her head like threads of dark wine.
She laughed, and the sound carried
out through the water and came back, like an
invisible
twin.
Later that night the man stood on the porch
smoking. The moon was rising and full.
He could hear the giggling of a young couple
room beyond the courtyard. They were
Skinny-dipping in the pool; the woman embraced
in the young man’s arms legs wrapped our his waist.
The old man suddenly felt warm, recalling his flash adolescence
in extinct lukewarm nights like this. A tinge of nostalgia
and regret that rose and fell for a second and then disappeared.
He then scoffed, threw the smoldering smoke off the porch,
walked back to his room, and slammed the door.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
When the homes were wearing
The shroud of 4am, I was forgetting
The glass oracle that carries
All of our coffins to receding galaxies.
I was forgetting the woman wearing
Diamonds I saw last night, standing
Beyond the empty street that lead to the park
Naked, and coiling like a snake on top
Of the body of some so lonely looking man.
I was forgetting the way, I then imagined
How the spittle swelled on her tongue
To drip to the cement then beyond cement,
To the shifting clay under foot.
In shroud of 4:01am, I was forgetting
The sleep routine of my lover drudging
To the door to bolt, then stopping to look
Down at me, lost in the some snake skin
Husk of me; creating poems not to by eyed
By porcelain birds that shatter like
Wineglasses on the marble floor
Of my dream home.
In the light of 5:03am I woke
After forgetting how
The attractive force of earth
Has a hold on everything I got
To the roof, feeling the sharpness
Of sandpaper shingles, and stepped
Out, finally taken back by a conclusion,
When my body was grasped by gravity
And thrown to the gravel, breaking
Both ankles.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
The lights of street
came in through the trees
as I breathes in so slow,
Trapped in in my mouth
please stop staring at me
Ask why I’m looking so low
.
I fall through the asphalt
in to the hands of the dirt
and come closer to something
that gives some sense of purpose
.
I’m lost
I’m lost
I’m lost
so lead me to the end of the dock
I’m lost
I’m lost
I’m lost
I believe in the future, but not in the one that I want
.
So how do I feel this way?
When I’m afraid of everything?
The way my chest wakes up and sings.
So how do I live
When I’m hiding under the sheets
The way my eyes still search for something
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 2:21 AM UTC