"scooting" poems
Since Christmas they have lived with us,
Guileless and clear,
Oval soul-animals,
Taking up half the space,
Moving and rubbing on the silk
Invisible air drifts,
Giving a shriek and pop
When attacked, then scooting to rest, barely trembling.
Yellow cathead, blue fish ----
Such queer moons we live with
Instead of dead furniture!
Straw mats, white walls
And these traveling
Globes of thin air, red, green,
Delighting
The heart like wishes or free
Peacocks blessing
Old ground with a feather
Beaten in starry metals.
Your small
Brother is making
His balloon squeak like a cat.
Seeming to see
A funny pink world he might eat on the other side of it,
He bites,
Then sits
Back, fat jug
Contemplating a world clear as water.
A red
Shred in his little fist.
12.4k
It was a lovely afternoon
When I felt dizzy and soon
Started to feel as if my chair's moving
I looked up at the pendant hanging
Freely and also dancing
Back and forth
It wasn't just me who was moved
It was the earth and the whole building hoofed
Back and forth
One slip of plate
And it moved the whole earth.
It was mild
I hoped it won't go wild
Calling for my loved ones
I ran to the ground
People hustling, steps making a panic sound
From the eighth floor I felt it stopped
But as if it read my mind, earth again rocked
More than I've ever felt before
We all hustled downstairs in case it got wilder more
Old people, children running,
Mothers, scared, panicked, scooting.
Down the building everyone waited
Till the earth slowy bated
And stopped in a sudden motion
We were glad it wasn't that strong
Back to home, we all scurried
Switched on our televisions in a hurry.
Though the earth was soft on us
There were places where everything was crushed,
Homes, offices, families destroyed
Everything because of simple but strong
Back and forth
What is happening in the world?
Is it the human being which the earth loaths?
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 5:40 AM UTC
It's like this, and then there was total recall. Fast like a safety plan made wrong and then bouncing in and out all the way down the hall. Up through cable cars, Korean fast food market, wet fish, soupy street, concrete cracks filled with crab meat and **** heads. Just a square, a five block, two street, sideways quadrangle, beat of the Tenderloin, hour of the dove. Every one's dead on these loose ends. Hills of the back of her backside, skin of the back of her neck. Rapture is the grave of the sunset, memory is that thing that I said.
No one cans in carnivores, no one runs moves like a shepherd. Sunday, daft as candy, luck in the ways of the prophet. Canon of the blaze of every woman that died today. The sleep setting, the motorcycle bending the hollow, the ravines noisy interlude, up through the rough and the tangles, huddles in a six pack, three or four walking up the block to meet the rest of them.
The skin doesn't fit right, it wears wrong, the shoulders stiff, the masseuse excuses himself. Buckets of flowers hang from the ceiling like stripped cat christmas decorations in suburban mastermind serial killer resort town. Everyone is quiet because they gotta. They move their feet like they were hurrying death into a red volcano, like they were the errand of red from the top bell to the bottom of the town.
I sit on a roof top, baking in the noon day sun. Stripping sticks and stems off the side to sideways, just roasting away, laying, low in the afternoon light. I see a girl with her hands on her skirt, wobbling, scooting a priest card on a periwinkle terra-cotta. I move my head, turn it upside round to take a better look. No one counts to ten when they see me. The gangster that woke up isn't the gangster that went to sleep last night. My wickedness ended my words mean your bright decay. So I ride the pavement exhausted, burying my coughs in an L-shaped arm
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC
"Beep-beep.
BANKERS TRUST AUTOMOBILE LOAN
You'll find a banker at Bankers Trust"
Advertisement in N.Y. Times
When comes my second childhood,
As to all men it must,
I want to be a banker
Like the banker at Bankers Trust.
I wouldn't ask to be president
Or even assistant veep,
I'd only ask for a kiddie car
And permission to go beep-beep.
The banker at Chase Manhattan,
He bids a polite Good-day;
The banker at Immigrant Savings
Cries Scusi! and Olé!
But I'd be a sleek Ferrari
Or perhaps a joggly jeep,
And scooting around at Bankers Trust,
Beep-beep, I'd go, beep-beep.
The trolley car used to say clang-clang
And the choo-choo said toot-toot,
But the beep of the banker at Bankers Trust
Is every bit as cute.
Miaow, says the cuddly kitten,
Baa, says the woolly sheep,
Oink, says the piggy-wiggy,
And the banker says beep-beep.
