Permeating
Grooves weave languid stories.
Shutters, unwounded,
wound, divulge, resuscitate.
System shuts down pale expanse,
basking in the scream
of transparent suspicions.
I save ants, seduce
razors pocketing human haul,
emerging to elevate wild salvation,
slicing open staring-wide eyes
leading to unity,
discord, harmony once more.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Anti-Advice in Rhyme
Anti-Advice in Rhyme
I cut my jeans to the knee,
just like you callously cut me.
I don’t know what I expected,
coming to you looking for advice
and ending up rejected.
Your words were unnecessarily harsh,
leaving scars on myalready wounded heart.
Now I cannot be the same,
I am so doubtful,
with only you to blame.
I feel like we’re two different keys,
miles from each other
on the keyboard,
but when he touches me,
I know you’re wrong.
I cut my jeans to the knee,
just like you callously cut me.
I don’t know what I expected,
coming to you looking for advice
and ending up rejected.
Your words were unnecessarily harsh,
leaving scars on myalready wounded heart.
Now I cannot be the same,
I am so doubtful,
with only you to blame.
I feel like we’re two different keys,
miles from each other
on the keyboard,
but when he touches me,
I know you’re wrong.
Awkward Pieces, Drawn Together
Awkward Pieces, Drawn Together
I haven’t written poetry since I met you.
That should have been a warning, I guess.
When my words stopped flowing,
rising only sluggishly to the surface
or needing to be forcibly fished
from the well of mind, instead.
It’s true the Earth moves when
we come together
(no pun intended)
but awkward, me, around you,
tiptoeing on eggshells,
trying my hardest not to scare you away.
It feels like I’d spill my heart to any one,
these days, all those things I could never say
to you, and you would never push me to.
Maybe I am settling,
maybe you are a dog like all the other men,
but if that’s true,
please let me remain ignorant
for even just a moment more.
I haven’t written poetry since I met you.
That should have been a warning, I guess.
When my words stopped flowing,
rising only sluggishly to the surface
or needing to be forcibly fished
from the well of mind, instead.
It’s true the Earth moves when
we come together
(no pun intended)
but awkward, me, around you,
tiptoeing on eggshells,
trying my hardest not to scare you away.
It feels like I’d spill my heart to any one,
these days, all those things I could never say
to you, and you would never push me to.
Maybe I am settling,
maybe you are a dog like all the other men,
but if that’s true,
please let me remain ignorant
for even just a moment more.
Early Winter
Early Winter
I understand why most suicides happen,
this time of the year.
I take to my bed for long stretches of time,
hibernating like a polar bear,
waking only for food
or the sound of rain bouncing
off the roof outside my open window.
I watch my bangs grow,
through clenched tight eyelids,
or immerse myself in historical fiction,
trading reality for corseted, flirty women,
and grand medieval royal courts.
I’ve chewed the red off my fingernails,
reflecting my mental state over you.
Lightning flashes outside
but I am “safe” underneath fluorescent lights,
watching my life pass me by,
pass me by.
I understand why most suicides happen,
this time of the year.
I take to my bed for long stretches of time,
hibernating like a polar bear,
waking only for food
or the sound of rain bouncing
off the roof outside my open window.
I watch my bangs grow,
through clenched tight eyelids,
or immerse myself in historical fiction,
trading reality for corseted, flirty women,
and grand medieval royal courts.
I’ve chewed the red off my fingernails,
reflecting my mental state over you.
Lightning flashes outside
but I am “safe” underneath fluorescent lights,
watching my life pass me by,
pass me by.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Your Touch
Your Touch
You leave me dizzy,
reeling, almost nauseous,
from first kiss to first touch,
first fuck,
first doubt.
All men are dogs,
but when you’re holding my hand,
surreptitiously,
through our folded arms
on wooden tabletops,
I can’t believe it.
My poor nerves are on edge,
innocence gone,
reeling in the aftermath
of everything the world is saying.
I’m almost afraid to define us,
you, spilling secrets in the garage,
I, shocked and drunk,
wandering from your arms to his
and back.
Why should I strain
when everything around us
seems so hard-pressed
to keep us down?
You leave me dizzy,
reeling, almost nauseous,
from first kiss to first touch,
first fuck,
first doubt.
All men are dogs,
but when you’re holding my hand,
surreptitiously,
through our folded arms
on wooden tabletops,
I can’t believe it.
My poor nerves are on edge,
innocence gone,
reeling in the aftermath
of everything the world is saying.
I’m almost afraid to define us,
you, spilling secrets in the garage,
I, shocked and drunk,
wandering from your arms to his
and back.
Why should I strain
when everything around us
seems so hard-pressed
to keep us down?
Monday, February 18, 2008
How Hollywood Failed
How Hollywood Failed
Nothing stays whole. Everything splinters
into shards, fragments of ‘used to be’,
‘never was’, or ‘might have been’.
We work hard for simplicity.
