Sep 2012
I.
Tick, tock.
Snakes on the clock. Brains. Skin. Air. Hair. Coils of fabric, and teeth.
Oxygen reeks. Stales. Pales and contracts.
Breathe nonetheless
Pull on a dress. Pull on a vest. Step outside. Feel the wind.
Oh, the days I’ve spent-
Instantly forget.
Put on my face
Roses in a vase
Feelings cased in the closet
Filling space
Seems sometimes we’re just filling space
What a waste
…
II.
Deep breath
Rose-scent fills her head
This could be it, she said
You’re too pretty for that, he said
Black and white embroidered with red
The cold air stung her lips as she read
This stone is where I’ll lay my head
The ground is made of bones
She’s alone
…
Steps on gravel, sounds awake the night
Jump into the abyss? She might
Memories of childhood fights
Initial dislikes
Periwinkle paint sets and tights
Once, learning to draw a rose
Once, hanging onto a hose, drenching strawberries
With brother in backyard
Family is a golden memory
At least there are pictures
…
Boy
The first one she kissed on the lips.
It was a dare. Fleeting but his eyes dripped sweetness. Twelve years young? She can’t remember. She ****** the same boy, drunk, four years later. He wasn’t the first, though.
And he still seems innocent
…
Hovering tensely
At the half-open door
She’ll never feel loved again.
She said.
Aches. Heavy ferocity ready to tumble. Dread.
Wake-up song every morning in her head.
The ground is made of bones.
She’s alone.
I’ve come this far. Revs up the car. Tears down her cheeks.
Runs over herself repeatedly in the street.
…
Why so gray?
His lips hold secrets
Autumn hay-stack drenched in dryness
Cool but bright, he’s a working man with a voice made of sunshine
Her eyes twinkled hello at his fingertips’ first brush-by
Smiled and walked away
Perhaps another day
…
III.
...
Rain soaks my skin.
I was walking, computer and books weighted on my shoulders,
Lightning crossing my path
Relax
I’m visualizing math
The air is cool. The wind rolled darkness in on its back.
The storm is roaring and strobing the sky
I’d like to derive your kind
and the rhythm of my mind
From the grains of sand left behind
,
And listen to the song of the sea
.
And float in the lingering breeze
As the storm dies down
The night’s dying down
I’m counting for now,, and "you"
Are a ghost of an idea, wispy but fresh but
Unformed
Much like the memory of yesterday’s storm
...
As I was drenched in the shower I could only think about taking pictures of my memories and tearing them into a storm
A catastrophe -
I'd laugh.
I'd call it art.
This storm is ******* beautiful.
Tick, tock.
Snakes on the clock. Brains. Skin. Air. Hair. Coils of fabric, and teeth.
Oxygen reeks. Stales. Pales and contracts.
Breathe nonetheless
Pull on a dress. Pull on a vest. Step outside. Feel the wind.
Oh, the days I’ve spent-
Instantly forget.
Put on my face
Roses in a vase
Feelings cased in the closet
Filling space
Seems sometimes we’re just filling space
What a waste
…
II.
Deep breath
Rose-scent fills her head
This could be it, she said
You’re too pretty for that, he said
Black and white embroidered with red
The cold air stung her lips as she read
This stone is where I’ll lay my head
The ground is made of bones
She’s alone
…
Steps on gravel, sounds awake the night
Jump into the abyss? She might
Memories of childhood fights
Initial dislikes
Periwinkle paint sets and tights
Once, learning to draw a rose
Once, hanging onto a hose, drenching strawberries
With brother in backyard
Family is a golden memory
At least there are pictures
…
Boy
The first one she kissed on the lips.
It was a dare. Fleeting but his eyes dripped sweetness. Twelve years young? She can’t remember. She ****** the same boy, drunk, four years later. He wasn’t the first, though.
And he still seems innocent
…
Hovering tensely
At the half-open door
She’ll never feel loved again.
She said.
Aches. Heavy ferocity ready to tumble. Dread.
Wake-up song every morning in her head.
The ground is made of bones.
She’s alone.
I’ve come this far. Revs up the car. Tears down her cheeks.
Runs over herself repeatedly in the street.
…
Why so gray?
His lips hold secrets
Autumn hay-stack drenched in dryness
Cool but bright, he’s a working man with a voice made of sunshine
Her eyes twinkled hello at his fingertips’ first brush-by
Smiled and walked away
Perhaps another day
…
III.
...
Rain soaks my skin.
I was walking, computer and books weighted on my shoulders,
Lightning crossing my path
Relax
I’m visualizing math
The air is cool. The wind rolled darkness in on its back.
The storm is roaring and strobing the sky
I’d like to derive your kind
and the rhythm of my mind
From the grains of sand left behind
,
And listen to the song of the sea
.
And float in the lingering breeze
As the storm dies down
The night’s dying down
I’m counting for now,, and "you"
Are a ghost of an idea, wispy but fresh but
Unformed
Much like the memory of yesterday’s storm
...
As I was drenched in the shower I could only think about taking pictures of my memories and tearing them into a storm
A catastrophe -
I'd laugh.
I'd call it art.
This storm is ******* beautiful.
