Leave, left, leaving
I never felt the grass weaving
I never felt my skin peeling
off my shoulders and into my hands
Bent, break, breaking
I never left my hands shaking
I never held my throat, aching
down my spine and into the bedframe
Held, hold, healing
I never kept my knees kneeling
I never felt my mouth bleeding
off my chin and onto my chest
Heal, hell, heaving
I never slipped my hands, thieving
I never caught my feet leaving
off the grass and into the street
Jul 26, 2012
Jul 26, 2012 at 2:15 AM UTC
My hour
Quiet
Beside me an easy storm
Spirited
Through me by blooming power
River drunk
Recalling the taste of sun
My little sound rise and hold
May 15, 2012
May 15, 2012 at 8:45 PM UTC
My quick baby, who loves you?
Oh slow waker, who arches?
Backs bent over rolling water
Water, who swallows?
Chest shaking under heavy wool
Weight, who spins?
Thick dust down soft temples
Heat, who flickers?
Multiply- make room, make room
Darling, what gathers?
Soak my honey-stung tongue-tip
Cold, who wanders?
Leave my bent frame on stiff soil
Body, why bother?
Lazy smoke, tell me, tell me, who rises.
The air is thinner towards the peak.
Apr 27, 2012
Apr 27, 2012 at 12:52 AM UTC
blood boils
fingernails fill
cliffs only jump 'cus they were told to.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 9:24 PM UTC
Doors and Keys;
Unlocked,
Open
My throat aches
I need warmth,
weight
On my chest and stomach
My jaw aches
I need breath,
breath
On my neck and shoulders
My eyes ache
I need tension,
pressure
On my ribs and knuckles
My throat aches
I need
I need
I need to get a grip
Jul 20, 2011
Jul 20, 2011 at 11:06 PM UTC
If obligation is a sin
I am such a fashionable writer
I am Bukowski
My brain swims in chemicals
and
My legs swim in sheet
My mouth moves subconsciously
and
My palms are always numb.
Jul 19, 2011
Jul 19, 2011 at 9:24 PM UTC
We were almost killed on the Freeway
My Father slammed on his breaks
I heard my Mother gasp
and brace herself
I was almost killed in the water
I kept my palms flat and far
I kept my feet on the salty tar
and wept
I've been known to have my fair share
of self-pity
and equity
No, he didn't keep
No, I didn't sleep
At all
Jul 19, 2011
Jul 19, 2011 at 8:56 PM UTC
I made a map
of the veins in my chest
I followed the lines
and ended up in a ditch
So I dug
As far down as I could
Before the clay became to stiff
for my fingers to claw
So I went back to my room
with fingernails full of dirt
and a mouth full of spit too thick to swallow
Jul 19, 2011
Jul 19, 2011 at 8:53 PM UTC
More often than not
If it seems like a short time
It has been
Quite often and more
If if seems like a long time
It has been
Jul 19, 2011
Jul 19, 2011 at 8:49 PM UTC