nicholas-davis - Hello Poetry

I can see your skin in every pane, as a sheet of candied paper reciting poems from a sandy dream The moon is out eating clouds, and is writhing in blood-smelling peat, gnawing at your sleepy feet, I get to eat the earth and cry again April, May, June, and the lantern moon and one day, outside, the clotheslines and orchids will grow and tickle May awake, I just feel it, and break from want, from Hell

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Apr 26, 2014

Apr 26, 2014 at 11:03 PM UTC

nicholas-davis

Stained Glass, Sunken Moon

I can see your skin in every pane, as a sheet of candied paper reciting poems from a sandy dream The moon is out eating clouds, and is writhing in blood-smelling peat, gnawing at your sleepy feet, I get to eat the earth and cry again April, May, June, and the lantern moon and one day, outside, the clotheslines and orchids will grow and tickle May awake, I just feel it, and break from want, from Hell

9

can 2000 EM26 come a little closer tonight? because the next time the quicksand leaves the pyramids it’s lightning in the brain for me forgotten names, confusion, white clothes, sipping tea the lightning would ****** the sand into glass reflective and clean, a coo of lithium’s past and, in the cracked hands of rusty fishermen, dead, caked salt and an empty fountain pen i can only laugh at my heart now an eager bubbling mess, like red and black watercolors handled by children staining walls and faces too “something” for this world

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Feb 17, 2014

Feb 17, 2014 at 10:13 PM UTC

nicholas-davis

From Slooh

can 2000 EM26 come a little closer tonight? because the next time the quicksand leaves the pyramids it’s lightning in the brain for me forgotten names, confusion, white clothes, sipping tea the lightning would ****** the sand into glass reflective and clean, a coo of lithium’s past and, in the cracked hands of rusty fishermen, dead, caked salt and an empty fountain pen i can only laugh at my heart now an eager bubbling mess, like red and black watercolors handled by children staining walls and faces too “something” for this world

12

in this world of orchards mound, exalted thoughts and want unbound i will lasso the stars and bring them to your fingers soak them with rose water as they linger but i’m not real a phantom seal of grey dust before the sun a fallen orange peel "and when you feel, it will **** you every time” a fatal light peeking through nimbus clouds deep azure, tears collecting in the fount i will stir the halcyon seas epochal pour them in the fountain of past festivals but i’m not real a trembling hand, puerile, before a golden web spun to the ring of a peal "and when you feel, it will **** you every time”

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Feb 11, 2014

Feb 11, 2014 at 9:58 PM UTC

nicholas-davis

In Orbit

in this world of orchards mound, exalted thoughts and want unbound i will lasso the stars and bring them to your fingers soak them with rose water as they linger but i’m not real a phantom seal of grey dust before the sun a fallen orange peel "and when you feel, it will **** you every time” a fatal light peeking through nimbus clouds deep azure, tears collecting in the fount i will stir the halcyon seas epochal pour them in the fountain of past festivals but i’m not real a trembling hand, puerile, before a golden web spun to the ring of a peal "and when you feel, it will **** you every time”

20

the kissing dogs are gone, sleeping long, chasing fancy in their fog curious, a girl with a pocket of amaranth always fresh rain on her lapel and neck and eyes that become fixed and smaller in pleasure an image that remains un-graven in memory, a mystery still, like a candle stolen from a windowsill sitting at a bar, drinking ***** with lime seeing people i know, yet alone in rhyme "this is how it’s going to be", said the picture of j. edgar hoover "i’m burning you, feeding the furnace in your belly. 'you'll meet the devil if you haven't already'”, said the ***** "it will all sour, everything. get a taste and die knowing one heaven”, said the lime "you want to melt. the heat of your desperation touches me. you want to become a lone liquid and disperse into the clouds. you think you can travel the world that way, maybe be tossed around in the clear tide near fiji. but you won’t, look at me”, said the ice in the glass.

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Feb 3, 2014

Feb 3, 2014 at 3:20 AM UTC

nicholas-davis

Ice in the Glass

the kissing dogs are gone, sleeping long, chasing fancy in their fog curious, a girl with a pocket of amaranth always fresh rain on her lapel and neck and eyes that become fixed and smaller in pleasure an image that remains un-graven in memory, a mystery still, like a candle stolen from a windowsill sitting at a bar, drinking ***** with lime seeing people i know, yet alone in rhyme "this is how it’s going to be", said the picture of j. edgar hoover "i’m burning you, feeding the furnace in your belly. 'you'll meet the devil if you haven't already'”, said the ***** "it will all sour, everything. get a taste and die knowing one heaven”, said the lime "you want to melt. the heat of your desperation touches me. you want to become a lone liquid and disperse into the clouds. you think you can travel the world that way, maybe be tossed around in the clear tide near fiji. but you won’t, look at me”, said the ice in the glass.

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