In this dance
I don't care
If you think you lead or follow.
Like your simultaneous presences in my
Head
Bed &
Heart,
My two feet encounter both
Split between realms
My arms embrace their own weight in various currencies
It's tallied in my brain
How each piece of clothing peels, falls, or floats away
Dexterously
And how the floor does not discriminate
From your cream adorned with curls
And your café con leche
But I never hear the fall
Like leaves shedding in an anti-gravity zone
Preventing finality
Just so we can slip back into our skins effortlessly
With four eyes shielded,
Blindly clutching creeds through winter
So as I purposelessly push last night's leftovers aside for tomorrow's,
I am satisfied that my shelf stays full
And my floor unstained.
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 4:19 AM UTC
6 months without you feels like forever
You are a burning ship, destined for drowning
Watch as you take the ones i love along with you
Trying to shout my way through the trance of your voice
The messages you keep leaving remained unopened,
Ive rerouted my veins, changed my direction,
But the thought of you clouds all my conversations
Its been so long since my blood has held you like a child,
Since your embrace has wrapped itself around my heart,
Some burning fever has left me with petty thoughts
Is it the bits of you that remain?
Or the knowing that this fight will and has always been
A back and forth between the rights and wrongs of my conscience
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 3:28 AM UTC
You are the boy-hood
That my girl-hood desires.
We are a true-love story that may very well
never transpire.
For years, under my nose
I know you've always been.
But when I discover your moss
growing under my stone
You turn right back over again.
Oh how I long to press my cheek to your velvet
curling sweet, dark and cold,
while fingers pine for mutual warmth;
An attempt at what the future could hold.
Still soundlessly honey drips, sticks
between your silent speaking eyes and my dry lips.
The perfect spaces where forbidden fruit grows
inevitably decays--look, darling --
Our branches have welcomed the caws of the crow.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 3:55 PM UTC
Isn't it funny?
Not the "HA-ha" hilarity,
But still.
Isn't it funny?
How we don't laugh anymore,
how when I hear your little snicker
it turns my heart to cold blood,
how your echoing emptiness chills my already numb flesh
to my strongest bones?
Isn't it funny?
How the hollowness possesses you,
hurls all the light right out to dissipate the warm smile greeting you,
so all that remains are
little shards of teeth
in my gaping black hole of a mouth?
Kiss me.
Isn't that funny?
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 3:44 PM UTC
Scarlet hot river emanation
Dried itself up
Ultraviolet white hot is
Even still an understatement of the ringing in my aching cotton stuffed ear canals,
echoing overrated nostalgia
pathetically recounting the first **** and only of my youth.
(If you don’t count those apathetic fishes)
You are the clumsy, left hand shot
That somehow occurred at the right place
And wrong time
A grotesque tear through an unlucky beating vessel of space so soundlessly
Bursting through
A time where blush derived from shame
But now completely overwhelming adulterated glances
intent on sending every bit of sincere air
Hurling out of your lungs so that a poisonous pining may refill those
Antlers with tokens of times first
And flowers on the grave
Of the color pink.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 3:36 PM UTC
Thick silence invades ears that ache for fulfillment as
I unwrap your skin draped with
unspoken words ran thin.
My fingertips tremble with expressionless angst while
Identical intensities unravel astrological blue ribbons
Cooing sweet dividends, divine in a simple letter
Two chambers apiece for each,
For my heart has unwillingly become a fetter
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 3:34 PM UTC
i will wade out
till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
Alive
with closed eyes
to dash against darkness
in the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
Will i complete the mystery
of my flesh
I will rise
After a thousand years
lipping
flowers
And set my teeth in the silver of the moon
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 11:57 PM UTC
the history of melancholia
includes all of us.
me, I writhe in ***** sheets
while staring at blue walls
and nothing.
I have gotten so used to melancholia
that
I greet it like an old
friend.
I will now do 15 minutes of grieving
for the lost redhead,
I tell the gods.
I do it and feel quite bad
quite sad,
then I rise
CLEANSED
even though nothing
is solved.
that's what I get for kicking
religion in the ***
I should have kicked the redhead
in the ***
where her brains and her bread and
butter are
at ...
but, no, I've felt sad
about everything:
the lost redhead was just another
smash in a lifelong
loss ...
I listen to drums on the radio now
and grin.
there is something wrong with me
besides
melancholia.
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 11:56 PM UTC
the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.
there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.
nobody ever finds
the one.
the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill
nothing else
fills.
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 11:56 PM UTC
the house next door makes me
sad.
both man and wife rise early and
go to work.
they arrive home in early evening.
they have a young boy and a girl.
by 9 p.m. all the lights in the house
are out.
the next morning both man and
wife rise early again and go to
work.
they return in early evening.
By 9 p.m. all the lights are
out.
the house next door makes me
sad.
the people are nice people, I
like them.
but I feel them drowning.
and I can't save them.
they are surviving.
they are not
homeless.
but the price is
terrible.
sometimes during the day
I will look at the house
and the house will look at
me
and the house will
weep, yes, it does, I
feel it.
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 11:54 PM UTC