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Oh that we were not creatures
Sometimes so in tune with our world.
My stomach is telling me
That something must happen today.
09/30/12




It's Sunday and I have too many feels.
In the twilight of immeasurable hope
I run, I pace, I stagger.
A moon of sorts tucks its hefty beams
Behind the gauzy, twisted zephyr,
As if teasing that its crisp, round, clarity
is merely an echo of a distant, convoluted story:
a myth.

One moment I am carrying out my quotidian realities
Unfiltered, unbridled, lucid,
Running my fingers through laughing waves
of golden, auburn richness,
Letting my wavering, billowing hair
slowly melt into the quavering, trembling wind…

When suddenly-

I am caught in the labyrinth of veils.
I, with my hair and my warmth,
I am auriferous.
And these sheets, oh these hangings!
They float like century-worn cobwebs
And they ensnare me so.
This is where the tangled messages
And mangled mixed signals
All wriggle themselves into form
And make their zombie graveyard.
And yet there are sparks,
Little voices trapped in burning baubles
Shining like the ever-loving soul of the universe,
Which whisper the stories of the moon-thing
Beyond the borders of this haze-land.
Sometimes I attempt to fashion
these ethereal sparklings into my hair.
They suggest insanity, so close to my ears,
And I can’t fill my soul with enough…
I cling to the faith that they will lead me out
Into the amaranthine beyond.

I come back here often,
Always hoping that today will be the day
That the beams from above
Will reach to seek me.
For that, I will love the mists,
And carnally sip away
At the nebulous, crepuscular,
Pools of Fantasy.
But in retrospect,
I should never have told you
That your name means “Purple” to me.
09/29/12
Camel crush cigarettes
Put them in a fancy box
No, I’m too poor to buy them
But if you pass’em
Then I won’t say no.

People say that it’s unclean
That you’re unclean
That they’re unclean
You smell like a hotel room
And it’s comforting.

Camel crush cigarettes
Your hugs speak of the habit
No, take your precious smoke break
**** it clean to dust
Barreling into death.

People say that it’s unwise
That you’re unwise
That they’re unwise
You smell like drunken Saturdays
And it’s delicious.

Camel crush cigarettes
I’ve never felt addiction
No, I don’t think that I could
It’s a scarlet dreamland
With one-way tickets.

People say that it’s unkind
to lungs and mind
They’re right, I find.
But you look like abandon
And it’s inviting.

Camel crush cigarettes
I’ve never loved a smoker
No, I’d always been too proper
But if you tasted like that
I wouldn’t mind a bite.

People say that you’re catering
To your un-ease
With a disease.
You feel like contradiction,
And I’m depraved.
09/25/12
My sensibilities are broken,
How dare you turn me into this?
Learning to live without you
Is learning to live so dangerously.

Gone are the halcyon days of
Danger, danger...
Where’s my coffee?
I fell in love,
(That's what I do)
I fell,
before I ever knew
just what that kind of bitter was.
It tastes just like it always does,
And I can't keep it  longer
on my tongue.

Dear distant stranger,
I would like to get to know you
But I’m afraid
I’ve no more quarters for the telephone.
Oh well, I guess it’s not okay.
I’ll hotwire my way anyway.
I guess I’m getting sorta good
at being where I know I shouldn’t.

I guess I never really saw you as vulnerable
With love all around
But now I see you’re just as broken.
(Well that’s just my luck this round).
And I guess I could be a life preserver,
But honey that’s not my job,
And I’d grow weary-sick of *******
-Need to wash the neon orange off-
Well, you wouldn’t want it anyway.
Flounder, drown your dreams away.

Look at me and look at you too,
I’ve made you an animal in the zoo.
I’m gawking,
Always do this,
Talking,
Like ‘Come on now, let's do this’.

Shut up and break these tiny voices
Telling me what I ought to do.
Convince me that there is no cycle
And that I'm not just
Giving my life to people
and my heart to their ideas.
09/24/12
There are false idols in my room.
There are false idols in my head.
To idols, I have lent my life.
To idols, I have lent my bed.
Statues of the world I seek,
Semblances of what I know,
Truth has burnt its image here,
But ever floated on, its glow.
Holding tight to broken dreams
That crumble-crackle as I clutch,
I could have built them pinions fair
But I have strangled them too much.
Now fresh lucidity is here
To wake me from my sluggish sleep
Oh, glorious sanctity of light
Your mindful meaning I shall keep.
09/22/12




To letting go.
Call me to the mountains once more,
Oh sweet, murmuring gusts,
And remind me who I am.
Sweep up my laughing toes to the tops
Of these proud outcrops
Then give my breath to the dome
When after looking out, I see my city,
But not my home.
Bring forth the rich perfumes
of startling everything-ness from the valleys,
And after I have drunk the proud skirts
of these verdurous hills,
Let your sweet touch guide me up,
and pin my head to my scoping bed.
Then hush, let me be as I espy
My gentle, distant, giant lovers,
Dependably rising from the East,
with supernal gossiping
for my cognizance alone.
Let me imbibe their wisdom
until all my queries and qualms
slip from my eyes,
dissolving into secrets
and thanks beyond measure.
One last request, my swift-flowing friend,
Wipe these wet lessons from my face
And carry their essence to the edge
To Karman,
And meet the angel who waits without air
To carry my cosmic missives there
09/21/12




I wrote this for a callback for a devised play about the Challenger space shuttle.
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