I am a section
a piece. Nothing more. Able to be
transported anywhere.
An “African Barn Swallow” – that’s the cliché.
Pretending it makes me feel like
a tremor.
Rhythmic.
The flavor of this
I will probably never remember
except – like this
Peculiar.
I am a section
An “African Barn Swallow” – that’s the cliché.
The flavor of this
transported anywhere.
Pretending it makes me feel like
I will probably never remember
except – like this
a piece. Nothing more. Able to be
a tremor.
Rhythmic.
Peculiar.
Oct 10, 2011
Oct 10, 2011 at 12:47 AM UTC
I wish I knew what you thought about at night, alone in your bed when the lights are off.
When the lights are off and I am alone in my bed at night I think about breathing.
I think about breathing like I think about writing, and when I think about writing
I think about my mom. There was a dip in the road near my childhood home,
and every time we drove over it she would go just a little too fast. Every
time we would jolt quickly up and down in our big grey van. And every
time the pit of my stomach would get lost somewhere in the road
behind us. It was always hard to breathe. When the lights are off
and I am alone in my bed at night I think about breathing.
I close my eyes and feel my chest rise and fall.
I want a rose and I miss the fall. It was cool
in the fall and crisp and clear. I wonder
what the weather was like during the Fall of the
Roman Empire? If it was warmer or colder
than its Rise? Why am I so scared to rise?
It is easier to fall. Fall in love every day.
Fall into bed. Fall asleep. Fall into
your arms. When I fall in my
dreams I don’t always wake up. I
don’t think that is normal. When
I fall in my dreams I am given
a chance to reconcile them.
When I fell in love with you
I was not allowed this closure.
But the joy existed in the fall,
and maybe also in the fact
that you wouldn’t fall. Fall
with me now. We will rise
together. But not until
the summer sun burns
our eyesand melts
our bodies.
Unti l then
let us
fall.
Oct 10, 2011
Oct 10, 2011 at 12:44 AM UTC
inside me.
I dance in the wind
of my own breath,
examine the mechanics
of the moving parts,
the tangled veins,
and a ****** heart.
I walk down roads
of muscle and bone
looking for something unknown.
I feel my skin sing
of light
of color
(maybe) of you.
I see the world through my own “I’s.”
of “you”
I have no way of knowing.
I might find a “you” if
I search outside myself.
I tried.
But there is an evil
inside me.
It is comfort,
I am happy.
I am
Oct 10, 2011
Oct 10, 2011 at 12:39 AM UTC
The time it takes to think is three dots…
…Little strands of thought
like wisps of mist in the forest.
Nothing to follow
nothing to grasp
just the visible presence of
*Curtains in the Fog…
…When does memory become memory?*
I will drop anything
at any time
if you need me.
Sit and cry on rainy stoops.
They say;
“Love is watching someone die.”
And I just – ugh – so happy…
…Were the world mine,
I could write out my own dream
where la fille danse,
sarei piú popolari,
we are what we believe we are,
and I am laughing with the stars –
we will hear them, we will know…
…All that I know is I’m breathing,
nothing but a man. Breathing.
What makes a man? (I Don't Know)
What makes him tick? (I Don't Know)
Bel ragazzo, put down your sword
All we can do is keep breathing…
…My heart is beating out of context
limping for recognition
strong bodies tight skin
a figure weakened by winter’s neglect
I am disvalued
the warning signs are endless –
so who’s gonna watch you die?...
Oct 10, 2011
Oct 10, 2011 at 12:37 AM UTC
Stephanie, Please just
leave tuna to
roam free
in the apt
when you come
back from walk
of course
breed was amazing!
Oct 10, 2011
Oct 10, 2011 at 12:32 AM UTC
prayers sent to a lost
god hiding in the city of fear
passions rough people on the rough
street a haze of power
and pavement these sheer
words traced on skin-
paper the wiped-out touch
of harsh vibrancy smog
bred in the smoke of my
freedom lost blinding veins my
city my
anger my
forgotten unforgiven reflection
regrets etched in glass
this is the summer of our
dirt of
steel-laced light pounding
depression amber voices
attacking screaming little
stolen ripples
in the stone
Oct 10, 2011
Oct 10, 2011 at 12:30 AM UTC