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kenye Mar 2013
Last night I was on the fence
feeling out my own relative survival
caught somewhere between
rock bottom and a dark place

At the end of my own wits
I thought I could paint my presence
With a flick of the wrist
Opened up to reveal the divine DNA
pouring itself out into a bath tub
that gave it away

Caught red-handed in a pool of blood
Drowning evidence
Slipping down the drains
back into the ocean of the time I killed

Doctor, Doctor
turn me into a machine
I want to feel intentionless
So the madness manifests
into some ironic twist
of self-directed fate

With a flick of the wrist
Writhing this steering mechanism
into dissonance
With my Dark Passenger
Check the rearview
The past relapses
02-07-2k13
4/30/17

A cheetah speckled woman
With long curly red hair
Invited me to a bean shaped cushion
In her studio apartment.
her keys jingled in the closing door
Sealing us, a hot red room.

"Love is creepy"
She says, sinking into
Her candy apple bean shaped cushion

I am a watcher.
When We met, She was in her natual habitat.
A coat tail of men,
I admired how oblivious they were
to being faceless goons.
watched her direct them
like an ***** desperate orchestra.
My back against a wall,
Smoking a cigarette.

Now, I'm in this studio apartment
Again, I am a ******.
She tells me stories
Of bad tinder dates
as I survey the strung up Christmas lights
Posters of Marilyn monroe.
Teenage quotes of aspiration.
"Be unapologeticly you"

She smiles at my ignorance to her body.
I am not ignorant by any means
Only respectful
I notice her smirk at me swing around
Leaning into shelves of pottery and art supplies.
flying around with a clipped wing.

"Will I be a poem?" She asks.
"You're right. Love is creepy."

I pull wine out of my bag and place it on the counter, put Chicken and vegetables in the fridge.
She turns on Netflix and asks
"whaddaya wanna watch?"
"bird documentaries"
i say,
an effort to incite her own decision.
domestically,
A bird documentary starts to play.
I gloss over a smirk at my failure
We share wine meditating to the sounds of
Bad Voiceovers and chirping

We are the card dealers of moments
hourglass columns
sand falling where art should be carved.
fractures of timelessness stacked like
Jenga blocks
each sip of wine a ritualistic dymensia
blackjack tables with no dealer
just a bartender

We watch an owl puke up mouse bones
"Owls are Creepy."
We agree.
witness to me, is indulgence
silk strings pull my heart towards exhibitionists
When she changes to A pink robe
Textured to compliment my heart strings
the singsong of birds chirping.
provides an exotic baseline for her sway.

I stare at her body.
"My love is creepy" I say
pressing thumbs to divets in her hips
I am slave on her shadows
My hands trace contours
follow my worship eyes
"I like the attention" she says

In the morning
drafty eyes part

whisper From swirling pink elephant dazes
smiling at me.
the soft moans of her night
the reason I started dealing cards.
an addiction to that moment.
the reason I turn the hourglass.
the wide green foggy eyes
Watching me stare back.
stretching like a cat
who plays with the bird
brings it to it's master as a gift
limp and submissive,
Perhaps she is the bird.
Sunken to the curves of the bed.
a limp beautiful body
the most honest and intentionless fracture
love is creepy.
I am a watcher
ask only that you exist.
Existing is equally as creepy.
we have fingers
thoughts
consequences.
So why not stare at a part you want to keep?
Why not write it down for others to fly?
so many beautiful things are never seen
Oppurtunity wasted for fear of being creepy
Fear of love.
fear of cats
Fear of birds
when I stare I capture
When I write, you stare
love is creepy.
we are creepy.
birds are creepy
be my creepy love bird.
peace dove
fly with me, if for a moment.
and stare down at everything while we can see it
I want to see everything with you
For now I see you in everything.
Photoshop you into my dreams
Imaginary
Love is for the birds anyway.
Brennan Crawford Aug 2014
There is speak of latency
and pregnant pauses,
for epochs.
From Cambrian to Devonian,
and all things antediluvian.
The stone, the bronze, the golden age.
and the age of wood and wool,
Of wool,
and wood.
Of mahogany,
and mohair.
An age of comfort and kindness,
of nanas wasting idly in rocking chairs,
Knitting sweaters big as continents,
for the sons and daughters,
Of their sons and daughters.
with the loom and swoop and stitch.
While each toc and tic,
Turns grandma to dust
and to death
Then to be latent again,
in a universe of dust.
A star, with a secret harbor,
of virtue.
A constellation, lassoed,
in her honor.
Blessing all with patience
Shining benevolent,
and intentionless,
For all to see.
JB Sep 2018
you wish you
knew
where you
could walk off to

-to Night:
half-drunk-
staggering cigarettes-
slamming a-
streetlight
shimmering
view of
two-
sidewalks snaking-
who?-



what few
friends you
have are all sleeping
or dead
or in your own head
and all the bars close
too

soon...



