All ready to
But you can never reach the
Your soul is
You are an
Chained to the
tie-dyed shoes and pink cigarettes.let's go to a kite store
because i don't know what the fuck a real date is
and i'll put the top down on my car
and you can sit beside me
holding the string
while our kite flies in the air above fields and dirt roads
that smell like nosebleeds
rose-gold clouds and a waning sun reflect in your aviator lenses
and jim morrison will sing to us
from lungs buried and decomposed in paris
my tongue will feel the weight of oceans
beneath the three words i'm so cliché-ly dying to say
but i'll say your hair looks nice instead
and imagine how it'd feel pressed against
the words stuck in my throat.
there's broken flowers in my grandmother's bible.and i'm going to college just to drop out
i'm inviting you to come to california with me
and we'll make snowmen out of sand
when the desert there runs into arizona
i'll take the camera i just bought
and try to make a movie
that i'll dedicate to you
i know people don't dedicate films
but i promise i'll dedicate my first one to you
even if you don't love me then
but i'm not scared that you'll stop loving me
i'm just scared you'll give up
and find someone else while you still love me.
we won't be famous by fame and magazines
but some other dreamer is going to write our names
on a napkin that gets dropped on the sidewalk
we'll wear clothes our parents were wearing in '87
and have art tattoos on our arms and dead soldiers' names on our legs
people on the bus will see us holding hands and sleeping on each other's shoulders
and wish they could be us for a day
because no one wants our lives for all their life
any necklace i give you will turn your skin green
but it won't be permanent and i'll
where do flowers go when they die?there are craters in my skin
that don't exist beneath my fingertips
but I see them clearly when i look closely in the mirror
trying to find some light left in my eyes.
and in polariod photograps
if the lens was close enough
i can the corners of my mouth where laugh lines are supposed to be
and there's only indications of age i'm too young
to have lived.
you left your roses in my throat.i'm convinced there was a god
at least once
not because of some neck-tied preacher
or pamphlets left on my doorstep
but because there was poetry written in the lines of your lips
and, though you were so many things,
a poet wasn't one, love
so if you didn't write those words
then who did?
i wanted to,
but it wasn't me
i don't think you would have let me anyway
you never liked my poetry very much
because it was sad
and sad reminded you of your mother
and that made you sad
so we'd be sad together
and you didn't think that was a good basis for a relationship
but we weren't a relationship
we were just two ghosts
trying to haunt each other
and that never works out.
breathe, love.i sat on your bed
and used your watercolors to paint
a cemetery in my journal.
i painted the grass the same beautiful green i always wanted
your eyes to be
and all the dirt is nice and flawless,
you can't even tell, in the picture,
that you're buried beneath the flowers.
there's a sky somewhere i can't see.i don't have laugh lines;
i have frown lines
trenches carved into my skin
by the threads that weigh my lips
the weights on the ends
have indented my collarbones;
i am, in all metaphorical sense and purposes,
a lonely canyon
dying in the sun.
can you tell i still love you?i keep a picture of you in my cigarette pack
sometimes i blow smoke against your matte face
as if it'd creep up your nostrils
or down into the depths of your ivory lungs
so you'd be dying with me
and sometimes i cut your eyes
from other pictures
and glue them in place
just to burn them out again
sometimes i just look at the picture
with an unlit cigarette resting on my lips
i used to be in the picture
but we cut it in almost-half
and took the side of each other;
i wonder where you keep me
(you used to use it as a bookmark,
is it still in that bukowski book you never finished?)
i keep your picture in my cigarette pack
and sometimes i don't smoke.
seven o'clock is looking pretty good right now.i want to take a road trip to bury all the raccoons and possums dead
on the side of the road.
i don't want to drive though,
i want to be in the passenger seat
with my feet on the dash, the tips of my boots
putting dust scratches on the plastic,
and looking through cheap sunglasses
at the sun setting beside your face
somewhere obscure in Arizona
where armadillos have died atop the gravel.
i want to read music, out loud like books,
and sing poetry.
i want to watch clouds melt against the sun
and fall down on the windshield as rain.
i want to bury all the dead things
on the other side of my skin.
And in this dark harvest of season
My life has completely lost reason,
For which or against to decide.
All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tide
In sadness and in kindness
In light and in darkness.
In a boat made of hope
I shall sail to tomorrow,
In a winding hurricane
Made of treachery and sorrow.
There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...
Piercing, slashing though my head.
Starting somewhere in heaven,
Ending somewhere in hell.
Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.
Are the armies within.
In my head they are all thrashing.
On the heaven's and hell's whim.
To be light or to be darkness.
A perpetual array.
It's not merely my choice,
But the choice of the way.
It's an option of the voice,
It's a thin line of gray.
