January 2011
36 posts
“It is dreadful when something weighs on your mind, not to have a soul to...”
– Frédéric Chopin
“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”
– Plato (via kapi)
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I'm listed in Tumblweeds under writing, poetry
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mountain goat
To climb the sides of the hill I stole my grandfather’s boots.
They hold a grip like sentencing death to earth.
Holding down my weight so perfectly on the edges
that it would be impossible to tip over and fall.
But at any point one can slide all the way down
ruining the rows of seeds planted minutes before.
Constant movement is the key to keeping
a careful stance on nimble feet.
The...
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we eat what we grow
turn the shirt inside out
grab vines with bare hands
test the legumes
take them and ignore the worms
defense mechanism;
all you get are
sticky hands
and itchy
arms
take out the pigeons
shake off the shirt
put it on regardless,
regardless of the itching
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soup
five drops minimum
for the feeling to hit
the back of my head
time halted,
lovestruck
with the top of the sky
looking for elevation
exalted and hopeless
feet never
leave the
ground
but suddenly
it sort of took my soul
out of my body
and slammed it
against a wall
not usually
what is expected
from
an out of body
experience
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eargasmic
toe tapping
restless infatuation
“hey, you’ve got to
hide your love away”
hip grooving
gratuitous noise
filling the cracks
all the way
“and I’ll send
all my loving to you”
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a confusion
i remain sort of
waiting
in the 80’s mood,
lost in the music
that most people
my age were
conceived to.
talking about
futures
and whispers,
thinking of the
meanings
in the
chords,
hidden.
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sin zapatos
Me dices
lo que ya
me dijeron.
Mi abuela
tiene una vida
de palabras
que cocina en
tres piedras
y tantas bocas
como las que
comen de la olla.
Decir cualquier
cosa, sin haber
escuchado
todas las
mismas cosas,
es como
caminar en el rio
con zapatos.
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harsh words for the found
-yesterday is as today will be as tomorrow-
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Vitamins
Don’t get me wrong
I am all for
saving my
soul, but
fuck that.
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Frederic left me here.
Surely you’ve realized,
Chopin is more than
a late night run
through dark alleys.
It becomes a compromise
to wake up
every single morning
of your life
with a spring.
Relatively speaking,
flowers blooming on
your knitted socks,
and the frenzied
mating of bluebirds.
Regardless of dark
blood-drenched thoughts
traversing the room
it shall feel like
a sun lives there.
...
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doleful doormat
The agonized sound of keyboard strokes
when the moon is full and glazed
and eyes are weary.
Bemoaning the arid sleeplessness
on a night that lay still
as death.
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Dreadful
daisies on dormice
despite directions,
dull and dead,
daisies on dormice.
a
dreary
descent
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too much fluoride
there are no more
reasons or distractions
no understanding
or logical strings of words
all the excuses you gave
for brushing your teeth
ten times a day
become useless
let them see
the holes you’ve
carved into your soul
the mirror was always
cruel, as you counted
brush-strokes
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face it
waking up on the chessboard;
pawns aligned,
strategies hidden from view,
and you seem
discordant,
red
in a war
black against white.
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maybe i'm amazed
a fallen sparrow
cries for death
beneath the falling stars
with broken wings
and moonlight dimmed
a song of despair
sorrowful and longing
a cold embrace
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It took too long
when they said it was important
for fluent thought
to fill the page,
each column lined
with the fluctuation
of your brain’s contents,
i was not
paying attention.
which is the reason
that i will try again,
in hopes of an A+
for dedication to the study
of failure
and human
struggles.
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i'm here to depress you.
Even after accepting
the notion
that;
“we are born alone,
and die alone”
it is hard to tell
the bottles to stop
emptying.
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Artistic manifesto
I. if you
succeed
at struggling properly,
you can
appear
human
II. catastrophes
are your best friends,
even if they are not real.
III. no word is good enough
when your poem is
thirteen words long
IV. make good use of
time
and waste all of your
money
V. Fuck.
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so particular
A sense of satisfaction
courses as the seconds
slip into a coma.
What a hard habit to break;
to let the hours pass
without concern.
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singing out of tune
there you go
there you go
breaking away
once again
once again
you left my side
what am I to do
with a broken heart
and a burning bed.
you have taken
the splinters of my doors
you have torn up
the flowers and the floor
why do I even care
if I’ve always said
“no man is there”
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berry iced heart
Forgive me for freezing over
like a cat in an icebox,
but we all tend to lose.
Be it heat or the lottery.
Water collects around
my glass of whiskey.
One cube melting slowly.
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we are after the same rainbows
..and if they dare to fade away
i swear to find them, and gut them
for lack of sun and lack of rain.
Make the world again
with their entrails in my hands
held steadfast, chanting dread.
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I will be 21 in an hour.
This year I feel I have gained and lost a bit more than in other years.
Hopefully the roads I take will send me through even more lovely places, and I will meet great people.
I really don’t know why I am writing this. Usually I don’t care much for birthdays.
But, it seems special somehow. At least to everyone else.
With these words I hope to be...
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A note.
Hey guys, I noticed that I shouldn’t try to narrate any sort of thing, and that it is better if I stick to what I do best. Nonsense and word play. All of those great feeling words tied together to form the emotions is easier for me that actually telling some sort of story, or exposing a thought so carelessly.
I look forward to delving into this again.
Eventually I will take up narration,...
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miniature intentions
frequenting the same thought;
“no grass under the bed”
-turn over in your sleep,
count white sheep-
the little girl woke up again,
sewed her toes to the sheets.
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try again
good grief
the fuckers have all run out of insults
tried their best
to kill the mood
to ruin the gargantuan movement
composed of two cats on a steel drum
useless
i’ve lost
control of
my thoughts.
by trying to control them.
one year ago i was right at the tip of my tongue.
now look where i’ve fallen
right on the van
driving
to the
sun.
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realization
the humanity is suffocating-
causing more strife
between the owl population
and the dogs.
a scent of normality
that seems to kill
the caterpillar armies
and scare away the dark.
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In desperate need of isolation.
too many stimuli,
too many thoughts,
not focusing.
In need of a box.
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