Paris Adamson

Paris Adamson Dec 2012

i like the way
this porch feels precarious
when softness spills into five am air,
words I don't want others to hear
kept between palms and cement.
stillness is my hands breathing you in,
listening for secrets along the creases of your skin...

the neighbors are rustling,
they apologize for interrupting
what can only be described as holy quietude.
We laugh in the moon's golden greys,
surprised anyone is able to see us at all.
I have travelled endless places
just sitting here with you.

Paris Adamson Dec 2012

"Unrequited"

We are lovers in color,
salted scents that stick to covers.
Splayed out on your coral-reef couch
hackneyed and bleeding,
bleary but needing,
I've settled quietly into your imprints of indifference.

Stale ***** tongue                                                                I'm late for work.
      speaks insipidity:                                                             Shower if you want to.
                                                                                             Lock the door as you leave.
                                                                                               It was nice seeing you.

I lay there greying all morning.
Soaking into everything, your carpet seas
brine my feeble, shadow-casting lesions.

        Unsure if you've left me ***** or clean                 (this time)
I drag my body down your tainted hallway.
In stark fluorescence, there is no clarity
but the echoes, like reflections
of the emptiness of eve.

Blood-letter run dry
          somehow still high,
                                                ****** into the thoughtlessness
                                                                                                       of
                                                                                                                     your
                                                                                                                                      tides
                                                                                                                             (I am disregarded, but alive.)

I have recently asked a number of friends what their favorite word in the English language is. I have used each single word as a starting off point for a poem. Here is poem 1.

Paris Adamson Sep 2012

my heart is made from/****** haiku, pieces of/me in seventeen

red fabric catching
hearts melting invisible
leave it, let it dry

—-

stop infecting me
you are not mine and not me
get out of the car

—-

we will wax and wane
and love with our moon rock hearts
while chino sings words

—-

lesbian *** book:
words can only say so much
still it fills up space

—-

patch holes in the wall
you can paint over these scars
the skin won’t miss them

Paris Adamson Sep 2012

interplanetary medium, 2011

Push away, push away,
I'm just residue of cosmic rays.
Aurora leaks through magnetic cracks,
riding backs of solar winds.
Poke holes in the cellophane,
**** in the sunny dust;
universe can fill me up
but it's never quite enough.
My skin is bored and leaves me,
my insides throb without their shell
my mind's a traitor and defeats me
dressed like a heart, grey matter swells.

Plasma swimming, again
aimless, still seeking; charging
pent-up venom, radiation
singes the surface as my fingers explore.
If I can't feel your magnetic field
pressed against me, like the moon
I will bury pieces below your surface,
little pockets of cancer,
warm and unflinching.
Then I'm gone again,
gone to lay dormant
in the interplanetary medium:
undulating electricity,
sparks of stars to cauterize me to you.

Paris Adamson Sep 2012

lessons in leaving nostalgia behind on january first, freewrite

What else can I really say?
Your taste has slipped off my tongue,
and pulled all the good words with it:
twisting into the carpet fibers and
matted with ashes of dreams and Marines.
Don't come too close
or I may remember everything about you;
far too engulfing to keep mind's pace.
Foolish is she
who claims she can forget it all.
We had eternity paved
with brown glass and fast food trash.
Bleeding, our soles.

Paris Adamson Sep 2012

freeing epiphanies on january first, freewrite

you are so ******* uninteresting,
even in your shrouds of silken words
that try hard to fall around you gracefully.
just uninteresting enough to me
that i will capture
both your worth and your worthlessness,
your transparency and translucency,
in tissue-paper poems
that i set alight.
the ashes that melt the carpet
and the soot inside my eyes
makes me laugh,
at least for today.

Paris Adamson Sep 2012

yearly haiku collection about people i have met

fair weather switch-hit,
laughed and smoked a cigarette
threw away the sheets

knew we were done when
i rubbed one out as you slept.
never forget me

promises are hard
i cry when you ask questions
‘cause i’m on acid

move your mouth to me
my veins are paths to pleasure
sad that i still dream

your eyes are empty:
calculated charisma.
why are you so hot?

greasy, your insides
meander caffeine blood stream:
not sure how you’d taste

if you choose to breathe,
you will be safe in darkness-
roam a field of love.