#listlessness
We're just sitting here,
what else? Should we go somewhere --
and do nothing there?
Mar 7
Mar 7, 2026 at 3:34 AM UTC
Listlessly I push
myself on the campsite fence --
back and forth again.
Dec 31, 2024
Dec 31, 2024 at 3:47 AM UTC
People of my kind are cowards,
they say,
we are lazy,
they say,
we avoid our problems,
they say.
Yes we are,
and so are many others.
Our wants exceed our capability,
our expectations are without constraints,
but we are not.
I have not found my ambition,
I do not know how to,
I appreciate the beauty of this world,
I appreciate what life has to offer,
but I cannot live only for it.
Some see us as an anomaly,
they are confused,
some are worried,
some are bemused.
Do not help me,
for I want to feel,
do not help me,
for I want to leave.
Nov 25, 2024
Nov 25, 2024 at 11:42 PM UTC
If I am to be lost,
then let it be;
I shall be as
a grain of sand
in the currents of the ocean.
I reach for words,
to claw back from the depths
of a terrible
listlessness.
But I cannot find them,
I cannot even write.
Apr 14, 2022
Apr 14, 2022 at 10:33 AM UTC
My hands feel limp and impotent
My fingers half-numb across the keyboard
I've never felt so thirsty for understanding
But nobody in the world is quite what I want
I'm not going to shut my door
Even if all the cold air leaks out
I'll stare into the frame and
Maybe something will jump out
Maybe it'll all just rot with me
Maybe something will happen to me
Because I can't happen myself
All I can do is stare
Aug 28, 2021
Aug 28, 2021 at 1:11 AM UTC
something chasing after me, saltine
biscuits trailing my feet, salty tears soaking
them through their flaky meat, lotus dreams and
finite weeks, never running away from time, instead
waiting for it to catch up to our heels and
leave crumbs behind
time was sluggish and easy when I took it into my arms,
pliant when I bent it around my arms, hula hooping
lifting me to the tips of my feet, time knew me
better than the parents I’ll never meet,
dusty paths and soles of feet pattering on
sizzling concrete
time tells me that I should have been a runaway
ennui says I’m ***** souled and
listless and too far away
sugar in gas tanks and fingers plugged in ears kind of thing
chasing cheap thrills to kingdom come
until the moon is a gleam of white and
mixes and melds with the lines of
empty candle wicks
pop bottles popping off, night breezes, a kiss under palm trees
(ennui uplifted momentarily)
southern Arizona and cool synths, runaway dream
onomatopoeia making a home in our daydreams
furtive eyes seeking to find God, but
reality crashing down around me
Aug 10, 2019
Aug 10, 2019 at 10:37 PM UTC
hello? relative listlessness says
greeting myself and my other selves
bringing them together with twine
and setting it alight
anyone? clouds of words siphoned underneath
my feet, too many eyes that I find myself, strangely,
unable to meet
alone and afloat, submerged in the sea
simultaneously sinking and floating in
groups of threes
matching my heartbeat
making my mouth sweet
there? the ocean bed I never expected to see
nothing in my line of sight, so perhaps,
there wasn't really anything ever to see
voice bounds off into the periphery
between the boundary of things I try to meet
but can never reach
Aug 1, 2019
Aug 1, 2019 at 8:49 PM UTC
it moves in lines, upon flat surfaces
we tried to catch it last week, but, no dice
‘that’s your department, isn’t it? take responsibility.’
true.
but, we were waiting for confirmation.
‘excuses aren’t relevant here,
moving forward is a precondition for itself,
so nothing will change until it’s properly addressed.’
the counter’s still pointing at「 green 」 though.
things should be safe for now
three months pass.
it multiplies in aggregates
motion seeps within still surfaces,
‘where were you last summer?’ like a lava lamp
oh, you know, out and about, it deforms
busy. buzzy. buzz. and,
‘oh. yeah. we can’t afford separates from itself
deficit here, can we? into self contained units
i hope everything’s okay.’ and
it’s fine. floats away.
…
‘that’s good’
…
‘we were thinking of leaving this place soon, anyway.’
…
fair enough.
no one’s
really expecting anything to be found, anyway.
the counter is pointing at 「 red 」 now, though
three months pass.
it breeds through rumpled cloth, and breaths out through solid objects.
colours float over matted patches, a ringing sound pierces out of iron bars.
- the counter no longer shows anything
people pass themselves at crossroads, half turning,
to speak, but carry on walking their separate ways
(it’s okay, none of us had anything to say, really)
- we expect a full report, you understand?
the spaces between take root. shadows flicker though the limelight
filter filter, pass over. embroid and disperse
- yes, of course. there’s no one left to read it, though.
the counter is pointing to 「 itself 」
huh.
must be broken
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 6:24 AM UTC
stoop side you sit
fallen angels with broken knees,
40 ounce amber galaxies &
palms of prayer on an open mirror.
The benefactive is Columbian is
endless stairs on roofless buildings, is your
cracked knuckles of powdered meaning —
metallic shifts in the parking lot holy
begging thunder to threat everything
at once,
so then you can forget.
You prayed for all the wrong pronunciations
& when you sleep demons graffiti epistles
on the walls of your exposed chest.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 12:45 PM UTC
a pale neurology
within
pale iron gates
painted in pallid shades
of steel, gold and myrrh.
locked within recursive delusions of grandeur
like granite, horizontal and brittle
snapping within their multiplicities
lost within blindness' entangled waves.
drowning at the cusps of its own banality:
vacant plasticity
homeomorphic sludge
betraying nothing
of the mystified real
but an idempotent of
projected projections,
of a recursively flickering reel,
an echo-chamber,
of pale
gated communities.
aether.
flesh.
bronze.
iron.
silver.
gold.
gold.
ink.
(tape)
flesh.
silicon.
pale.
pale.
ether,
aether
(void)
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 7:57 AM UTC