How can I wear my favorite sweater
when you are still holding on to a loose string?
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 1:03 AM UTC
It is useless
To put a love worth more than fire
In the vicinity of a child.
Small hands catching embers
Like snowflakes.
Feet powdered with ashes
Will only ruin his mother's dress.
No one can keep two eyes
On their brother's treasure
Without dreaming of islands.
White sand outlining
The future of the red hands.
A future lived extravagantly
In an empty beach house.
Unfair,
To a world filled with hypocrisy,
For lovers to live like angles.
Cynical souls will never grasp
A hand as beautiful as yours.
Company, confused in confession,
Lost in self-loathing,
Cannot behold eyes of the
Darkest forest green.
Skin subsides for saber teeth,
Not worthy enough for your lips.
It is unfair to the world
That you are mine.
I found a lone pearl in a grave
Of broken glass.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 2:29 AM UTC
Jeremiah refused to be rescued in mixed company.
I threw a going away party
in the hopes of his failing resurrection.
Pseudo somber faces filled the kitchen,
made up with pictures of rustic barns
and floral wallpaper;
the heat became too much to bear.
Our friends payed homage,
placing regifted bottles of
coop and kraken
on the mantle,
and wrote letters of congratulations
signing their names backwards
in my guest book.
The day lost its luster
and coffee mugs of champagne
ran empty.
Conversations danced
around truth and honesty
escaped out the window.
I saw a stranger in the corner.
His name tag read Sinner
and his guilt left ink
on his forearms.
I asked him to read my palm
and he confessed how much
he loved wakes.
My laughter shattered the static.
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 11:39 PM UTC
You were everything I ever wanted.
You were everything I ever wanted.
I was everything you ever wanted.
You were everything I ever needed.
I was everything you needed.
They were everything you ever wanted.
I was everything you ever wanted.
You were everything I ever needed.
They were everything you ever needed.
They were everything I never wanted.
You told me they were everything you never wanted.
I believed that I was everything you always wanted.
I believed I was everything you ever needed.
You were everything they ever wanted.
You were everything they ever needed.
I was everything you hated.
I was everything you never needed.
I was everything you wanted.
I was nothing you wanted.
I was everything you wanted.
I was nothing you wanted.
They were nothing that you needed.
I was everything you needed.
I was everything you wanted.
I am nothing that you need.
I am nothing that you need.
You are nothing that I need.
You are everything I ever wanted.
You are nothing that I need.
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 10:52 PM UTC
I asked my friends to look after my house
while I was away.
I left a forwarding address
and nothing else.
A few asked how long I would be gone,
and I said I wasn't sure.
I don't know much more than my middle name.
My mother called,
breaking the silent drive I was enjoying.
She asked if I was still with Schyler.
I told her I didn't know,
and that she would have to call him
after his date.
I've heard she is a respectable woman.
I checked into the Chinatown motel
and tipped the bell hop after he retrieved my mail.
Not that I appreciated his services;
I hoped he would save his earnings and leave.
No one deserves to grow up here.
One letter was from my neighbor
asking for a postcard.
I sent my bill, hoping that was enough.
The second was from my brother,
his letter of resignation and a simple request
with a time constraint:
You have two weeks to make everything right.
While looking for a black pen
I found a green answer,
and the returning question of why
blue and red make white,
and not the beautiful purple hue
Schyler talked about so often.
I wondered if he had forgotten the color of my eyes.
I ran out of time and spent all my money
with no souvenirs to showcase back home.
Schyler seemed hesitant when I gave him
a date of my return,
and I lied when I said I missed his embrace.
I left a note on my pillow
appologizing for the mess
and said that I would be back next year.
My excuse to return the stolen towels.
Aug 29, 2012
Aug 29, 2012 at 2:48 AM UTC
Grandpa used to run down the sidewalk as we drove away.
Anything to make the grand kids happy.
But he was younger
And I was younger,
And the willow tree wasn't fully grown yet.
Puddles always remind me of silky nightgowns
And a backyard that was my wonderland.
But that was when my grandmother was younger
And I was younger,
And words were still beautiful.