(you
stop)


intentionless
on the edge of your
bed
with the final four
cigarettes

and that ******* song still in your head
Water under the bridge and me
How knowledge turn banal missing verbs and dots from wisdom called absurd like time because of watches late when neither knows the right answer to be, i dont know. instead of eating poison just because starving, to throw a coin out of reach, like promise without words to keep like words without truth pointless like the journey without destination, youth without home, without roots not tree but a platation nor a name to keep to keep to care for, but a spring and summer, like the finger that pointed handed saying blessed and holy for hundred folds is told god to repay what isnt and should must. The careless ones that care too much to act or advice. Like the ones knowing the most speaking the least. First one can teach to cry one must learn, like to worry for a concern, bad for good. Like an excuse instead of an answear   of all the questions due, and then i hear: anythings better than hemlock, sounds to me like crosses seem some left behind in gones unwilling or unable or foolish, but not foolish to as love but more to hate as intentionless so godful one, as godles the other. Not as hope that doesnt believe but faith that doesnt hope, like the scars and the wounds like lions and pride like storm rains time that comes in soon is the time that went after time from time to went to come to you and me and you and me to come to care for, careless and carefull like about the rainbow we used to, once talked in thunders and birds screams and the field roads of passway  rocks fallin in mountains under the beatin of hooves of fate free and reason and language and time of salvation a dream we dream about and inviolet heaven a bedlike welcome awaitin all them men of all them boys whose love loves better than mens more than a son a father and father son to home how we greet is what gives that name to that house of great our fathers and our fathers god we too dare to bother to seek  our pay with a dream to awake from once our stomach fed not starving for morrows to die in but days to live close and as humble as honest the heart of the heart we call soul gave a think and roads enough to name one a wanderer indeed wandered and wishesh wished at star fall and prayers whispered to the safe of his palms for fools call foolish every time and for gods call theirs unlike men once therefore always like the said spoken a beggar begs the landlord a meal we beg your charity to grant us you already granted like the landlord the spring and responsibility to brother and duty in disguise every now and then with a new story to end and to sing about like a dove with broken wing, sheep without shepard and voice without sound and silence like god to stay unknown for all  to have to think of, like air like love we breath every breath a scent of instinct an inspiration to know better like heart beats beatless and unknowingly like all we forget but remember. Like all we pass be dying, and all we do and say to mind to dont matter yet to matter like to think to think twice, how many wrongs it takes for a right, as wars to battle to peace and roads to step to meet, tears to cry to see a brother and thorns to a king and kingdom and its dom to heaven get near of far already had come, did never leave nor left like the sun the day and yes a question to not  answer like today tommorow is and yesterday never was as long is cohen writin hallelujah like davinci paints mona lisa, still the beggar asking for a slice is the least, always.

Sometimes i think of water sometimes of the bridge. His wisdom is wise but not profound but ultimate, its emotion like music does to soul to embrace but not hold to kiss for but the cheek to know like love to never give yet never take, speak when spoken, to laugh and without a reason to have a reason many times for rivers to move alike free to run out or walk away just two of the poorest choices of transport, as to get insulted or insult a choice to decide for controll being out of yet free to have a share in meal but not in the song, just as the worda have meaning so do they have reason, which he built his life its laws and gods and decided to be in controll and be free like to do and have done to perfect to complete, he understood we go in morning where we say before night, people are never as sick as they say nor is it ever as bad as it seems or good as one thinks when thinks right never as wrong as never wrong when thinks. Knows only thinks. Doesnt think knows. Before mind a word to speak to cross silence like time to call out to question its patience  to deeds to get done never heared say more than at times havin nothin to say what to pay a privilige to hope or death, door or key, nerves or lack of focus to blame hearts dont listen locked, and before the last dies, so does the week after the last day, so the hope we hoped in was everywhere around, while we called it death where we never been what we could have been drunk and travel with song and the boys a wicked a smile to cherish and band to one word instead like devajah, and with devajah life saved, eternity granted and by stars be shining and falling and devajah to blind to see, by making them look, lame to walk by forgiving the ways of sins and sinners for sake of love asked to part from evil.  

Sometimes i think to drown, sometimes to learn to swim, sometimes to set sail i think to have somewhere to sitq The idea of control is to not have it just as the hunger the strive of soul that searches with knowledge of only known to dont know and free will is only it takes to find it, therefore to find the path that turns to understanding and wells by green lakes with swan and benches and shores to turn inward full of kindness and waterwalls all as welcoming as the surface that echoes every leaf every drop and seed of poppy in one whirl of will at hand of might and on tip of my tongue the reason of able to sense the pain the cause of mistake a lesson in every mirror i see after suddenly like to recall a trivial of some of past and smile, how simple once we understand. Meaning i guess: sad is not sad, nor is happy, as long not perfectly happy with being sad. Nothing is boring except us, if so   so it is with shame just as blame you can a bag to command a man to carry, but guilt is only selfmade why air in that bag bigger than me, of world the half, of hell the cover and heaven everything else, im wearing. Control is not about doing what you want but to want to do what you are. Freedom means act accordingly and slavery to force and be forced. There is a great song: you gotta serve somebody. Like hour to minute, minutes to hour, steps to footprint on the road where you want to be or want to go. Freedom is not in control but control in freedom. Not fencing our loves but facing our fears. Water under the bridge and me thoughts of all the bridges and all the rivers and me's waitin there patiently the great waterendin...
                                  and i laugh.

Water under the bridge and me thinking there be something wrong with me beside the great waterendin.
                      ...and i laugh again.
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