So I want to play at Bankers Trust
Like a hippety-hoppety bunny,
And best of all, oh best of all,
With really truly money.
Now grown-ups dear, it's nightie-night
Until my dream comes true,
And I bid you a happy boop-a-doop
And a big beep-beep adieu.
4.7k
Probably just a man with his gloves on backwards
Darkwood doves in his outercoat pocket
figs and fossils hanging off his earlobes
silky cigarette smoke scooting up his fingers
got a moody mad eye and he knows how to use it
when he gets a brain block,
he breaks it with a breeze block
nudges out mice and shrews from his foot box
fixes up his old bow-tie for the foxtrot
there gonna see his burnt out knees and elbows
easy to fix though, with a bit of Velcro
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 12:17 PM UTC
Straying wayward, walking home,
I left the narrow path and wandered off alone
Just past the trees along the edge and up a dusty hill;
I found a cave there hollowed and felt a sudden chill.
Down through the dirt and leaves I crawled into the cave
To see if there were pleasure there to make me crave.
I caught a scent of danger, almost a living thing,
But as I backed up quickly, I touched a leather wing.
Upward rose a serpent head; tiny eyes glowed red
My backing self was scooting now, and I was filled with dread.
"My friend! You've nothing here to fear!"
"I'm just a little dragon, not even fifty years."
Into sunshine came he then, less fearsome in the light
To bring me pause from tumbling off in fright.
An hour later, carried on my back,
I took a baby dragon home, hidden in my pack.
"If you don't mind, I'll need to hide," my new friend said.
"I'll stay here in your closet, and I'll sleep beneath your bed."
Soon our friendship blossomed as secrets often do,
I'd off to school each morning, then run right back at two
To meet my baby dragon and get to know him more,
Still hidden from my family behind my bedroom door.
One day while I was off to school, I heard the siren sound.
Smoke rose above the treeline on my family's side of town.
When I arrived, my home was ash; my fiery friend was gone.
Now I know that little dragons grow to burn us down.
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 10:16 PM UTC
for Thomas Raine Crowe
...These nights bring dreams of Cherokee shamans
whose names are bright verbs and impacted dark nouns,
whose memories are indictments of my pallid flesh...
and I hear, as from a great distance,
the cries tortured from their guileless lips, proclaiming
the nature of my mutation.
NOTE: My “mutation” is that my family appears to contain English, Scottish, German and Cherokee blood, meaning that my ancestors were probably at war with each other. Did my English ancestors force my Cherokee ancestors to walk the Trail of Tears?
I have recently created these new translations of Native American poems, proverbs and sayings ...
What is life?
The flash of a firefly.
The breath of a winter buffalo.
The shadow scooting across the grass that vanishes with sunset.
—Blackfoot saying, translation by Michael R. Burch
Speak less thunder, wield more lightning. — Apache proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
The more we wonder, the more we understand. — Arapaho proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Adults talk, children whine. — Blackfoot proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Don’t be afraid to cry: it will lessen your sorrow. — Hopi proverb
One foot in the boat, one foot in the canoe, and you end up in the river. — Tuscarora proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Our enemy's weakness increases our strength. — Cherokee proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
We will be remembered tomorrow by the tracks we leave today. — Dakota proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
No sound's as eloquent as a rattlesnake's tail. — Navajo saying, translation by Michael R. Burch
The heart is our first teacher. — Cheyenne proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Dreams beget success. — Maricopa proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Knowledge interprets the past, wisdom foresees the future. — Lumbee proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
The troublemaker's way is thorny. — Umpqua proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Feb 22, 2020
Feb 22, 2020 at 6:33 AM UTC
scooting around the supermarket aisles at pace
sifting and sorting through the cut price items bin
selecting a favorite brand of bacon rasher
stopping at the lolly counter to price a bag of sherbet
squealing children throwing a tantrum near the drinks machine
searching in my handbag for my wallet
store promotions blaring over the public address system
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 4:46 AM UTC
Me tracing your perfectly sculpted body
Your eyes shut
You came back with a new thong and shirt
Sliding back into bed
Scooting into me
I put my hands back on you, tracing the top of your bra
Feeling the lace on the tips of my fingers
Griping you
Pulling your bra down to your waist
Dragging my fingers up and down your curves
Making you squirm
Making my way down your back
Kissing your neck
Listening to you enjoy me
All I want is to make you feel loved
Loving you is the only way to start my sunday morning right
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 3:10 AM UTC
I watched her for a while,
the lady with a babe in her arms.
