Sundropssundropsonto skin thatshiversthe golden glowfallsinto everythingmeltsaway from the sunand the slivers of lightslide to earthas angelsto becomethe gods of love
22 Degree Halothe windowpanescold reflections of yourtoo-sharp morningsblankets, gracethrown downuntil they stare from the streetglasses, dregs dodgingyour tippy-toefeetdraw the curtains on the sunits lightleaching, reachingthroughto steal your haloat 22
Dirty Sheetsmy bed still smellsof hair andcigarettesstale-sweet alcoholand moisturizer onskinlike the smell ofheatagainst cold airwasnt enoughfor me to leave withouttakingpart of you with me
But if Shebut if shewhere there's none of her,carved paths in mindin mineremained hollowpassing, pastall but a greeting,those feelingthese unfamiliar,these underlying,communicatingfor her namemuch less, a facein memorywhere she might returnwhere I could only remainbut,if shehad made me stay
Tensionstrangerboy, youre allshouldersback pressed into the seatjaw linehardand straight anddisappears, surrounded byoneperfectlayercurves under to touchgracecovetyour throatstrangerwatch the show soI cant see yourfaceI want to know youlose this tensionon youchest tighter foreach way each strandfallsstrangerI want tocurl fingerscurlthem intoyour long redreal rednatural hair
Grandma's SandalsWith my eyes closed that little plastic circle is silver, and that nylon yellow shift, yeah. Thats gold.Theres nothing like it; youre not, that I know. Dressed up for pretend, ugly dirt-scrubbed toes curled over the end of grandmas sandals. Dead-persons clothes.Your tiaras cracked, a terrible sphincter opened were there was once a rosy pink jewel. Its there like its responsible for what youll grow to live; nothing but shit and the stench of pot. Its even there in daddys car, just a part of the fabric; its probably seeped right into your bones.The look of your hair, like maybe I hope child services will take you away. Filthy, sickening blonde, thin and lank and unclean; its how you say monsters stay, even if they bathe. As if youre posing as one of them, to prove to me they do exist, its there, I swear to you, look again. Please, just-One of your drawings is picked up by the wind and is tossed
FingersFingers lift to his mouth, cigarette caught by gentle lips and his eyes close for the seconds he wants to ignore. With the lights out, sunshine, red hot against his eyelids has left the room there anyway, the window, the table, the door. He still cant hear her breathe but feels her chest rise, her shoulders fall against his chest.Frightened, he drops his arm to the couch as if the seconds had become a moment stretched too long; he looks. Taps the crumbling ash into a glass before it falls and hurts her. Burns her.Lips pressed just slightly open by his thigh, her soft body follows. Ups and downs he lives to trace with hands, with eyes, with anything; hes caught wanting to wake her. Lifts fingers to his mouth.She shifts in her sleep; breasts no longer crushed together, her elbow slips off the cushion. Her hand hitting the carpet shocks her, and as she stretches it reaches blindly for his hair. Curls right in and pulls him to her, he abandons the cigarette in favour of thos
StrangersGive me a minute.They know itll be longer, but hes walking away, past the waxen grey expressions, the swollen black balloons. Hes silent beneath the eulogy, soft and distant words fashioned for strangers, falling on blind ears. He knows its all pretend because really, what is there to say? And even the too-light coffin, the box of mahogany and plastic, the bed of white velvet lining and the brass handles and opal inset design; even thats deception, empty and wasted. Itll rest deep below his feet soon, beside the corpse of a teenager and the yellowed bones of a disenchanted poet, unoccupied as it, too, returns to the earth.He little understands this hollow gesture, this lascivious ceremony, but knows its for the strangers. They cling to death, adore it, use it for all the human struggle it superficially adorns them with. Someones mother, lover, brother, friend. Death to them is commercial, a way to pretend to seem real. Real
Personal Reflexthe ripping formslong forgotten, longsince let goshe'sunprecedentedshe'slost all meaningjust a gaping partof past, hooklineand dormantwaits, impatientfor emergenceand becomesengulfing, meshes instinctual, itbecomes me
EvolutionEvolutionis a silent process of changingwe realise from the result.It Can't Be The Target.
A DefinitionWords that mean the same as ‘gay’:Happy, bright, joyful.Queer and homosexual.Words that do not mean the same as ‘gay’:Weak, stupid, lame.Evil, abomination, shame.You got that?Okay.Because ‘gay’Is not an insult.
I'm Going NoWhereI'm Going NoWhere, But My Way Is Certain.
NadirHis shotgun smilesays it all -smell of rabbits matingin the basementkeeps him up at nightand he likeshis neighbor's daughteras she stands on tip-toein the back yard,peering through his windowor drowning kittens in the river.He keeps a razorin his bedroom,siphons after-shave througha loaf of breadand calls it magic,remembering how his teacherfound him naked,shoved into a closetand how she putmarbles in his mouthto keep him from speaking.His mother only laughedand told him to washhis clothes outin the bathtuband not drip wateron her carpet.Don't leave a witnesshis best friend said.Pictures have earsand walls can feellike familywhen God has seen your secrets.
ExelixiΕξέλιξηείναι μια σιωπηλή διαδικασία αλλαγήςπου αντιλαμβανόμαστε εκ του αποτελέσματος.Δεν Μπορεί Να Είναι Ο Στόχος.
LostLost –Like a vagabond.Split – At a four-waystreet, past any signsthat I comprehend.If I had I had it my way,I would cruise on the highwayand never stop.
Team In our days the word "team" only refersto basketball and football teams.
pillow talkthere are thousandsof tongues i couldmemorize; new wordsfor love tucked betweenteeth often bitingtoo hard.my chapsticked lipscould learn to bow togrammar laws incountries i'llnever visit.i could master writingsymphonies in syntax,spend hours penningvolumes in languagesof longing and love,but i'll never find aphrase that fits youthe way your body fitto mine, back bent.i'll never find a namefor how our lips tuckedtogether, for my handsin your hair, for therapture in your eyes.
UntitledGlide through the heavensin hopes to evade the crimson wingsthat holds you down.Be free.When will you shut the pearly gatesand walk away?When will you cut the crying chainsthat paint you grey?be free.Be freeBe Free.
Wingswe're well enoughto stand aloneholding ownpast the coldwe're alivetogether wholestitched up soulwings spreadwe're goneinto nightleaving lighthold onwe're bledrun drytime to flyangel mine