"parasail" poems
I'm not afraid of flying
I'm just afraid of falling down
But **** if I knew how
I'd fly out of this town.
I'm not afraid of dying
I'm just afraid of its effects
I'm not afraid of trying
I'm just afraid of what comes next.
Will I succeed or will I fail?
Dive in the air and parasail.
And fly away.
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 4:44 PM UTC
Tropical vibe, coconut milk and shaved ice
My so glow with the low cut
No jheri curl, jerry rice
Boogie board on the rip tide
Parasail and deep dive, don’t think twice.
Sands white on my tan feet
Coliseum in the back seat
Straw hut where the beach be
Like screen saver when your mac sleep
Relaxing
I ain’t racing no ****** rats
I'm relaxing.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 12:02 AM UTC
I try to write when I am tired
but tiny spiders descend around my desk.
Newly-hatched eight limbed-things
parasail
the silk lids over my eyes.
If only I could ride out the exhale and
go at once adrift, self-rappel
I would climb the silk suspension line
swing from thought to thought
thread the eye of the needle
pull-ey up the beanstalk.
but instead I'm left to watch these aerial yoginis
swim on a draft from the ceiling.
These spinsters with their poetic acrobatics
for whom rhythm is spun on silent trapeze--
make a play-swing
out of gravity.
The tiny spiders that descend around my desk
make me--an oaf.
a self-honoring monument
for climbing, a botched landmark to ---human ingenuity
me, a moving pedestal for dancing
me, a knotted up windsock
hunched over a heated screen,
trying to blow down metaphor, alliteration
from these tiny kites that ascend the earth.
Tiny spider, tiny spider
let down your silk tresses
draw up my mind
swing the high rafters
I want to hang upside down--
make a play-swing
out of gravity.
Yet when I pulled on the thread
to net the silken-mouthed beast,
words did not come down
like mana from heaven.
Rather, my tongue grew heavy with cotton
metaphor, alliteration,
the fabric of suspended poetry
unraveled.
Lucid improvisation fell like Icarus
to quips.
because thinking to write
and writing to think is like
pulling dead hair
from spaghetti.
Meanwhile, tiny spiders descend around my desk
parasail
and make a play-swing out of gravity.
Jun 28, 2012
Jun 28, 2012 at 4:13 AM UTC
Dont think twice
Jump the gun
Dare to live
Parasail
Run up a hundred steps
Pet a stray dog
Eat foreign food
Travel the world
Talk to strangers
Tell your story
Give a high five
Smile frequently
Buy from street vendors
Ride a taxi
Learn a different language
Laugh a lot
Just live a little
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 9:02 PM UTC
Don't fight it.
It will happen.
War is bad.
Parasail abound.
Love everyone.
Apr 7, 2012
Apr 7, 2012 at 8:58 PM UTC