With tender care she brushed back its hair,
and sweetly smiled into its face.
Gleaming eyes gaze into her past,
when she was whole.....
when she was a Mother.
But now in her last days,
her death days,
scooting slippered,
wheelchair feet
down forgotten halls,
lovingly holding her babe in a pink blanket.
Occasional drool drips on its plastic forehead,
crystalline blue eyes look into green glass,
searching for some signs of life.
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 12:07 AM UTC
I still don't know if
I've ever "made love"
but if I have
the first time
was definitely with you:
******** on the ***** carpet floor
of your best friend's house
in Tallahassee. we knocked
tattoos against the coffee table
both our knees red
rugburnt from scooting the length
of the living room + hallway.
we moaned into each other's mouths
as our friends passed out drunk
not seven feet away
we tried three positions & your
body told me the last one was your
favorite so we bumped bellies
pulled each other's hair
your chest on my chest
your shoulder blades
drenched in moonlight
small in my careful hands
stars camped in our eyes
you bit my
lip too hard.
I'll never forget the wet way you kissed
my salty forehead as we
climbed connected onto
the couch, but the most vivid
memories from that night
are your legs
still quivering but clenched
ankle locked together at the
slope of my back, & falling asleep
inside you because it
felt like the right thing to do.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 3:35 PM UTC
I remember
when we were seven
we would sit on your porch swing
for what felt like minutes
but was probably more like hours.
We would talk about silly things
like your mom's hot dogs
and the push lawn mower
or how "cool" you thought you were.
And I thought you were cool.
I remember
when we'd spend the whole day
in your room.
Or until our moms made us come out.
You would show me your rock collection,
purple and silver.
We'd play darts,
or Monopoly
and talk about your crushes,
me hoping that my name
might come up.
I've always had a crush on you.
I remember
when we were twelve
we sat up on that hill
that looked across the whole
beautiful city
and we barely even spoke
a single word.
We just sat there
in the tall pokey grass
eating our dry sandwichs.
I would glance over at you.
I don't know if you were too.
Your mom took pictures of us there together that day, I wish I could see them.
I remember
when my mom said,
"Emme, you ride up with anomonys"
My heart skips a beat
when I hear your name.
I was so happy
to sit with you,
yet so nervous
hoping I wouldn't say anything weird.
The chair lift ride was quiet,
we were quiet.
I kept scooting closer to you, were you too?
I remember
when I looked into your eyes
when we looked
into each other.
The world stopped.
Something changed within me.
I felt something
I had never felt before.
I felt lost, stray.
I felt found,
like I finally belonged.
I turned away though because I got dirt in my eye.
I remember
for six or seven years
we were pretty good friends
or I felt like we were.
The past one or two years
our friendship has been
the best
and the worst.
I want our good friendship back.
I remember
how we were sweet
and "twitterpated".
I remember
how we were bitter
and in misery.
I want to stop this madness.
But to do that
I would have to let you go
and I can't do that.
Because what I saw
in your eyes,
was love.
What I saw
was my life
with you.
I miss you, more than you could ever imagine. I wish we could be together, but right now we are only memories.
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 8:34 PM UTC
He laid out some towels
She set a bucket right on top
The outside pitter patter
Echoed closely by drip drop
She plopped down on the couch and said
“I hate our leaky roof…”
He cozied up right next to her
“We’re newlyweds, it’s cute!”
The dog had left a pungent gift
Spread out across the floor
They tied cloth over their noses
Prepared to go to war
They scrubbed the ground on hands and knees
He, unusually mute
She poked his side with smiling eyes
“We’re newlyweds, it’s cute!”
Baby two cried till blue
Every other hour
And baby one learned to run
Too young for such a power
People seemed to judge and stare
Her cheeks turned rosy red
He raised his voice, ignoring glares
“It’s cute! We’re newlyweds!”
She zipped up the dress
He escorted down the aisle
And gave away his baby girl
His heart in full denial
The newfound silence of their home
Was echoed in his head
She played their own first dance song
“It’s cute, we’re newlyweds”
Years spilled by, the kids had kids
Less heed was paid to clocks
Days now passed in reading chairs
With simple meals and long walks
They shuffled down the sidewalk
At a careful, measured pace
Their scooting right in sync,
A peculiar kind of grace
She paused to rub her fingers
His hands were also wrung
She raised her deep-set eyes to his
“Do you ever miss when we were young?”