Is it a choice forced by fate,
Is it a pre-set time and date?
Or a choice to which I myself sway?
But here's our story anyway .
"Nothing that I do will matter.
As all things will merely shatter!"
All my hopes thus darkness scatter,
As it shoves me a decree.
As it si
SapiosexualI don’t know what I’ll do
when the first fistful
of dirt hits the bottom.
Maybe I’ll follow you to the grave.
Or maybe I’ll pray
for a zombie apocalypse,
so we can dine on each
other’s brains one more time.
I think of youAs suns set afar and mountains flame
And eagles, turning, turn to fire
Ash cold, alone I lie
And think of you.
Not My Kind of Fairy TaleDon't give me the Knight
Whose armor shines so bright.
Give me the Knight,
Whose armor is dull and broken.
Whose horse is weary,
Whose heart is heavy.
Give me the Knight who looks at the dragon with pity,
For that dragon has done nothing,
And is just as imprisoned as the princess he guards.
Don't give me a princess who only wishes to be saved,
By that Knight whose armor shines so bright.
Give me the princess who wishes to escape yes,
But wants to free the dragon,
Who does not wish to marry her savior--
Nay, give me the princess who wants to explore,
Who wants to live and to learn.
For the years of imprisonment only made her yearn,
Not for the Knight whose armor shines bright,
But to see the world and live in the light.
Do not give me the evil dragon,
Whose soul purpose is to give that bright Knight something to fight.
No, give me the dragon who is weary,
Who longs for the freedom of the sky,
Whose leg is burdened with chains,
And whose heart aches for the princess he must guard,
All Hallows EveThey say that on this night the witches ride,
that spirits walk and churchyards spew their dead.
It isn’t true.
It’s said the stench of hell infects the earth
and healths of heated blood are downed.
But Hamlet lied.
The dead know nothing, the living less.
There are only poets with blood-nibbed pens;
souls hung between high heaven and deep hell.
the world is brighter where
dregs of strangers' revels remain --
i keep this half-light for my own.
i'll stay until the wind sighs a scotch-and-smoke
cliché, til the Muscadet's slipped from the lip
of my wayward
hello.(i know you're there before you do.)
your night is told in
patchouli-pulse wanders; mine,
in whorls of liqueur-breath. come
close and i'll find the warp
through the weft, the trails telling tales
in synaesthesia --
Platinum Blonde's been 'round and gone.
(-- closer, find syllables strewn
in an exhale's wake; stolen from my throat-
ful of careless farewells, spin and sway
and beg you stay.)
time enough for a kiss-
and-never-tell, for a stumbling waltz
to the dissonance of crystal-shatter odes
to the summerlong i knew you --
we were(n't) meant for more than this.
morning goes right through you,
and breathes a thousand fortunes in-
to shards of (our) stranger starfall.
We are blood and earth, not theory and chalk.I will stitch my skin together
with thread of moons and stars
to contain the joy of living
and suppress the sadness of death
blinding the nonbelievers
with beams of the cosmos
you look so good
bathed in the novas and galaxies
You can't have it allbut you can have the glazed heat bursting from the blacktop like a broken
fire hydrant. You can have the jangle of keys
swinging from your hip with each stride.
You can have the tactility of leather and the graze of
bathroom mosaic tiles under a cold shower pelting
bullets and when the water cuts off
you can have dry book pages. You can have happiness,
though it will often be bitter, like finding a stranger’s
wallet full of pictures of smiling children until you
return it to find that the couple is barren.
You can have the scratches on the back of his knuckles,
faded, yet raw. You can have the translucency of sheets
in the sun, silhouettes but no details,
never revealing anything more than a fringe of hair
and frayed laces tripping over themselves.
You can drop obscenities like bombs until
they don’t mean anything anymore. You can pull out the Monopoly board
that broke your family. You can’t put it back together,
but you can pretend the thimble is your mother and the
A Somber NightA Somber Night 1/1/07
The times we spent together weigh
heavily on my mind.
Red was your flowing dress
on our second date.
Yellow, the tulips I gave
you on our six month anniversary.
Our life before the incident is a blur.
Green was the grass we laid in
as we gazed at the brilliant stars all night.
What are you thinking now?
Are you thinking at all?
We were as one, our bodies intertwined.
Remember how we would interpret
the shining ones as our imaginations wandered?
I stayed up all night when you got sick.
When I view the stars now...
I die a little inside.
Black is the color I wear.
Blue is the feeling I am fighting.
You were the one I wanted to
drink coffee with every morning.
You left without explanation.
You left too soon.
Orange shined down on your tousled
hair at dawn - the waves remind of pain.
Yellow is the sunrise we can't share anymore.
I envision your last breath.
Anger engulfs my eyes with
The Silver stars never lie,
their light continues to shine,