And when the yawn comes out
in a stutter of breaths
no cars are sounding
The dizzying prescriptionDoctors may solve
anything under fifteen minutes
But their givenings
will hook the patient for the next year.
Walking hiveAfter three hours
of a frozen wait outside any door
you feel your veins skittering
through the tunnels of your bones.
DelugesPeople run towards roofs
but where do buildings run towards to?
where does the sea flee?
Where does the celestial above move
to avoid all that uncomfortable water?
red branded fingers for lazy handsA miracle!
Two days in bed
claiming the world
the sight the everything
was a liquidity
that made it impossible to live
much less stand up and go to the bathroom
at the very least
And now she wants to go to church
yet can not go through
can not buy
Praise the motherhood
-and the convenience of single offspring-
Beds unformedDo not gaze into the sleep
of the pungent bedroom
as you wonder
what is the number for
the nearest doctor.
SurrealismThe fool gazes at the languages
of the billboard
still wonders what is the flat surface for
Arms are lazy, imbibing soap operas
of people who all want to be
not for babies
who stare stupidly
at the machine´s voice
until they declare
-with a cry for the house´s
that technology is
too much for them
-but not forsaking the weekly bread
for a selfie stick-
hold me close and open me (open close, open close)here is a haiku to set the mood:
i view you with eyes
of telescopes. you see me
through a blind man's eyes.
i am as depressed as my
tongue. an examination
of my uvula lets doctors
tell me what's wrong
your orthodontist told me
to close my eyes
& open my mouth
your optometrist told me
to close my mouth
& open my eyes
you told me
to close my heart
& open my legs,
but i just closed the window
of your Facebook, a window
& opened a door
The Stars, The Moon, and YouI opened my hand,
And out flew out a little bird
She tweeted about the stars
She tweeted about the moon
And she tweeted about you
I laughed as you fumbled with my hand
You thought it was magic
I kissed you goodnight
And I watched the stars, the moon, and you
It seemed so peaceful
Till the world went black
I felt defenseless as they stole you from my heart
You cried, you laughed
I wanted to run
But something held me down
So now I just watch the stars and the moon
And hope that one day,
I’ll wake to you next to me
That little bird never stopped tweeting for you
And I sang along
She stopped one day and stared at the sky
Her wings became mine and I flew
I followed your heartbeat
Across the ocean
I saw the stars, the moon,
And eventually you
To my surprise, you had grown so much
I thought I was only a memory
But then you laughed
And I cried
And we went back to watching the stars and the moon
And I watched you.
That bird f
Plaidanother night with plaid
trickling down my arm -
it spreads without me feeling it.
another night waiting
for the squares between the cuts
to get smaller and smaller
and eventually vanish
so my body is nothing but negative space
and I'll finally disappear.
another night with plaid,
with stripes and spots and streaks -
another night painting over the
Oh art thief, oh art thiefOh art thief, oh art thief
How you’ve brought us all to grief.
How can you be unashamed?
When you stole from people unnamed
How you think about your own fame
Just like others like you playing that game
How you feed off us
How you live on others success
How can you sleep at nights,
Knowing you infringed other’s rights?
How can you enjoy this fame,
Knowing it rightfully belongs to another name?
Do we also carry the blame
That we blindly follow someone’s claim?
To the people that believe everything humans say
To you I say good day
We must always question what we are told
Or we can start to be controlled
By vicious lies and such
To me that is just too much
A is for Analytical, C is for crazy.Fluid candelight hollows the bruises under his eyes,
carves his face into shadows and highlights.
He sits, steady and quiet, and listens.
They whisper and laugh and sigh,
chatter like mockingbirds.
(He believes it's all code. They whisper his secrets and laugh at him.
They mock him, those mockingbirds.
His head says he's too smart to fall for friendship.)
No one's quite sure why he wont trust,
a wire loose in his brain, they say.
A thinker, she is, with faded phrases and calculations.
She is wrapped around a train of thought
that twists and mutilates until it is no longer recognizable.
Recreation of her thoughts are futile,
she cannot explain the clockwork of her brain.
(She measures the tapping of their foot, the glance of their eyes.
They spill and spit their words,
and she knows they calculate the way they will cut.)
She is awkward, pauses before she speaks,
has to sort through her train wreck of thoughts, they say.
Blurring the line of personality and silence,
the passage of 'you'when i step alone
into my shower,
it's you when
i hear the folsom prison blues
and when i drink bitter coffee-
it isn't you
when i sleep in white sheets
and patterned pillows,
a hand in mine
and soft cyrillic letters
to wake me.
it's you in my closet
hidden somewhere in the depths,
it's you in my short hair,
it's you in the photos of ireland
taken by my friends-
but it's not you
when these lips grace my ears
with words softer than you
when these lips grace my face
in softer ways than you
when these lips grace my heart
in softer ways than you
had hardened it.
i am trying to be
a better person
and he is helping me
Being Pretty Won't Save You"Being pretty won't save you,"
she says as if she knows exactly
what I'm thinking
As I look into her ebony eyes
deeper than the universe, her face
dotted with freckles like stars in the night sky,
the lines on her wrists counting days where
it was just that hard to hold on,
she opens her mouth once more and repeats,
"Being pretty won't save you
and neither will being smart or being
talented or being rich of having a
better personality or a better dream."
"Because with each imperfection you
erase, another one will come into
clearer view until you've erased them all
and suddenly you'll look at yourself
and wonder who it is that's
looking back at you in the mirror,
and you won't have a clue."
World of floods.
Driving on the curb cured of swamplands and horizontals
my atmosphere dear takes wholesome bites of water
outed are the undersides of bridge smudged chasms
birdy hellcalls and undone song
he knows only fire pursues the winged
torn letters three years gone of the antediluvian
disintegrated into charm and clarity and the promise
of a moment in time that springs everlastingly
will be flooded
and the pulmonary one ways dripping varied shades of moving cars
in fresh killed greys keeping time with the hacks of self against love
while our hands are crossed in universes pleading
with the dying that cannot slow down but winds and winds around
the pulsed city of language tying the sacred grammar to plurals
another and another
until they grow into the flicking tongue that time will harness
to toss rogue prophets into the pockets of New Jersey
where in being shelved we meet among starships
will be flooded
and the candles that when burning exhale signatures into the air