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[24 Nov 2009|07:43pm] |
A Night of Resin and Sweet Tea
Bouncing off the walls,
echoing throughout the rooms
of the empty apartment,
you can hear her whining:
“now is not the time, now is not the time, I’ll save it for tomorrow, save the words, save the minutes, save the seconds, save the air to breathe and space to occupy.”
No, now is not the day.
Sheets cover each delicate part of the tiny figure,
enveloping her with the comfort of cotton and custom --
a vessel forever docked.
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[24 Nov 2009|07:39pm] |
The day begins and ends with a long sigh
Cloud of smoke
floats to the
limitless blue.
Amber end
burns flesh --
klutz in a habitual daze.
Ash falls onto the pavement
where coffee stains and
cigarette butts spell routine.
Inside the house,
the writer’s page has been blank for days.
(Note: first poem written this semester that my crw professor did not botch entirely... in fact he had nothing bad to say about it)
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[10 Nov 2009|01:34am] |
Grit
Deep in the muck of the site
We sit
We stare
Counting wires
Men dig at the construction which surrounds us
All truth slips beneath the cracks
of the pavements where we trample
everyday
stuck under our feet
like russet leaves
which mirror my friend’s cheeks
I look to her.
She smiles.
Her hair,
entangled with dirt and weeds,
speaks of Carolina
A soft cry which then echoes throughout the towering buildings
The day is dying
as workers stand around staring at their watches,
looking for the way out to get stuck in rush hour thereafter.
The sound of sirens
and honking horns
makes us flee
The search for truth
is a far cry
from the Metropolitan grime.
We slip beneath those same cracks
as she tells me stories of the land of
vagabonds who
thumb their
Existence
(and solely speak truth)
She had a friend in a cactus once
but the prick would never respond
It would stare and stare in its
dismal state
dreaming of distance,
remaining on a window sill in suburbia
No attempt to caress it from afar
would cure it of its weary state
You would have none of that, Little Miss Suburbia.
But the days get dark
and summer’s a distant memory,
Till then when we will meet again in Carolina.
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[13 Oct 2009|01:17pm] |
The rosary dangles from her fingertips
Whispered phrases take hold of
The dualistic approach
for this young girl
To end in the same exact way
As it all began
The end-
A concept so foreign to me
A crazed notion of the
Ultimate
To meet the divine
And curtsy before it
To do, to be,
to understand
the present notion of the omniscient
I am I am I am
Standing before you always
[It could just refer to all personalities morphing
into one large entity consuming the world in which we live]
But I cannot conceive of such a day
With my worn out sandals
guiding me
(binding me)
bringing me forth to greet this (day)
Mundane
Mundane
Day
[With a lack of motivation to satiate desire]
Oh I'll cower 'neath these sheets instead.
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[13 Oct 2009|01:03pm] |
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music |
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ocean of noise by the arcade fire |
] |
He is but one of many
Yes one of many
We'll suck down our cigarettes
In perfect unison
Passing a glass device
back and forth, back and forth
Together our hands
burn with the fire of
routine
Summer heat encased in this
cloud of smoke
I want so badly
to believe in more than this
more than the fact that my
favorite pastimes
eat away my insides
No I do not heed to such a warning
I do not believe in such a warning
For we are the remnants of once pure selves
Our hands are unable to touch
Forever preoccupied with ash falling from our fingertips
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[09 Aug 2009|04:51am] |
the very memory
seemed to wither away
as a painful wince escaped
my sorrowful tongue
oh, youu
it will always be youu
creeping in the darkest corner of the room
simple minded fool
and i should be resting
allowing time to pass by
my weary head
rather than remaining frozen
forever fixed in this crazed state
my f i n g e r s fumble with technology
i
scream
but no sound comes out
instead it is all but a dull tone
that emanates
from the walls
growing, calling, begging for the end
(note: i am viewing life
as i always have
as a mystery to never be solved)
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| product of a sleepless sunday morning |
[09 Aug 2009|04:45am] |
i may be able to crumple
those letters
and toss it all behind me
but the thoughts always linger
the moments, the cherished phrases
--a taste so delectable
oh, but he is hollow
and there is nothing more
than a silly old tune
to remind me of the days i've lost
to count the unbearable
i've whispered too much to unforgiving ears,
given too much away,
pleaded for all desire
yet the demand remains
as insatiable as it was from the start
i am unable to
hinder my need
incapable of
my thirst
to
simply
be
yet capable of pulling together
some tattered threads
to cloak the passion that seeps
from my interior
oh, i am as i will always be
to allow another
silly rendezvous
with the hungry look in their eyes
and the fingers that dance all over the core
it is all an unfortunate plea
to understand the beast
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[31 Jul 2009|09:53pm] |
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thrown away
like the letters of former suitors
i kept you for years
when your tongue still tasted so sweet
oh, bitter tongue
i fled
for the safety of another seven day cycle
curled next to a paperback
there's nothing to be found here
but a creaking door
whose melody
may be better than the screeching voice
of my latest enemy
but it's never enough
for i continue to collect these memories
when i sneer at those who try too damn hard
then crawl in next to them in
their childhood beds
i am a fraud
truly
it's all just dreams of dirty streets
sleeping in these dirty sheets
