alexandra-7 - Hello Poetry

I'm really really sorry I don't love you like I should Or hold you in the ways I told myself I would But I'm no good at promises You knew that from the start Though I know I'm still responsible For someone else's heart

0

Jun 24, 2013

Jun 24, 2013 at 2:51 PM UTC

The Story of Obligated Love, or, the Poem I'm Pretending I Didn't Write

I'm really really sorry I don't love you like I should Or hold you in the ways I told myself I would But I'm no good at promises You knew that from the start Though I know I'm still responsible For someone else's heart

8

slow ride in blue morning light - glinting off your shoulder - carrying the weight of last night - we lost ourselves if only for a moment - ago I realized we're older - than we used to be (I ate my own insides - slow smolder)

0

Feb 20, 2013

Feb 20, 2013 at 9:59 PM UTC

fire

slow ride in blue morning light - glinting off your shoulder - carrying the weight of last night - we lost ourselves if only for a moment - ago I realized we're older - than we used to be (I ate my own insides - slow smolder)

8

once the anchor on my soul (kept me full and tethered down) now i start to drown

0

Feb 16, 2013

Feb 16, 2013 at 12:17 AM UTC

Oh-Five-One-Three

once the anchor on my soul (kept me full and tethered down) now i start to drown

3

i'd like to live in the geometry of your body like the cut of your kneecap and the planes of your cheek build myself along the rays growing from your fingers like so many smokestacks the dodecahedron Platonic in my orbit

0

Feb 10, 2013

Feb 10, 2013 at 7:37 PM UTC

Five Solids

i'd like to live in the geometry of your body like the cut of your kneecap and the planes of your cheek build myself along the rays growing from your fingers like so many smokestacks the dodecahedron Platonic in my orbit

9

if i really could i'd cross-stich your name on my arteries and veins

0

Jan 15, 2013

Jan 15, 2013 at 10:04 PM UTC

A Haiku about Tattoos

if i really could i'd cross-stich your name on my arteries and veins

3

Today I put a Tylenol PM on my tongue And let it sit there all bitter and blue Not for any reason, really Except for memories Like the book I read once that said Sitting in bathwater as it drains Must be how it feels to die

0

Dec 9, 2012

Dec 9, 2012 at 10:14 PM UTC

Untitled

Today I put a Tylenol PM on my tongue And let it sit there all bitter and blue Not for any reason, really Except for memories Like the book I read once that said Sitting in bathwater as it drains Must be how it feels to die

7

Harmonic suspension, first-chair, and gold This is the sound of the end of the world Sweaters of steel-wool and spring revolutions The strings in the weave are beginning to loosen This is the sound of the end of the world Too late to be evening, time uncontrolled The strings in the weave are beginning to loosen He lies in the bed, skin becoming translucent Too late to be evening, time uncontrolled Dark rising deeply, sleepless, and cold He lies in the bed, skin becoming translucent Throat full of something too thick in the moment Dark rising deeply, sleepless, and cold Skin stretched too tight on his hopeful skull Throat full of something too thick in the moment He watches twin sunrises bobble like ornaments Skin stretched too tight on his hopeful skull The blue on the Earth has become its own pulse He watches twin sunrises bobble like ornaments Caught in the gravity of something immense The blue on the Earth has become its own pulse Gradient gray like the ***** of sweet candles Caught in the gravity of something immense He pays tribute to God in his newspaper tent

0

Dec 5, 2012

Dec 5, 2012 at 8:20 PM UTC

B-Side

Harmonic suspension, first-chair, and gold This is the sound of the end of the world Sweaters of steel-wool and spring revolutions The strings in the weave are beginning to loosen This is the sound of the end of the world Too late to be evening, time uncontrolled The strings in the weave are beginning to loosen He lies in the bed, skin becoming translucent Too late to be evening, time uncontrolled Dark rising deeply, sleepless, and cold He lies in the bed, skin becoming translucent Throat full of something too thick in the moment Dark rising deeply, sleepless, and cold Skin stretched too tight on his hopeful skull Throat full of something too thick in the moment He watches twin sunrises bobble like ornaments Skin stretched too tight on his hopeful skull The blue on the Earth has become its own pulse He watches twin sunrises bobble like ornaments Caught in the gravity of something immense The blue on the Earth has become its own pulse Gradient gray like the ***** of sweet candles Caught in the gravity of something immense He pays tribute to God in his newspaper tent

24

Maybe it's the moment Where I realize that everything I've got myself in life Is exactly what I deserve Because I'm all long-hair and she's glimmer And I'll never not be jealous (Let's not lie about the human condition.)

0

Nov 26, 2012

Nov 26, 2012 at 12:35 AM UTC

Visceral

Maybe it's the moment Where I realize that everything I've got myself in life Is exactly what I deserve Because I'm all long-hair and she's glimmer And I'll never not be jealous (Let's not lie about the human condition.)

6

She's got her own unique Perspective on Humbert Humbert The great gentleman Who killed the savage polar bears of the Arctic I'd be lying if I said I didn't understand Because tied charm and sweetness In her little frilled socks Is more than boys can offer So, let's talk about our demons And the glasses on your nose Because one day she woke And was suddenly grown up

0

Nov 25, 2012

Nov 25, 2012 at 3:01 PM UTC

Na-bo-kov

She's got her own unique Perspective on Humbert Humbert The great gentleman Who killed the savage polar bears of the Arctic I'd be lying if I said I didn't understand Because tied charm and sweetness In her little frilled socks Is more than boys can offer So, let's talk about our demons And the glasses on your nose Because one day she woke And was suddenly grown up

12

I am neither poet Nor writer Nor artist And I will protest With broken breath Until the day I die Because the words on the pages Of the masters - all ink and tea They were the ones who taught me I am not alone That I am all skin and organs Holding in a thousand-million stories But, I am not a poet I am not sublime or dark Or different I park my car like everyone I pick at scabs and I sleep in late I am not a poet And, really, that's okay.

0

Nov 18, 2012

Nov 18, 2012 at 5:41 PM UTC

I am Not a Poet

I am neither poet Nor writer Nor artist And I will protest With broken breath Until the day I die Because the words on the pages Of the masters - all ink and tea They were the ones who taught me I am not alone That I am all skin and organs Holding in a thousand-million stories But, I am not a poet I am not sublime or dark Or different I park my car like everyone I pick at scabs and I sleep in late I am not a poet And, really, that's okay.

20