filled with placeholders
like first drafts
that weightless non-committal
holding together of not
there was no space for something substantial
no space for something
i like to leave read receipts on
because i know they belong
in a world full of deceit
tell the truth
an imperfect audit
damp grass from the hillside
is cold on my feet as I walk
hands in my pockets and head looking down
legs leading slowly downhill
towards the sea.
There's something about going for a walk
that makes it easier to think
even if you completely ignore your surroundings
or don't go very far.
The sand surprises me
the soft white powder that shifts between my toes
and my feet slip a little with every step.
For the first time in a while, I look up
the sea is darker than usual, it's turbulent as well,
but I stop for a moment on the edge of the water.
Imagine If I fell in
I'd probably turn into driftwood and then just float off
until the water pushed me up onto some deserted beach
and then pulled me back in
and then pushed me up again
eternally caught in the space between sea and shore
the space between here and there
between is and isn't
between impulse and inactivity
I'm already there.
Wooden woman waiting outside of a grocery store
in North Berkeley
Made tired by time,
chips of wood had fallen in masses from her body,
entire aspects of her anatomy had eroded away--
most of her nose, her left ear,
her right cheek, her *******, half her stomach
She had been a tree,
torn apart, reassembled
in the form of a female human being,
no sign of life in her sightless gaze
I guess she’s gone now,
after all those years
I went to look for her
and found only an antique shop
with a peculiar name
at the address where she should have been
I would have liked to have seen her
one last time, this statue
that fascinated and frightened me as a child
I’m glad she’s gone, though--
She resemble less and less a woman,
was becoming clearly merely wood
cut into tiny pieces and glued together
She resembled less and less a woman,
and I’m glad she was killed
before she ceased to be art
Come enter the darkness
Come witness a monster, a man
Of features of a rare creature
With a clear path for a seeker
With a life of a greeter. Stay warm in this cold world with heater
Away from the gangsters and strippers.
Join the growers and hipsters.
Free like in the Castro and Mission.
Always in the corner, being a loner, getting high like a stoner,
being awake unlike an employee and being free.
Don't you see the system of delusion where they draw the conclusion but it's time take back the power and find a resolution
And lead to a revolution
Mind blasting with actions
Living up to the name of Maksim
I'll smash it while you crash it
I shiot to the moon while I blast it
Never wasting my time with humans lacking passion who stuck at the first station while I hustle to live in a mansion you chasing while Im embracing the chaos and Stand solid on the soil living royal as the ace with a strong base and never chase because I'm ahead of the race. Smoking purp in the Berk on the curb Staying high as we fly and surf Through the sky with the crown on my head, taking charge and staying ahead so I'll continue tomorrow because it's time for bed
Sounds of your flaws disrupt tress with once gentle moves.
Now they shade other aspects of movements.
Hot summer, flowers green from the rains.
In bloom effect you should try this spot out.
Summer flowers bloom
I shouldn't have bothered.
I thought this was a posh area.
Now I see it's not.
Look at the gardens.
The lawns are covered in weeds.
'*******! We grow herbs a lot.'
Even you're car's a mess.
Not been cleaned in ages.
'I wash it often,
every guilt trip day.'
And those dogs, do they howl all night?
'Oh no. Nothing like that.
It's just the neighbours in a fight.'
what a mess you’ve made
cause i’ve spent so much time in your eyes lately
and i like the way you smile when
you're falling apart
over last call at the bar
i swear you look at me like i just
lifted a car
(surprised and confused and afraid and
when i’m raving like a mad woman about
climate change and you keep the drinks
coming and my heart
the grey area
is not where good love goes to die
it is where good love is never born
thighs are kissed but hearts are not broken
and those of us who dwell there
prefer it that way
(but i don’t mind
if you stay)
though i would have preferred
if you’d kissed me earlier
and hurt me less,
with you i always take what i can get
i want you to teach me everything you know
about making love
and weapons of mass destruction
(why do ugly thoughts consume such a pretty mind?)
come here, baby
i am not the bad guy.
and i’ve been feeling restless
like my chest is on fire
thoughts twisted up
i told you with me its never enough
(and then it’s too much)
electrify me just to pull the plug
don’t you know it’s better with the lights on?
i’ve never felt so ******* untouched
as i have these last few nights
passion isn’t patient
but timing is everything,
(i knew you’d change your mind)
The doors were shut again.
Inside, Wendy could hear him typing. The click and clack sounds of a typewriter had grown monotonous to her, a never-ending drone, so unlike a human heartbeat.
Jack said, “Wendy, let me explain something to you. Whenever you come in here and interrupt me, you’re breaking my concentration. You’re distracting me. And it will then take time to get back to where I was.”
She placed her hands up on the doors and put her ear to the wood, listening.
Click and clack, click and clack.
Jack said, “When you come in here and you hear me typing, or whether you don’t hear me typing, or whatever the ******* hear me doing; when I’m in here, it means that I am working. That means don’t come in.”
Jack asked, “Now, do you think you can handle that?”
Wendy liked to believe the best sound in the world was the sound of creation. Jack favoured the clatter of typewriter keys. Wendy preferred the sound of laughter.
Wendy wondered, with all this typing going on, if she could still keep her place in his heart.