I am wont To forget the pattern: That those residing in my fridge, Cooling and crisping as they do, Will only see the bright of life, As death comes closer.
Advertisements
poem
Shower and Steam
I'm letting it all rush over me, each molecule how the exasperation of the heat rubs off oh and the allowance of such a thing every complex covalent bond slipping warmly over my skin waiting for the inevitable fall and I wonder what part of them stays with me what is with what is without … Continue reading Shower and Steam
Ice
It's stretched thin, like how I imagine water feels when it is frozen too quickly; as a whole, just a cube of cold matter, slightly larger than it was, something perfect for hot, Early September in the South West, on closer inspection, this water is screaming from expansion, swollen beyond recognition by fellow molecules. but … Continue reading Ice
Apathy
It is done finished steps have been taken the signatures are signed with pens of hollow souls rolled up dollar bills and one cracked mirror two drops of blood, stretching to reach one another Adam and God sitting on a reflective Sistine Chapel fifteen minutes, sore, broken, dry, wiping away, nothing there, nothing there, nothing, … Continue reading Apathy
“where it stems from”
Not sure where it stems from you know the madness of it all and the funny thing to me the aspect morsel morpheme of thought that makes me laugh is that I begin so many streams in that way "where it stems from" as if as though as the roots of thought clutch like a … Continue reading “where it stems from”
Thinking Inkly: Looking For You, Wherever You Are
It's difficult to sit down and just write anything. there are confines, rules, set regulations that come to the tips of the fingers when one deems it time to create. It's as if something immediately wedges itself between the keyboard and the brain. And what's between the keyboard and you? I can't quite say. Infinite … Continue reading Thinking Inkly: Looking For You, Wherever You Are
“Ars Poetica” [1]
To be a poem I would have to fold myself I would first begin a bending of the arm a twisting of the wrist then, after some strain, the snapping of the ankle the spaghetti noodle of each rib pressing into a bend pressing into an arc pressing in two one piece always flies off … Continue reading “Ars Poetica” [1]
Smelling Smoke
Lost, somewhere among the crashing and burning of the forest, Far off from my apartment on Meadows but you can smell the smoke over the flowers and the clumps of long-stemmed grass. Far gone, lost to dreams and paintings, Summer burning away everything, Apollo too close to sage, an attempt to naturally pull more carbon … Continue reading Smelling Smoke
Ash (or “Shy Boy”)
I wish the words would spill out sand crashing from the oversized hourglass of my shattered mouth my teeth so many shards that I can't quite let you put your finger on; possible that it would or could pad the way from the cuts across my tongue words are sharp teeth and bits of rock, … Continue reading Ash (or “Shy Boy”)
Kiss (x4)
The kiss on my cheek, I lay quiet, pulling the heavy duvet over my crunched body becoming something more of a bean than a being: and soft and soft and soft and soft all four quickly in succession across the thin, David Bowie shape of my jaw it's impossible to tell which is what or … Continue reading Kiss (x4)