His wrinkles seemed to lengthen
As a gleam came to his eye
His mind replaying memories
Of leaky roofs and a youthful bride
Then he looked at the woman beside him
Drooped by the weight of long life
And for a moment he stayed silent
Overwhelmed by his beautiful wife...
“I don’t miss when we were young
Though time has worn us down
The love I had for you back then
Cannot compare to now
I’ll brave a thousand achey bones
Just to take slow walks with you.
Besides,” he took her hand in his
“We’re newlyweds, it’s cute.”
Aug 14, 2025
Aug 14, 2025 at 12:08 AM UTC
for the students lost in World War II
1.
Kids.
Could they have understood this "sacrifice"?
2.
Kids,
on the edge of living,
about to dip into life.
3.
Kids:
epitaphs, Sunday daydreams,
skeletons wrapped in flags.
4.
Kids
whose lives are packed into one plaque
near Hardy Tower, tucked
behind bushes by the biology labs.
5.
Kids
stop every so often,
linger a moment over the names,
mouthing one or two
before scooting off to class.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 9:22 PM UTC
*In the beginning
Goodness was enough.*
That timid boy
Called your home phone
Answering to a gruff father
Demanding to know
**What
When
Why
How
Who**
Would be calling for his daughter.
An Adam's apple bobbing up and down,
Like a buoy on the shoreline,
Searching for his own name.
*A sea of thought
For a simple question.*
*In the beginning
Goodnes was enough.*
The timid boy
Inches next to her
Scooting closer
Scratching against the wooden grain
Of the mossy park bench.
A half moon dawned on his face
As she tenderly intertwined her hand
With his.
*In the beginning
Goodnes was enough.*
Hands spun around,
At lightning speed.
Asking for something more.
Her mind whirled
With the greyness of confusion.
She would do anything to keep him.
*A sea of thought
For a simple question.*
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 10:41 PM UTC
I sat waiting on a drink to be brought to me
when you entered the room,
hair billowing in gold and bronze streaks
across narrow shoulders hidden under a sweater,
your scarf releasing as you unwrap it from your thin, pale neck...
You lay your elbows casually on the counter as you order,
then spin 180 degrees after paying from a small brown purse
no bigger than just to fit your phone, money and some drugs for later.
I admire the way your lips part, smiling at a child asking his mom for a cookie,
and i wonder what you may have looked like as a child...
I find your fingers, thin and pale, clutched around the ends of your scarf... playing with the fringe...
a waitress interrupts my view and i give a hurried and annoyed "thank you"
as she sets down a large mug beside me.
You receive your own drink--to go.
Please do not turn around too quickly..
Linger at the counter to add sugar or caramel...
Please come and sit by me, and we could talk about that book you just finished
or a concert you saw last week
or a cloud that oddly looked like Mister Rodgers.
But you do leave, wrapping your scarf around your neck
hiding your little white neck
and your long bone-like fingers brush your hair away from the knot,
then exit, scooting out of the way for the next customer.
I watch you walk past the window i sit behind,
kicking myself for being glued down by your beauty--like sunlight.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 7:42 PM UTC
There is a little girl in a flowery sundress who is giggling and skipping through a field.
The little girl decided to make a flower crown.
She picked each flower carefully, and she examined each silk petal.
Her eyes squinting with excitement as she wove the stems together.
When she was finished she looked at the crown for a long time.
She decided that it wasn't very good.
She hated it.
She dug a hole and put the very special wilted flowers back where she found them.
She dug and dug and patted with her little fingers until the dirt was stuck in her nails.
She tried to make the little plants stand up straight again.
She couldnt.
She kept digging until she could fit in the hole quite nicely.
She reburied herself, scooting the soft dirt onto herself as she stood in the hole slowly inhaling the gritty powder.
Once she was completely buried she struggled to push her hand out of the ground.
She barely held the beautifully weak flowers just above the dirt.
The flowers needed to be beautiful again. Sacrificing herself was the only way that she could think of to make them feel normal one last time.
She was running out of air.
One breath in.
Her hand wavered as she gripped harshly onto the green stems.
One breath out.
The delicate flowers and small dirt stained fingernails slowly relaxed and layed down in the dirt to rest.
No breath in.
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 3:39 AM UTC
'Beautiful stalagmites and stalactites!' 'Clayton, this cave has breath!'
