#shortform
Butterfly poised on
uprooted tree leaf. Sunrise
dries damp wings, dense air.
Initial condition blown
here by the storm it creates.
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 4:21 AM UTC
Does a star really burn in the sky?
Or do they simply work till they die?
Apr 1, 2025
Apr 1, 2025 at 12:51 PM UTC
Get my boat so I may go to the mountain top,
To thy enemies Infront of thee flee,
On their carpets they go away from their home,
From all they have ever known,
Wayward unto the sea, down many leagues they flee,
Away from the wrath of ye and me,
To the Mariana trench we cannot see,
Is the destination to their journey,
Upon which we will sojourn,
And deeply yearn,
All there is to learn.
Sep 13, 2024
Sep 13, 2024 at 6:30 AM UTC
i still do not know
whether i am a void of feelings
or just a child who shut the door to his pain.
Nov 6, 2020
Nov 6, 2020 at 11:53 PM UTC
sometimes it feels like the only way not to cling
is not to care.
Aug 18, 2020
Aug 18, 2020 at 11:10 AM UTC
don't you find it funny
how desperate we are to feel?
— what a great story!
(i cried eleven times)
Aug 15, 2020
Aug 15, 2020 at 10:08 PM UTC
he burns his lamps to hide
just a couple heartbeats —
a couple each night.
a couple blue shots of bad blood
they say it does the trick.
Aug 12, 2020
Aug 12, 2020 at 10:31 PM UTC
we, others, them, think we're lost, broken, and afraid
is it so wrong to find our own way in the darkness
is it so long to put the pieces back together in a new fashion
it takes a great amount of fear to do these things
it takes an immense amount of courage to believe in them
Jul 22, 2020
Jul 22, 2020 at 2:32 PM UTC
see, she was
she was an ocean.
say, oxygen
oxygen is overrated.
watch, roses
blooming beneath
the caress of brine
blood cells unfolding.
a certain lightness
Jun 24, 2020
Jun 24, 2020 at 5:44 AM UTC
life is a melody, a meandering song, exquisite and jarring, glorious and ruthless. we sit upon its strings, tightropes in a windstorm. better dance whilst you can before we all fall off into eternity.
Apr 20, 2020
Apr 20, 2020 at 3:50 AM UTC
you know,
the more i have to say
the less i end up saying.
i want to live our life again
so i told you
i love you.
Apr 2, 2020
Apr 2, 2020 at 5:40 AM UTC
ink is the same color
as a certain canvas
when you look hard enough
you can almost see
the stars sprinkled in there
Apr 2, 2020
Apr 2, 2020 at 5:18 AM UTC
Nothing more will be done.
Your final touch emptied
my lungs of I can’t live without you
and I took my first breath in this
world. I cried like most newborns
and pacified myself with poetry
I am thankful you let go
else I wouldn’t have learned
how to walk alone.
Aug 4, 2019
Aug 4, 2019 at 3:52 PM UTC
So I scuttled up, until I found a voice like Japan, I read him his rights, turned out the lights, and laid right back on the sand. They said, "Sir, he was much of a father to me, but we were labeled his kin, right in our family tree." "Oh wow", I said, with a gentle, smooth voice, he went missing last August, but now he wants back you boys?" "Oh yes, he sure is a feral man. We think that's why he dried up and flew to Japan." Right then, the two of them went silent just like two second story men, so I inquired, "What happened then?" "From Monday thru Sunday he took to prayer from the bible, and on every other weeknight he watched Japan's Top Model. He threw gallant parties to a harem of wives, he read each of their palms, and looked in their eyes; some time later, when everyone was about to leave, he'd turn on Happy End and start a wild **** By this time I was tired, the sun began to set, I grew tired of my beach patch and yearned for my bed. Although soporific, I tried to be polite, I said, "Let's finish this conversation some other time." "Of course!", they said, "We're off to bed. We'll see that you'll do the same." Then they stood up quick, and reached down and picked up my chains. The beach we laid on was black top, asphalt and tar, the bed I craved was behind a row of private bars. The two of them, them both, were children of mine, because my memory is shot, this might've been their millionth time. i got locked up in a county that's dry as a beach, like Elizabethtown, Kentucky, where I was raised till 13. No one, not even the warden, knows really why I'm here, even some man from Cell Block Five, asked me last Sunday, why was I here. My beach perhaps, it's love at last, concrete, gravel, and stone- a 6' x 10' room with bars and a porcelain throne. It's mine I cry, each night I die, with glee, with smile, with rite. But it makes the other guys run at me, and try to start random fights. I don't remember the boat I took, but I remember the tour, going to Japan at Epcot Center since I'd never gone before.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 3:30 AM UTC