Life is just a one-night-stand
born in the belly of a star
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 1:39 AM UTC
I just read Nietzsche:
I looked into the abyss,
and it got me wet.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 2:39 AM UTC
I had bulimia for breakfast.
It tasted like
hunger
and something I'd had before.
It tasted like
the broken mirrors in my room,
and something I'd had before
the hate made me like this
The broken mirrors in my room
tell me lies that take
the hate, make me like this.
These reflections make me
tell myself lies that take
the hurt, that make me whole.
This reflection makes me
an explosion, pushing all the bad, all the good,
all the all out of my body.
An explosion, pushing all the bad, all the good,
all the all out of my body.
I had bulimia for breakfast.
Hunger:
The hurt that makes me a hole.
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 8:43 PM UTC
You once said you loved me.
* * *
* * * * * *
* * * * * * * * *
* * * * * *
* * *
But we all move from flower beds to death beds.
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 7:35 PM UTC
She often wonders what the past was like.
Did it feel like it looked: black and white?
Nose in a book, anthracite coal strike.
Will she ever know JFK's ghost?
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 7:33 PM UTC
I haven't slept int four days.
And today I swear I heard the wind say
bless you after I sneezed.
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 7:26 PM UTC
There were
old wrecks of machines,
tumble-down buildings leaning together.
Not an ounce of energy nor a minute of time left over from the
awful,
hopeless
struggle.
Sun in the wrong place where it scorches and burns and exhausts you.
Black shade where you want sun and warmth.
No comfort.
The buildings lie in a heap, as if they'd been thrown there -- and there they stay.
It was over long ago, not with a bang,
with a sigh.
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 2:32 PM UTC
What would the world be without love?
Completely at sea;
a crooked oval in the middle of the air;
crazy and silly with fear;
a
tiny
swollen
wound.
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC
She was born and bred in captivity
In an oppressive home was where she grew
Every night she dreamt about the wild sea
Of whispering waves and worlds she never knew
Her reality seemed so unreal and wrong
She moved in aimless circles like a ghost
Trapped in a world where she did not belong
Always yearning for her home: the salt-wind coast
A parasitic guilt ate at my soul
As I looked into her eyes, dying and lost
At last I saw the prison of her bowl
I scooped her up - into the toilet tossed
A gentle flush was all it took to set us free.
But guilt came back when sister asked, "Where's Goldie?"
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 12:29 AM UTC
The bus starts and pulls away.
You missed the bus.
You're stuck on the curb;
the next one isn't for another hour.
You missed the bus!
God, you're such a fool.
The next one isn't for another hour.
You don't have the time.
God, you're such a fool!
You ask the man next to you for the time.
"You don't have the time?"
No. "You should wear a watch."
You ask the man next to you for the time
When you once had dreams. Yes, you
know you should wear a watch
like you used to.
Like you're used to
The bus starts and pulls away
You're stuck on the curb
Where you once had dreams, yes you.
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 9:47 PM UTC