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[31 Jul 2009|09:45pm] |
And it's so great to
read
headlines
and smile
(when life is found)
but a thousand words
follow
to be thrown away that same day
to make me dream of distance
and yet remain --
there's no sunshine to be found in this
state
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[31 Jul 2009|09:41pm] |
| [ |
music |
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colorado by grizzly bear |
] |
and i felt it
near my legs
forever clinging to my ankles
the desperate attempts
of my sex
i hear the sound
the sound
of the crying
child
(such a nauseating tone)
when she bleeds near my feet
and then it's done
forever clinging to my ankles
i waited for months
for this
i waited for years
for this
and now i wait for another moment to come
cripple me once more
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[10 Jul 2009|12:00am] |
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The feeling inside
Is like bones
Creaking in a dark room
Oblivious owner
Temper’s too much
The dream’s lost
And I long for feeling
To come to fingers
So numb
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[08 Jul 2009|07:27pm] |
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music |
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neutral milk hotel |
] |
"And it's so sad to see the world agree
That they'd rather see their faces fill with flies
All when I'd want to keep white roses in their eyes"
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| theearlybirdcatchestheworm |
[07 Jul 2009|01:26am] |
| [ |
music |
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brian jonestown massacre |
] |
i kept telling him just like it was when we'd
swap spit and scream
cuckoo cuckoo
the clock ticks and ticks and
ticks me the fuck off
fuck off
"sorry," she says
well as if it weren't enough with the dagger in my back
words can be stumbled
and mumbled
and in need of excess ears
but i'd rather tear mine out into the ocean
and feel other sensations
no more bull
just sight
the wisest men couldnt know
how to tear apart the pieces of
this small vessel
they had already caged the bird for years
for she sang a pretty song
and the
attractionandtheattractionandtheattraction
was felt
on such a thursday
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[04 Jul 2009|09:08pm] |
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Come prophets
Tip toe down the same roads at which we once
Scoffed
For critics can type away for days
Yet remain restless
It’s that feeling
The ineffable sort
That creeps past your toes
And invades the garrets
Of your small vessel
So that you may float
Once more
Remember that curiosity
That a little girl knows best
Cling to it, still
To never escape the boundless
To never know of limit
To never listen to “no no no’s”
Instead, let us bring back that which we lost long ago
That which is at its best
When the youth closes their eyes
And feels the cadence of the world
Rocking them to sleep
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[07 Jun 2009|01:17am] |
| [ |
music |
| |
animalscollectingorsomethinglikethatharharhar |
] |
chaotic tongue
spits out
the coming age:
girlie sings the h-town blues
cage me in a box
crumple my thoughts
i taste of iron
and ill-timed wit
i dream of deceit
for it always stays in the bedroom
with my wandering eye
bouncing left to right
indecisionindecision
incisionincisionintherightcorner
of my head
who's to blame?
i'm to blame!
for tango dancing in his shoes last night
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[05 Jun 2009|12:54am] |
oh i sail the seas of menacing intent
and a lark once sang in the fog for me
not anymore
i remember a girl who penned some verses for love
until the blues hit her tongue
then she just danced into the red room
inconsistencies with fact and fiction abound
i crafted the lines so carefully then
yet could not afford the truth
a costly endeavor for such a youth
so i sail these seas of menacing intent
biting my lower lip so as to not emit
a painful phrase
of cowardice
and i stink of rum and cigarettes,
or so i'm told
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[05 Jun 2009|12:22am] |
a simple message found next to my bed:
"you'll do better in the morning"
but with countless mornings to spare
and nights without sleep
what greatness is to be found in the a.m.?
-a time so foreign to me, it makes me physically ill
i hang my head in shame
barely daring to step outside
it's a mockery of existence
an equation i cannot finish
and if it were just about infinite possibilities
then how does one pinpoint necessity?
...you'll do better in the morning
maybe i'll hush my neurotic tendency
maybe i'll dream a different dream
a simplistic approach to success
or maybe just another sorry attempt for order
i can continue
walking the path of self loathing
melting under the florida sun
but let me sleep instead
quiet my restless mouth
and pause thousands of ideas clashing for attention
i'll dream of distance
and when i wake
i
will
create
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[05 Jun 2009|12:20am] |
ugh excuse the poetry from this summer
it's a sorry attempt
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[05 Jun 2009|12:06am] |
| [ |
music |
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my morning jacket |
] |
let us sit, swap spit, and dream of copper wires
we will craft
a perfect machine
built for roaming continents
and braving all storms
and when we reach the arctic
i will learn to construct
a face which smiles on command
to wear carefully
in
the
summer
months
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[26 May 2009|07:07pm] |
| [ |
music |
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my morning jacket |
] |
as soon as i spit
out regret
it gathers together
and runs toward the storm
raining down memories
of every summer spent indoors
while i lay in bed and
wish to take these two feet
north
dancing all the way
maybe after
a shot
or two
i'll go dancing along with the tramps
thumbing it
till i find
the essence
of
the
all
or
maybe
i'll just pass out again.
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