Fog
only hides
the external
from the external:
A prehensile lighthouse
never found
anyone worth finding.
so
yes my dear
the night is
dark
Apr 2, 2012
Apr 2, 2012 at 12:42 AM UTC
In vain,
I searched my apartment
instantly
upon your departure.
My anxious eyes
and prehensile hands
hoping
and searching for a forgotten item,
a trace of your presence:
an old shirt,
a half-finished book,
even a bobby pin.
Until I gave up,
I found
nothing.
Retiring to my bed, however
afforded me the greatest find
imaginable,
my temporal security complete:
your scent lingers still in my sheets.
Jul 20, 2011
Jul 20, 2011 at 10:31 AM UTC
The days have past when new formulas were still being invented/discovered. "There is nothing new under the sun." Existence is non-specific to me. How disturbing! How selfish! I have lived countless lives before and will continue to live the lives of many others. At least, what I imagine could be the lives of other people. The experiences I have felt are copies. The words falling out of my mouth, just plagiarism. These thoughts have been thought; these colors have been worn. What is a "personality" but a slightly interesting combination of recycled qualities and dispositions (hooked unwillingly into the cheek of said victim)? The streets I have walked are public. This book has already been read.
In this realization, unconscious or unnecessary, we continue to strive for our individual goal (OUR individual goal): the goal of uncovering some new piece with which to happily accessorize the vast, possibly endless, puzzle which we call our repertoire, OUR repertoire.
Apr 13, 2011
Apr 13, 2011 at 8:15 PM UTC
Let me encapsulate my evening for those less informed:
I see everything, know everything
what a burden! what distraught!
Perceiving my dream is better than
conceiving my dream.
Which is easier?
Forever searching, for ever failing,
forever falling, for endless trailinggggggggg
If my mind is a shelter then my thoughts aren't home
If my poems are just words, let my ambitions roam
I forgot you were here and called out your name
The echo found me empty
The echo knows my name
Once upon a time, I rambled drunk
Once upon a line, I forgot, stumped
My parents are too gone,
my books are too long,
when will I learn to rise at dawn?
Apr 13, 2011
Apr 13, 2011 at 8:07 PM UTC
ashamed, i am:
ashamed alone.
without other bricks,
i can build no home
immaculately guilt-free is the bonded group.
never singular, always plural,
that's the definition of the group.
distinction as a him, a her,
not them
makes me anxiously wrought
with the selfish thought
of a word not licensed, spoken
ashamed, i am
because 'i' is not only first person,
but singular:
a dreaded, useless version
of human in humanity
Apr 13, 2011
Apr 13, 2011 at 8:03 PM UTC
Win twice for the girl and once for the fight
Close sunglasses for curtains et vite pro night
Born thrice for the breath yet none that I like
so much as your glow
the sun to my light.
Never did feel the absence so near
When even fog breaks,
clouds part,
skies clear
Like a pedal in the snow
frozen with fear
my words flounder twice, then wholly disappear
Mar 13, 2011
Mar 13, 2011 at 7:54 PM UTC
Can you hear me breathing
Can you hear me sighing
Can you hear me feeling?
Can't you tell I'm dying?
Nov 16, 2010
Nov 16, 2010 at 9:54 PM UTC
Break the window,
fake the claim,
run away and,
start the game.
Call the cops,
take my name,
look me in the eye,
and win the game.
Smoke will never help forget,
but, taken back a single lapse,
can make a mist, turn you black
rewrite the story: that and that.
I wrote a letter to you today;
burned it and my thoughts away.
I coughed and coughed and stole the rain,
a few more and I'll win the game
Coughed again, one more time
stole the clothes all strewn the floor,
stole the clothes, yours and mine
a little less now, for a little more.
Try and try
to play the game
of memory
to lose the pain.
Bring it back.
Never now.
Never then.
Never how?
Took one more for just-in-case.
Took one more and forgot the place
we met, we kissed, we fought our first
we laughed, we cried, we saw it burst.
Forget the burst, it's the game.
The smiles, the tears: both are pain.
And so I cough again and smile
and make it feel a long long while
Nov 16, 2010
Nov 16, 2010 at 9:50 PM UTC
Memory is a game
I lost
long ago.
So tell me
your
story,
your tale of
woe.
"A face
unmatched
with any name;
a scent of
years
in history;
a scene
I once
consumed with eyes,
a scene fades in,
then
slowly dies."
Memory is
a game
that
no one wins.
And everyone loses,
loses
in time.
Nov 11, 2010
Nov 11, 2010 at 4:49 PM UTC
I kissed a woman today
for nine hours.
It felt
like nine seconds.
Who knew a bandage
could feel this
good
being ripped off?
I smiled at the moon
for the first
time
in two months.
Laughter led to sleep.
Lips led to hips.
I read her like a book,
and highlighted
all the best parts
for later.
Oct 23, 2010
Oct 23, 2010 at 12:53 AM UTC