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KM Hanslik Mar 2018

You first notice yourself settling,
sinking, like an old house
when the birds begin to fly and the robins build nests in your doorways;
You first notice the pale light
with your eyes closed, afraid that if you open them,
the sun will disappear.

She first watches you
lying, limbs sprawled, in the creekbed
your clothing muddy and your frame
all sunken in, like the old house.

She first loves you in the sunlight
her skin shimmering golden above you
and you first hear her name
when she whispers to you

that she comes from the wreckage of street-lamps and ashtrays
how the only lover she’s ever taken felt like
the scrape of ****** knees against sidewalk,
apprehension laying heavy in her stomach
and the nausea that comes from starvation.

She tells you that she
could never call the city home, never love it as she wanted
because every night her mother would scream at your father
something about a bottle and "you filthy lying *******",
and every evening she went to sleep, and her ears bled
from the screech of taxi tires on the corner.

She wants a love that feels like
bonfires devouring kindling, spitting ashes up
into the sky, ablaze
with starlight and smoke –
mud oozing up between your toes as you run
and run
and run
from all the places that never felt like home.

She wants a love to consume all other loves,
a twisting, clawing, breathing thing
her heartbeats furiously pounding out a rhythm to escape
that place, and its stench, a rhythm
that implores the blurry lines of sunset to smother the land,
ethereal, burning
(burning you with it)

And so she first holds you
as the crumbling of her world brings a smile to her lips,
and you wonder as she sinks in her teeth
how many others there will be, after you,
and knowing that she
will be the first to ruin you
(And not caring if she does.)
filled my palms
curse with me

past my thoughts
ashes coals

my foot prints
flame through snow
while hanging

perfected hatred

flat tires
Sandy* beaches
Old ruin Castles
Friendy people.
Places to go
Enjoyed the change
Will be doing it more often ..
oui Feb 2016
guess what? there’s so many people out there who are way better than you in so many different ways and that’s alright because there’s also hundreds of cities with thousands of people you’ve never met who would be madly in love with you for being exactly as you are today and if that doesn’t excite the **** out of you I’m not sure what will
Brent Kincaid Dec 2015
I want to learn to whistle
Like my daddy did.
I wanted to learn it since
I was a little kid
You know, you put *******
Just inside your lips.
No, not the whole fingers
Just the very tips.

With that kind of whistle
I could stop a fight
Or call a taxi to me
On a rainy night.
I could whistle while applauding
Let performers know
Whatever they were doing
I enjoyed it so.

It works well during sports
Like a referee’s call.
The way I whistle nobody
Would hear it at all.
If I had a doggie I could call him
Then I whistle really loud
And he would come running
I would be so proud.

And of course I could tell
Somebody walking by
That they were pretty hot and
They had caught my eye.
But if I try to do that now,
They have to be
Not further than a couple
Of feet from me.

You’ve heard that kind of whistle
In shows on your TV.
I wish that kind of whistle
Could come from me.
So, I wish I could whistle
Like my daddy could.
Maybe someday I will learn.
Knock on wood.
phalaenopsis Sep 2015
taxi, taxi,
come take me away.

from the blinding lights,
they're hurting my eyes.

and the people,
come take me away.

from the monsters,
pulling at my feet.

creating scars

i'm dying taxi-man,
yes i am.

physically i'm alive,
emotionally i'm dying.

slowly, slowly,
but surely.

take me away.

take me away.

are you even listening?*

Losing someone you deeply cared about from your own actions is a thousand times worse
Than when the Taxi guy rips you off
Both of these things have occurred in my dwelling
And I have to say it’s not recommended
brokenperfection Oct 2014
I sat alone in front of a crumbling grey building until its debris whispered the okay for me to go home

when you jog under street lamps and your breath is white and misty from the chill, you realize just how many footsteps have fallen before you and you wonder just how much of this same air was here last year

how can I ever live on my own when I am so afraid of the dark?

if I had a penny for every vivacious hot dog stand I came across......... I'd have enough to buy a few hot dogs.

the air doesn't smell *****. the ground doesn't look littered and ashen. this place is alive. the streets are filled with the souls of the people. they just take the shape of battered shopping carts and greasy cardboard boxes and taxi smoke when you're not looking hard enough. they're exceptional at disguise.

I see a lot of churches but I only see sin happening at the altar.  

you cannot think for yourself when the roar of the city is your cerebral cortex

in all my musing I dreamt of cobblestones and patisseries. I thought the history was in the legend-- in the campfire stories and the romance novels. but it isn't. it's here. it's New York.

children are different here. self awareness ranks high when the thieves hide in plain sight.

cracks in the pavement make me wonder what mysteries lay in the tunnels that no one speaks about

spoke to approximately 30 koreans in china town about the price of tea in america

haute couture is for sure never going to be folklore

I felt inferior walking down fifth ave so I bought a pair of knock-off sunglasses and painted musicals with my feet while eating candied insects with strangers

undiscovered broke talent meets every corner in every city

pick a card
any card
except that one
he knew I knew he'd get my $20
I let him have it
it was counterfeit

brooklyn is a two-faced liar and I'm jim carrey with a b-bl-b-blllll-bllluuured pen,
carving my insides into the trees so the little girls remember their manners when they're older

new york is forever awake and I am eternally ready to go to sleep  

taxi drivers are succubi
It's the little things
Candy Noire Oct 2014
Night time on my mind
Graffitied to the walls on my train ride
To where you live
You give anything to feel real
To feel alive
So you get drunk, get ******
To drown out the pain
But after you're done you still feel the same.
I cried to him in a drunken state
And he told me not to hurt myself
I told him to slap me round the face
He did, but I still didn't feel a thing.
We slept together, skin on skin
I felt my heart opening which worried me
Then quickly closing down
Metal bars, can't let you see
What you do to me.
The next day you called me a taxi
Asked me why I looked sad
And kissed goodbye to me
Your love bites don't mean a thing
You won't know this but I'm sinking.
For G
firexscape Aug 2014
I yell and I frantically wave
But no one hears a silent scream
And taxi-cabs don't stop for ghosts

— The End —