romantic seasonremember, remember, the sixth of november, hand-holding, kisses, and hugs. i see no reason why this romantic season should e'er be casually shrugged.romantic season
ghostingevery time i see a robin my heart swells until it bruises, black and purple all over, black and purple like the shoes i wore when i missed you, black and purple like walking through new york, and counting the days until i returned to you. black and purple like my brother's skin, and mine when i couldn't let go of my own wrist because i was afraid, so afraid of what my hand would do to me. because i was afraid to bleed. now my skin is white, like the smile you shine at them and not me. white like the clouds over that lake, the one we used to swim in- everghosting
ash tray dictiongentlemen, pick up your brooms, keep pushin til the clock sings sweet songs of our freedom, cause there's lint spewing from open mouths in the walls, and these floors are never clean. we have to keep plodding forwards to their rickety snares- cause, hey, their beat feeds us, wets our lips with hops. now, brothers, pull out your smokes and we'll have a yarn while they spit at our feet.ash tray diction
music at 4 amshe moves her feet like a dancer when she kicks a ball, and there's a bass guitar in the way she turns, her body convulsing like a piano under beethoven's wrath. when i see her i want to run, run until the sky's at my toes and they curl about the stars- blisters or not, who doesn't want to dance on the border of twilight? well, i suppose a lot of people would rather eat dirt- but i want to taste that last stretch of dayblue before the night takes over, want to splash into the rosy pinks, and maybe tap the beaks of all the crows whmusic at 4 am
Tanked Up, 4: The Dead CaptainI jolt in waters; a submarine the colour of city Jodhpur.Tanked Up, 4: The Dead Captain
Pale fish nuzzle and nibble, Slowly the sea transforms me.
i'm reallet me mari'm real
your fantasy life be it peyotl or
ammonia salt.
the mort has sounded!
the knight is dead the seraph, slain no name is left
for me.
who cares?
i’m here
i’m real.
ClearHands grasping the edges, I throw my legs over the side of the bed and my back pops loudly.Clear
And I bet you didn't know that the air released from between my vertebrae
was really several long-kept sighs for you.
Start to love you,
For No Onegentle breath, yes charcoal devil the breeze was meant to calm, i think.For No One
i wish it did
i wish my skin could reach
the velvet soupçon respiring in its feathers.
but earthwood bruises, purple-embered singeful ash
see it siphon grinning
up into the split expanse, tattoos my panic-breast. i feel its calentural sincerity, searing-rod kisses burnmarks
from the ovens
so
laugh, laugh at me, the top heavy tumbler looking for dales to pillow in toss your smiles this way i’m a dead ring
What a Dashing Individual!
Tired
Your
--
There's always a better poem just out of reach.
Words create situations [link]
The roots of the future run deep [link]
--
a melting pot of truth and fiction
--
yarnyarn nostrils
--
There's always a better poem just out of reach.
Words create situations [link]
The roots of the future run deep [link]
--
yarnyarn nostrils
--
There's always a better poem just out of reach.
Words create situations [link]
The roots of the future run deep [link]
--
yarnyarn nostrils
(they sound friendlier when I use that word!)
--
There's always a better poem just out of reach.
Words create situations [link]
The roots of the future run deep [link]
--
yarnyarn nostrils
--
There's always a better poem just out of reach.
Words create situations [link]
The roots of the future run deep [link]
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