Duly engrossed thing,
living off the tip of a ball point pen,
wriggling teeth and feet and all
vainly fat and full
vaguely made a tool
alive as the pen hits
dying as the pen lifts
and gone with a swish and a stroke
and back again
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 2:01 AM UTC
three years
and, head spinning on a plate
on record
revolving, rotating
regurgitating,
still counting years
and still spinning plates
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 1:58 AM UTC
Racing pounding door smudge collect dodge bridge going done and ending happy ending ends no no no no no no no no no no no
Wishes wished and done and never done and wished and thanked grateful graceful one. and. Grace and one never done and still with stillness rise raising rights and gaining tight flights waiving wish and wanting none here here and hear hiss his own his own blown and moan with the right and right in righting rights writing nice and accurate writs and rose smelling prose down wells of spew and asswiped
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC
Directors would cringe
open mouthed, tongue out
staring
at the pen that draws romance
that prefers to star in a comedy
or a tragedy instead
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 1:55 AM UTC
How now my lonely giraffe?
Would you like me to
chop down the neck
like so?
When you're shorter,
come up the treehouse
yes, come, no fuss
it's windy.
It's chilly, it's really
positively there and
believe me,
no worries.
I'd want nothing
more than seeing you
as there as my tree and
doing nothing,
having nothing
unwanted.
Feel free
to come up
when your neck's down.
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 1:51 AM UTC
Race me to the hilltop
I'd love it more than anything
any little thing
any little thing
any little thing
There there'd be buried treasure
we'll find some, if you like
I'd want nothing more.
We'd spin around
looking 'round:
trees, birds, bees and whatnot;
the sun and shadows like clockwork;
any little thing we find.
When we talk, let's not ruin
the hilltop peace.
When we talk, let's talk in short words
give each other
one-letter poems
or one-poem letters.
Then we'd talk of nothing more
and only the grass underneath
moves, waves, dances and speaks
formless, shadowless,
weightless under the black canvass of stars.
Then, again we'd run.
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 1:51 AM UTC
The mirror speaks its own words
shattering once or twice as it pleases
and i can't find a rhyme for 'words'
hence the mirror shatters once
as it pleases
The mirror repeats any mirror-ed feat
wrinkles above the eye, to forehead creases
or a strangle of words, those on repeat
hence the mirror shatters twice
as it pleases
The mirror would now like to symbolize:
mirror, strangle, birds and words
though birds in flight are like words when we realize
then we realize meter has gone like birds
as they please
The mirror sees itself, self referencing
self referencing, self pleasing
seeing itself and tasting and fencing
itself around its hearts housing
as the mirror pleases
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 1:49 AM UTC
Depressed dreaming death,
Deadly drive dare defer dreams.
'Dear... death' deemed divine?
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 11:34 PM UTC
A mind weighing worthless fortune
with foul ability's stench in the dusk-ish air
(pardon the jest and useless ridicule
in the above words' toneless tune)
has no love saved
no godspeed wished
no warm departing greeting
for the luckless, weak, and unwilling,
for the mind knows
the Rights Man made Rights so.
And it is so.
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 12:26 PM UTC
Here's to life and living, a summer hue,
and wish and want and given too
much of much and little of little
with a point that pierces smiles — brittle,
(for a point that ends is an end after all)
brittle — to shatter summer to fall
to landscape shades made dark by blue
passing right after a finer hue
then to darker shades made dark by grey
leaving life and living to wintry way
then Summer weighs into Winter's call
for a point that ends has no point at all.
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 12:23 PM UTC