Driving away is a cheap escape,
I can't afford much.
I am trapped as being younger
Because when I was younger
My mother told me I had no means of survival.
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 6:39 PM UTC
Tonight was the first night the stars were moving and I wasn't.
I was lying on a brick wall separating me from myself
while you were living in a tree house.
Who calls at midnight?
The lonesome rider looking for his soul.
I drank you through a straw,
not to prove you are a chameleon
but to show you the dance of the chameleon.
I move my hands too much as I dance through the fire.
I have to dance to make sure I'm still here.
Why do people still climb onto their roofs?
To distance themselves from their bedrooms.
A car can be empty when filled with gasoline.
Burning rubber on burning cement on burning money.
How can the gas burn in the spring?
Watch any teenager unzip their pants.
I can only sleep with a pillow on my back.
Reassuring me that I am not alone in my fully empty bed.
I've hung crosses sideways to understand art.
I am not right or left or up or down or oblique or black or white.
Why do people change their names?
To prove that they can change and still be who they are.
Which is what they are.
They are the same changes.
Why do people write birthday cards?
To mail to your relatives,
not your family.
Why do you close your eyes when you kiss?
Why do you cook for one and eat for two?
How can a tree bend in the sunlight?
Why do you say I love you and not look me in the eyes?
You're not Jesus Christ.
You're Peter.
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 5:55 PM UTC
I watch Laura through our adjoining office window
and pray to any god that will listen that she won't pick up the receiver.
I hope my glare burns the cord that...
******
*Good morning, Mr. Prater. My names is Laura and I'm calling from Vector Supplies.
How are you doing today?*
Her screech of a voice causes the hair on my arms to stand up.
Her laugh should be one of the layers of hell.
Hello? Mr. Prater?
Another customer dropped the call.
If someone with that voice called my home I would demand the manager
and accuse the caller of huffing helium, trying to get high.
She's the worst salesperson in this office.
Frankly, no one is great here.
At least we're better than the northern branch.
The boss, Mr. Leckman, opens the door and slithers into her office.
Laura, I saw that another customer hung up.
I'm sorry, Mr. Leckman. I promise I'm trying.
Try being more perky like I know you can.
Oh **** Don't encourage her you *****
And Laura, you can call me Ted, remember?
Yes, Mr. Leckman. I mean Ted.
Her giggle almost broke the glass of our window,
and if it had, I would have slit my wrists with the shards.
No hesitation.
I'm still watching the horror show,
and that's when I saw it:
He winked.
That ***** I knew she was ******* him.
That's the only reason why she's still here.
Sadly, I was interrupted mid-strangle fantasy when Mr. Leckman,
or Ted, barged in.
Ms. Dunn, get back to work.
Sorry, Ted--uh, Mr. Leckman.
He had shut the door before I could correct myself.
Great. I'm sure I'll get fired by the end of this week.
I need this ****** of a job.
It's one of the few places that doesn't make you
**** in a cup before you sell your soul.
Maybe I should bend over more often.
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 3:53 PM UTC
I
get
frustrated
with
time
spent
with
friends
I
could
care
less
about.
It
must
be
punishment
for
an
irrevocable
sin
I
have
forgotten
over
the
years.
Karma
strikes
at
dawn
ripping
me
from
bed,
from
legs
intertwined
after
a
nightly
cause
and
effect
of
adoration.
There
is
no
hoarding,
no
trickling
of
seconds
into
the
new
sun.
There
is
only
residue
left
on
time
piece.
A
reminder
of
the
inescapable
labrinth
where
my
mind
loses
direction.
I envy the free.
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 3:39 PM UTC
*The sea was in front of me
and the sea was behind me,
and that was all there was.*
The waves applauded my entrance and
washed the sand from my lost feet.
I was neck deep in a majestic dream,
and the sandman was on my side.
The salt licked every inch of my skin
as I was stripped down to my simplest form,
and the waves awarded me the
approval of my name.
I was serene,
I was free,
and the waves were there to welcome me home.
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 10:17 PM UTC