Give me your glass
I'll give you mine—
Drink down that liquid fire
Watch it gleam in our eyes
Smiles conspire
We'll light up this town—
I'll start, drop my cigarette
alight on the ground
This bar is a beacon
A torch in the night—
Sparks singe our skin
Raw but it feels right
Give me your glass
I'll give you mine—
Drink down that liquid fire
Watch it gleam in our eyes
We tear through the streets
leave flames behind—
raze the city
with heat off our tires
They won't ever catch us
in our deadly machine
'cause we run on agent orange
instead of gasoline
Give me your glass
I'll give you mine—
Drink down that liquid fire
Watch it gleam in our eyes
I'll kiss you and accelerate
forget about the wheel—
taste heat on our tongues
our incendiary dream is real
Veer into the flames
our sins will detonate
a sensuous Little Death
for our immortality.
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 9:06 PM UTC
I'm waving my arms like people do
when they've leaned too far out over the edge,
and a helpful branch is just out of reach.
You've stretched out calmly, soaking the sun,
looking at me with your head cocked
and wondering why I won't come sit down.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 10:33 PM UTC
I get the impression
that you like me the way you like dessert:
praising my appearance, presentation,
eyeing a swirl of cream,
licking your lips at the sparkle of glacé
Anticipation.
When you cradle me gently
in the curve of your silver spoon:
your tongue samples my sweet delight,
fleeting flavors hold your senses enraptured
the lingering aftertaste beckons
More.
Your silver spoon scrapes
the bottom of the glass bowl:
melted cream pools languidly,
my last sweet aftertaste slips from your tongue
while you do the dishes.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 8:25 PM UTC
You're beautiful, we want you with us,
they chorus, pale hands grasping,
their ghostly holograms of consciousness
project across a network of artificial minds
Desperate to materialize,
and turn their ephemeral bodies
into undulating flesh,
They graze their fingers across my vision
trailing electrons in their wake
that insistently whisper, Make us Real.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 8:44 PM UTC
The ring you gave to me
bore a beautiful trillion stone,
and a band with artistic wave
polished to perfection shone.
The shine obscured the lie,
your dazzling artifice,
for in place of gold and gem,
salt and sulfur kissed.
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 1:14 AM UTC
For a while, we put our problems in a box in the attic.
We'd visit, now and again, to deposit an annoyance or two.
But then we started adding bigger problems, and space became tight.
We bought a trunk. It was cedar, designed to keep the moths (and our consciousness) out.
One day you went up there, and discovered I'd taken up nearly the whole trunk
with a gray sweater, full of holes, coming undone at the seams.
You wanted to know how it got there— you'd never seen it before.
I didn't exactly remember putting it there, at least not all at once.
It would explain its tattered nature.
You told me to just get rid of it. It's all worn out, you said. What's the use keeping it?
I told you I was still working on finding all of the pieces.
You acquiesced. You usually do.
For a while, the trunk was all we needed.
I left the house and came back with more pieces for that gray sweater.
It eventually became more of a blanket, but the trunk still kept it in, though the wool
would threaten to spill out in tufts whenever I opened the lid.
Eventually, it overflowed the trunk, creeping out onto the floor, down the attic steps. Into the house.
You asked if I'd found all the pieces yet.
No, I haven't. The bigger it gets, the more holes it sprouts.
I start to wonder if I've been making new holes to patch old ones, taking thread from the seams,
and leaving the edges ragged, fraying.
I'm fraying.
And neither one of us is good at sewing.
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 1:08 AM UTC
slow steel sword
room of death
stand and die and wait
blissful truth
sees sunlight
quite elegant pain
cut. ask. remember.
dare.
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 12:32 AM UTC
Run your fingers over my chest
pick apart my shirt, thread by thread
and crush the fibers between your fingers
til you've laid my skin bare
Let your frigid breath caress my *******
and perk my ******* in parody of arousal
Then bring that silver blade you've been twirling
idly in your elegant hands,
trace its sharpened edge from my neck to my heart
Leave a stark line of red in your wake,
for it tells me that reality is here,
pinned under your gaze
You have no need for restraints, no cuffs of shining steel,
your piercing eyes and the bow of your lips
are enough to keep me perfectly still
even as you slide your blade between my ribs and twist
like a rusted key in a lock
my bones slide apart
Rivulets of red run down my pale skin,
drawing mockeries of words I can't express
between my shallow, gasping, shuddering breaths
Watch my heart beating in my open chest,
and sink your fingers in around the arteries
let my blood flow over your hand
Squeeze hard.
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 2:21 AM UTC
—That 'Oh shit' moment
right as you catch your toe
on the crack in the sidewalk—
—the ground rushing up
no matter how awesome
your impression of a windmill—
—and for some godforsaken reason
that ***** street-water puddle
is always there to 'catch' you—
—and your bag of groceries.
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 9:01 PM UTC
Twin peaks pierce the sky
air of my reality twines
around their reaching heights
Eddies of stone slip under
my breath-blown snow
and winding clouds slide
into each fold and crevice
as I search for the path to
fiery gold striations
living in the center seams
But I have to breathe
and the caverns give way
to narrow passages
that condense my breath
suffocating into stillness
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 7:36 PM UTC