Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
the walls are bleeding and my fingers are

melting into your skin.

on the back porch, the sky is voluptuous with rain and i’m crying because everything is electric and so, so beautiful

you give me one of those hugs that makes every bone in my back pop into place and then say,

i’ll never hurt you

it’s amazing how you can let go and feel

safe

standing in the wet street, my feet are muddy and i know the moon is shining on my bare legs even though when i look in the sky there is only

lightening
Say when in a heartbeat will
light dwindle down to the
dance on a taper and mirror-eye
bells?

Say how long a lifetime im-
possible it's quite im-
                                      possible
(expecting that wilted
red flower sunk into
its vase to rise up and smell as
though)

            what's that?
alive?
It's late is it late
          already when the floor smells like cinnamon and
       welcomes you softly then refuses to let you up
                            and fire climbs streetlamps sheds
                                      orange-red light on this scene
Did you catch the
           entrance of our heroine by the stair
                 with patented uncertainty
                                 mystery's mark upon the air
                                           we breathe so
                                                       casually
I couldn't tear my eyes away
         wouldn't miss it for the world the
                       one I like to be in every
                             once and again
writers block with
all you beautiful people

knowing what to say
and not wanting to say it

knowing is the worst

like bending an idea around my
head and getting hopelessly stuck

move along now
Then a lawyer said, "But what of our Laws, master?"
And he answered:

You delight in laying down laws,
Yet you delight more in breaking them.
Like children playing by the ocean who build sand-towers with
  constancy and then destroy them with laughter.
But while you build your sand-towers the ocean brings more sand to the shore,
And when you destroy them, the ocean laughs with you.
Verily the ocean laughs always with the innocent.

But what of those to whom life is not an ocean, and man-made laws are
  not sand-towers,
But to whom life is a rock, and the law a chisel with which they
  would carve it in their own likeness?
What of the ******* who hates dancers?
What of the ox who loves his yoke and deems the elk and deer of the
  forest stray and vagrant things?
What of the old serpent who cannot shed his skin, and calls all
  others naked and shameless?
And of him who comes early to the wedding-feast, and when over-fed
  and tired goes his way saying that all feasts are violation and all
  feasters law-breakers?

What shall I say of these save that they too stand in the sunlight,
  but with their backs to the sun?
They see only their shadows, and their shadows are their laws.
And what is the sun to them but a caster of shadows?
And what is it to acknowledge the laws but to stoop down and trace
  their shadows upon the earth?

But you who walk facing the sun, what images drawn on the earth can hold you?
You who travel with the wind, what weathervane shall direct your course?
What man's law shall bind you if you break your yoke but upon no
  man's prison door?
What laws shall you fear if you dance but stumble against no man's
  iron chains?
And who is he that shall bring you to judgment if you tear off your
  garment yet leave it in no man's path?
People of Orphalese, you can muffle the drum, and you can loosen the
  strings of the lyre, but who shall command the skylark not to sing?
The conjugate of idolatry,
The alchemy of flame,
The Astarte of pure harlotry-
And nomenclature'd name.

The lode-stone of sly coquetry,
The compass-stone of hearth,
The balanced stoichiometry-
Broken waters of birth.

The Vestal of impurity,
The perfidy of shame-
My blood in you runs truer red;
This craving never tames.
I feel your pain
because I want to
I watch from the outside
and then I bring it inside.


I think people are
playing god
which is ironic because
I don't believe in god
or people.


Sipping hot apple tea
and I burnt my tongue
and it hurts
but not nearly as much as you
so I embrace it.


Please help me forget
you.
I see little bits of you in everyone;
your crooked smile
loose curls
boyish laugh
and I hate you.


You know that I love
you
though.
Disregard everything I said
if it means
we can talk again.


Everyone walks by
not noticing
or noticing wrong
and I
am noticing
everything.
Next page