With the folded nights
And the light-hearted howls
There is nothing to do
Really
But dive into nightmares
Or swan fly
Into oceans of cool clean
Or slow locomotive stares
Or when tired eyes
Of pink tell of sordid images
Smokey feelings into small places
Tight skins
The
Click
Clack
Of crowded hearts
Under electric lights
And perfect ballrooms
Shivers run
Up and
Down
And never stop
Because we haven’t found
A middle
I think of your everything
And think it’s all dirt
Under fingernails
Crawling inside
Your tiny mouth
Where I could go insane
And break my face against
The walls
Everything is so
Beautifully open sometimes
It’s hard to make sense
And yes, I mean this
And all that goes after it
People’s plastic toys get *****
People’s veins bleed dry every night
People’s kids disappear
People’s wives and husbands eat each other
People’s noses press against the cold glass
The dogs bark in the fast morning
And I dare not miss
Those types of things
Mar 27, 2011
Mar 27, 2011 at 9:35 AM UTC
With the folded nights
And the light-hearted howls
There is nothing to do
Really
But dive into nightmares
Or swan fly
Into oceans of cool clean
Or slow locomotive stares
Or when tired eyes
Of pink tell of sordid images
Smokey feelings into small places
Tight skins
The
Click
Clack
Of crowded hearts
Under electric lights
And perfect ballrooms
Shivers run
Up and
Down
And never stop
Because we haven’t found
A middle
I think of your everything
And think it’s all dirt
Under fingernails
Crawling inside
Your tiny mouth
Where I could go insane
And break my face against
The walls
Everything is so
Beautifully open sometimes
It’s hard to make sense
And yes, I mean this
And all that goes after it
People’s plastic toys get *****
People’s veins bleed dry every night
People’s kids disappear
People’s wives and husbands eat each other
People’s noses press against the cold glass
The dogs bark in the fast morning
And I dare not miss
Those types of things
Request permission to use this poem