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
Our WorldTonight we shall awakeAnd we'll feel better;While scars dictate out a eulogyBefore icicle stars drip a lakeOf blood and ink.And our life is scribedAnd our destiny transcribedUpon ozone highways ofA time swept letter.Tonight we shall smileAnd we'll be fine;While bones taunt us in penuryOut of sync to heart's design:Never will we blink.And our strife is mystifiedAnd our history pacifiedTowards x-ray epitaphs onA lunar forged shrine.Tonight we shall glowAnd we'll fly high;As souls sing forth in melodyTo harp string's of an angel's sigh,But joy fades in a wink.And we're aliveThere's nothing we can't surviveAnd we're a mysteryTo bandaged eyes living misery.So let's set things right!Let's burn out tonight!Set the world alightWith the unity of our cries,Never to let the flames burn lowNor to allow our nightmaresPermission to fester and grow.So let's set things right!Tonight we shall awakeAnd even if it kills us;The world. Our world.Will be alright.
Blink.there's a futureI don't wantto plan,apast I don'twant to let go,and a present fullof love,of distance intimacyI hold closest,and peoplewho knowmy storybecause it runsso deeply with their own.and in the balanceof all of thisis where my story sitsblinking cursor-
The Word RoseAnd from the blue and cotton clouds,Out forth I plucked for you -A single word rose.Notebook petals, blooming in the bloodOf scarlet love,Dripping sweet melodies from high aboveShowering us in an embracing flood.It was a single word roseAnd upon it was written your heartIn the form of a hundred rhymesPlaying out your song,Your beautiful songAnd nothing could let it fall apart.And from the blue and cotton clouds,Out forth I plucked for you -A single word rose.Poetic thorns, glaring through the galeOf obsidian disgust,Sneering dark voices of our innocent lustWhispering to us of that word rose pale.It was a single word roseAnd within it was hidden my heartIn the form of a thousand crimesWeeping all my sins,All my blackest sinsBut no one ever saw me fall apart.And from the blue and cotton clouds,Out forth I plucked for you -A single word rose.Word rose, oh where are you?Word rose, ah shining in the blue,You hide my secrets andCover yourself in her heart.Wor
Late nightAll alone in my roomSurrounded by darknessThe clock keeps tickingTime doesn't stopAnd there I layMy mind wanderingWhile I waitFor another day to come
A Fairy TaleDismembered limbs fall from the skyDramatic chorus sings silken ribbonsOn the mountaintop, out there in the darknessWhere plants are withered from lack of sunAnd all that is now will be what wasAnd all that was will be once againAs limbs attach themselves to torsosWe get up and walk, smiling, into the lightTeeth, hair, skin, bone re-assembledNew feathered wings stitched to backsThe plants are green on the other sideGrowth ensured by the ever-bright light
182,400 stars were created as you read this.We are woven loosely togetherwith the fabricsof stardust and big bangs.No more amazing,in the grand scheme of things,than any other life sustainingbeing of our little dust speckcalled Earth.We are infinitely smallin comparison to our sun,which is infinitely smallin comparison to the galaxy,which is infinitely smallin comparison to other galaxies.I'm pretty sure the Milky Way has her lunch moneystolen by the bigger galaxies on the playground.Yet, we humans, feel more important than it all.There are more stars in existencethan there are grains of sandcovering our entire world.And there are, roughly,7,000,500,000,000,000,000,000grains filling the cracks of our planet.Literally,1,000,000 times more insignificant pieces of dirtthan there are people alive at this very moment.We are so concerned about leaving our marksthat we forget about the goodwill of others.And our marks are nothingin the history book of everything anyways.Not even worthy of a dogeared page 7
RavenThe raven would not say my name -only flutter its wingand settle on the branch.I watched its cockle eyestudy me and the rooftopsthat sang of autumn.Leaves swirled in the wiresas the air blisterd around meand I could feel myselffalling once again -somewhere the lightwould still remember me.
paper cranes at midnighttell me the secret of dreaming -i need to know the wayto wish on stars that fall, and those thatdon't, assisting in the making of a tomorrow lacedwith wonder.stud the skywith folded cranes on wireand origami dreams strung up like beads;when the night creeps upand i can't breathe,tell me it's okay to believein wishes that can be foldedas easily as paper.remind me of how daylightcomes even if our star-peppered eyesdon't close to hide it'slight; we will not stop to count oursheep, but rather wondersfound in waking.lace the sunsetwith your silhouette;i am a paper boat folded by finicky handscast into deep waterstrying to cut a path for pleasant dreams--and because i cannot rest my eyesto find solace in silence,i ask you only todream me something beautiful.
36On every birthdayI think backand reflecton all the yearsthat I've lived.Today I am reflectiveon nothing in particularand everythingall at once.I look at my daughter.I beam with prideat the young lady she has become.I can't help but stand in aweat how much she looks like,acts likeand can hold a grudgejust like me.I take my husband's handand squeeze,waiting for his needleto work its magic.I want his art to bea part of me,now and forevermore.I'm dazedbut not confused.36 is more than three decadeswhich is kind of weirdto think aboutwhen I feel so young.Childhood has been rebornin my offspring-my nieces and nephews too.My own memories mixed with theirsin the form of traditionsI've demanded be passed on.Today I celebratelifeand loveand family.Today I wantat least 36 more years.
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