Do you feel the air?' 'The air movements are strong and prevent our death,
But they can extinguish the lamp.' To lead the way, he unrolled many feet
Of rope to mark their exit in case of being disoriented in this huge 'suite'.
They named the other one Queen's Chamber, because it was small.
It was a dim room, twenty feet high having a nice circular white wall.
After an amount of stooping, crawling, scooting, and squirming, while
Passing through damp trail ways over pits and breakdowns of the aisle,
Through tight keyholes, they reached a lake of water. Then, they have
Transported wood, to build a boat, and to explore the other part of the cave.
On the other side of the lake, they saw a room looking like a stone quarry.
After that, they recognized the finished stone house in its greatest glory.
They saw that the refreshments were served, consisting of tea, coffee,
And dressing, but the people weren't inside, yet. Surah took a toffee
And two of the numerous huge lamps hanging on the right cave's wall.
They heard a strong music and many loud voices coming from the ball.
' Imagine this, Clayton; we were bending, crawling to pass through
So many tight spaces in order to find that this cave is my sister's clue.'
'It's one single cave having two parts, which are separated by the lake.'
'Let's go home!' said Surah maliciously smiling. 'Anne is a real snake!'
(Of course, Queen Anne was not a snake. The old castle was built around the cave and those two chambers were used to protect the kings and the queens all over the time. The legend of the beast was used to protect the other entrance in the cave during many wars taking place along the time. )
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
They were floating back until they reached the shore of the other side.
She dropped two lamps in the water, and left the boat being in a hurry to hide.
They blocked the entrance of the passage, and their lamp started to tingle.
Clayton bumped a paddle against the wall to pass, but it sounded like a jingle.
They opened the metal door, and then they climbed up the tower‘s stairs
To get into the secret room. There, they saw two beds, a table, and three chairs.
On the table, there was a golden little spindle being full of golden thread.
'They use this gilded altar to pray for Jezebel', said Surah turning her head.
To be continued......(tomorrow)
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 6:20 PM UTC
Jammin’ along to riffs by, Sister Tharpe and Robert Johnson,
You could only tell the difference, if a spotlight shone upon each one.
For one was going to heaven, the other, all the way to hell.
But, while they picked at their guitars the mobs would still yell.
They’d do a solo on a lead guitar, unheard of in those days;
Then be totally racistised once stepping out on the pavement.
No mention in the papers, because of the editor’s clan, da-far-right KKKs.
But, outrage and riots ensued, callin’ da end to all dat black enslavement.
Just sit back, take it easy and let those blues fill your shoes.
Let her just make y’all a little bit confused.
Ask her before or after, were you just abused?
Either way, if your spirit was amused, she’ll be excused.
Been scooting across mid town and even to easy beat street.
Tripping lights out and seen both colored folks, along the way.
Gettin’ some to enter my mobile studio, I call ‘Da Jam in da Van’!
Because, it’s not for just any ole cotton pickin’ southern bred fan.
So, come inside, switch it on, then blow me off my feet.
I’ll sign you on the spot, if you purr like a cool cat or a certain sort of stray.
Just sit back, take it easy and let those blues fill your shoes.
Let her just make y’all a little bit confused.
Ask her before or after, were you just abused?
Either way, if your spirit was amused, she’ll be excused.
The here and now, is where the blues are fully infused.
Not from era’s gone past or from some distant future.
You can’t find it in a library, you can’t teach her;
You won’t see it in a theory, you won’t solve her;
You shan’t catch it in a harness, you shan’t trap her.
Once gotten, never forgotten, you’ll never ever, lose her.
Just sit back, take it easy and let those blues fill your shoes.
Let her just make y’all a little bit confused.
Ask her before or after, were you just abused?
Either way, if your spirit was amused, she’ll be excused.
Oct 6, 2019
Oct 6, 2019 at 6:35 AM UTC
I stepped outside for a moment, simply to catch a breath on my porch,
and I saw that slivered Moon scooting behind those shivery clouds.
In a brief half-second I felt Her eons,
Her aged gravitational tumble,
Her pained and painted-on pagan sins of yore,
Her holy rejoinder of light against the darkness,
Her catechism of magic,
and the cold
empty doctrine
of Her orbital destiny.
I closed my eyes for a moment, to shut out Her history...
to try and catch that breath...
But She would not relent.
She was insistent, pulling my eyes open and up
and She offered me her memories
and begged in Her dry eternal voice
to allow me Her touch.
