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 Jan 2015 Mia Barrat
A
too far gone
 Jan 2015 Mia Barrat
A
My heart
Is a happy drunk
A little too open
A little too optimistic
It's over in the corner of the bar
Playing poker
Screaming at the top of it's lungs
I'M ALL IN
When it's never
To this day
Had a winning hand

My heart
Is a sad drunk
A little too lonely
A little too caught up in tears
It's over at the counter
Forcing the bartender to take its keys
Because it would rather not go home
Than go home alone again

My heart
Is a reckless drunk
A little too unbalanced
A little too impaired
It's over by the door
Making everyone nervous
A little too good at scaring people away
A little too far gone

Like you
A little too far gone
Turn your head
Shuffle away and pretend you don't notice
The breakdown of a heart
Too drunk on feelings
To know when to stop
 Jan 2015 Mia Barrat
Tom Leveille
have you ever believed
in something so blindly
so genuinely
that the moment you realize
it isn't true, something inside you
changes forever?
i wanna tell you a story, see
seldom do i ever
go swimming in drinks
deep enough to drown in
but when i do
i speak in tongues
about things that none
of my memories
are allowed to talk about
like that christmas
at the isthmus
where my girlfriend
plucked a conch shell
whiter than gods teeth
out of the sand
held it to her ear
and stopped time
that day she was a shade of blue
the could've made the ocean sick
see, she loved to play jokes
when she held
the sea shell to her ear
she gasped, called my name
and said "i want you to hear this"
i said "yeah, right, everybody knows it's just the same old sea"
she replied "no. not this one. this one is special. listen. theres music in this one"
she handed me the shell
like a promise she couldn't keep
and i held it to my ear
with all the potential
of seeing shore
after being stranded
at sea for years
only to hear
a tired dirge of silence
spill from its emptiness
i guess she didn't know
how desperately
i wanted to hear it too
because ever since
something inside me snapped
now sand pours out
of every post card i open
i hear seagulls
in telephone static
sometimes i have dreams
where i bury my hands
in every beach
i've ever been on
and exhume this graveyard of noise
every time i try to sleep
i spit up fishhooks
and i guess i'm obsessed
but maybe
if i hold my ear
to enough vacant things
then i could have back
the time stolen from me
since it happened
maybe they would get it
if they knew what i wanted
when i blow out birthday candles
maybe they'll find me
face down in a wishing well
i watch eternal sunshine
of the spotless mind every day
pretending i can forget too
because this sea sickness
has followed me for years
because yesterday
i walked into a music shop
and all the pianos broke
but the only thing
i can think to say is
*do you know how bad
a memory has to be
that you fantasize
about forgetting it?
Hear it in your parents' words;
in their sugar-coated testimony of disappointment
and let it
writhe around your neck,
until the ground neath you
slips.

(For your own sake,
don't struggle.)
The first realization of my seventeenth year of life.
Can't you see how
it's a long way
down
from the haunt of the
stars stop shining
when you shut your eyes.

I sometimes
break my lines
blur between happiness
and being awake I
can barely feel anything
when you speak.

It's not quietude, nor
speechlessness it's
the way my mind grows
into a cancer of memories-
how one potentially harmful
dies everyday like clock-
work can't make time
stop the way you
do.

I break between
my lines some-
time pours into your eyes.

We can speak in fine tongues
and drink wine older than our hours
but when it comes to you I
let my tongue tie
itself in a knot.

I tend to
break into my lines
which is why you could never
know that after I said I love
you never came.
My favorite figure
of speech en-
jambment.
 Jan 2015 Mia Barrat
ryn
King
 Jan 2015 Mia Barrat
ryn
I have never intended to be found

existing in my sanctuary that freed me
unbound

shedding the mask of anonymity I've sought to maintain

am i still the king of my sanctuary, my realm, my domain...?
 Jan 2015 Mia Barrat
ogdiddynash
X-rays of the soul,
Madame Chan proclaims,
translucent we stand,
visible out and inside
before our creator,
but only to that
limitable being

if only there were a machine such,
on earth, as in heaven

perhaps seventeen Frenchman,
one hundred and forty five,
mostly Pakistani children,
or thirty five
no longer alive,
just barely mentioned,
already forgotten,
Yemeni young
police cadets,
two NYPD,
might still be adjudged
innocent by those

who only see themselves in mirrors,
blindly believing
they are created
in the image of
God
and knowledgeable in the
execution of
his will

if human Justice is thus blinded,
perhaps God is too?

we need much betters cameras...
more accurate selfies...
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