I accepted. Felt Her fear as our rockets bruised Her dusty flesh
upon their uninvited landings
and scarred her with their burning departures.
When I had taken it all in, She disappeared behind one of those
shivery clouds
and I was able to
catch that breath
I had almost forgotten
I had meant to take.
I watch for Her nightly now.
Even when She is obscured by clouds
or maybe just on the other side of this earth-she-cannot-touch,
Her eternal dance partner.
I open my eyes and gaze up.
With awe and wonder and respect
to let Her know that in my small gravitational way
that there is at least
One son here who thinks of her
and who understands and appreciates her tidal Motherhood
who smiles beneath Her transient reflection,
holding that light dear,
and who, in turn,
reflects some of that light
back to Her,
with promised eye.
Feb 6, 2011
Feb 6, 2011 at 6:40 PM UTC
Every night,
when the sun disappears
behind the tenements,
I sit on my balcony
to witness
the sinister congregation
pooled under
the lone
flickering
streetlamp.
Fueled on petrol,
they holler
explicit expletives
holding their palms
high in the air
Heiling Hitlers
as they middle-finger
the scooting passer-byers.
And I think to myself,
what ******* fools,
they'd be the first to go
if the **** ever went down,
carrying their inked swastikas
like totally clueless mad clowns.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 7:32 AM UTC
look at me
I watch as you sit
by yourself
and strum on the bass
cracking a joke
making the whole class laugh
look at me
i watch as you sit alone on the bus
joking with the bus drivier
laughing as she rolls her eyes at you
look at me
i watch as you crack a joke in class
scooting your desk around
annoying the teacher as she teaches
look at me
i'm looking at you
helplessly thinking these lines
as you crack another joke
unaware and unaffected by these helpless emotions i possess
look at me
i lent you a pencil
you own something i once held
but you got numerous pencils that day
will you use mine?
look at me
you once picked up my pencil
my voice fluttered saying thanks
you didn't respond
did you notice i was blushing?
look at me
i'm helpless
another dumb crush
another dumb line uttering the same exact thing
'look at me'
in my head.
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 9:40 PM UTC
Inbetween a state of sleep and tiring thoughts,
my arm extends out to my right,
it's memory of you failing to remember that you're not here.
With fingers slowly curling back under the shell of my palm,
they suffer loneliness.
Coming out again, desperately hoping that they were wrong,
they tickle the rough mattress with their tips.
I turn on the light,
head throbbing,
frustrated with the persistent attitude of my mind and body.
Still, quiet room.
Reflecting my nature,
patient with my outburts.
The soft humming of a car passing by outside,
a contrast.
Thoughts of tomorrow unfurling push my heavy eyes to the verge of tears.
I think of him further and want to message him "I love you.", but am afraid of his answer.
Turning off the lamp,
scooting my dog out of the way,
I lay with my eyes open.
Blink,
blink,
blink.
Nothing changes.
Slow moving fuzzy bodied shapes start to appear on the ceiling,
and after some time,
they spell out "stop." and "why."
Eventually, Inbetween a state of sleep and tiring thoughts,
my arm extends out to my right,
it's memory of you failing to remember that you're not here.
With fingers slowly curling back under the shell of my palm,
they suffer loneliness.
Sep 13, 2011
Sep 13, 2011 at 2:30 AM UTC
setting, delicately on the ten foot
two by six
scooting gingerly as to encourage
no splinters
clad in both sparkly regalia
and plain jeans
the inebriated fairgoer glanced
through half-lids
swaying while speaking, reeking of whiskey
lips moved quiet
inaudible outside of guttural
groans and grunts
we all sat watching, both in awe and shock
the strange man
so overloaded on psilocybin
could just be
and we, so high on the marijuana,
only laughed –
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 12:43 PM UTC
I feel you scooting closer and closer to me
Your hand grazes my thigh
Your arm attempts to press against mine
With every movement you make towards me,
I slide further away from you
Feeling defeated, you start to roll away from me,
but quickly press your hand against my hip and whisper ‘sorry’
A flood of words and feelings come pouring out of my mouth
I can’t control them, am not really sure what’s going on
You quickly turn to face me, excitement
immediately melts from your face when you see my expression
After hours of explaining and apologizing and re-explaining
and switching sides and tucking truths safely behind our teeth
I finally get off the bed
and leave you
to face a bright, loud living room on my own.
Jul 27, 2010
Jul 27, 2010 at 1:45 AM UTC