Once gained, it seems meaningless,
as do our lives. And each part of the world falls off,
or so it seems to the untrained eye,
that disbeliever at Pompeii
claiming no harm, no foul,
even when magma turns his feet to stone.
Are we doomed to repeat history
or is history doomed to repeat us?
What if Columbus, deterred by erroneous minds,
had conceded that he was wrong,
the earth was indeed flat,
allowing himself to be locked away while
his boats turned to moldy remnants, his
sailors disappearing over the edge of the world.
Do lost souls find their way back eventually,
or do they wander alone forever?
I’m not sure of the answer, just like
I’m not sure whether Pluto is aware
of the fact that it is no longer a planet.
Do planets have conscious minds like human beings?
When the time comes, I will gladly jump
from the highest precipice with you,
no questions asked. It will be refreshing
to not exist for once, to n’existe pas with you
where wars are only things we read about in history books
or reenact with toy swords in our backyards.
Where calendar dates dissolve,
like flesh decayed, leaving nothing but bone,
we will ‘not exist’ with fingers crossed and eyes wide shut.
“Fractions fit together never form the whole”,
therefore, whole is but a lie.
Parts long to touch but never align just right.
Every morning, we’ve fewer eyelashes, hair,
fingernails, thoughts. Are we nothing but imperfections?
Entropy seems so vast, yet
it cannot exist without loss of the whole –
which, in its nonexistence,
cancels out the universe.
I was lost once. But no longer.
A verbless noun can still stand on its own.
The girl born four-fingered cannot knit,
she lacks opposable thumbs and therefore
cannot declare a thumb war. I win by default.
We will live like kings when society lies in ruins.
We will fashion houses out of twigs,
and rejoice, even when our hair grows grey,
even if we set our souls afire
just to watch them burn.
And each part of the whole will fall,
like leaves in Autumn,
the sun rays in your eyes.
The world will revolve around your lips
and I will write you love sonnets.
Where there is no ink, I will use blood.
I shall be the new Shakespeare.
Our lives will join together,
like a bruise progressing backwards,
like your sweater unraveling into spools of thread.
What of when we will exist purely in soul?
When the moon ceases to reflect sunlight,
when our parachutes refuse to unfurl so
we plummet.
I’m ill-equipped for skydiving,
less so for rejection.
You hand me my words,
we’ll toast incongruity
like we’re defining wicked.
Ten feet under salt and sea,
yet still I attempt breathing as your fingers unlace
me, I’m a flower in bloom.
We’re no love out of convenience,
even if we are, forgive me, but
I’d rather cling to my vain, tortured semblance of romance.
I’d not give it up for my weight in gold.
I’d rather be useless and beautiful,
like a plastic fruit display in the heart of the Sahara,
then admit my whole existence exists purely in my own imagination.
I will savor our game of pretend,
played out amongst this meaningless war,
this corrupt society which we are forced to inhabit
until our veins cease to function,
hearts slowing their rhythmic pump.
I hope my pale visage is the last thing you ever see.
Nothing stays whole. Everything splinters
into shards, fragments of ‘used to be’,
‘never was’, or ‘might have been’.
We work hard for simplicity.
Once gained, it seems meaningless,
as do our lives. And each part of the world falls off,
or so it seems to the untrained eye,
that disbeliever at Pompeii
claiming no harm, no foul,
even when magma turns his feet to stone.
Are we doomed to repeat history
or is history doomed to repeat us?
What if Columbus, deterred by erroneous minds,
had conceded that he was wrong,
the earth was indeed flat,
allowing himself to be locked away while
his boats turned to moldy remnants, his
sailors disappearing over the edge of the world.
Do lost souls find their way back eventually,
or do they wander alone forever?
I’m not sure of the answer, just like
I’m not sure whether Pluto is aware
of the fact that it is no longer a planet.
Do planets have conscious minds like human beings?
When the time comes, I will gladly jump
from the highest precipice with you,
no questions asked. It will be refreshing
to not exist for once, to n’existe pas with you
where wars are only things we read about in history books
or reenact with toy swords in our backyards.
Where calendar dates dissolve,
like flesh decayed, leaving nothing but bone,
we will ‘not exist’ with fingers crossed and eyes wide shut.
“Fractions fit together never form the whole”,
therefore, whole is but a lie.
Parts long to touch but never align just right.
Every morning, we’ve fewer eyelashes, hair,
fingernails, thoughts. Are we nothing but imperfections?
Entropy seems so vast, yet
it cannot exist without loss of the whole –
which, in its nonexistence,
cancels out the universe.
I was lost once. But no longer.
A verbless noun can still stand on its own.
The girl born four-fingered cannot knit,
she lacks opposable thumbs and therefore
cannot declare a thumb war. I win by default.
We will live like kings when society lies in ruins.
We will fashion houses out of twigs,
and rejoice, even when our hair grows grey,
even if we set our souls afire
just to watch them burn.
And each part of the whole will fall,
like leaves in Autumn,
the sun rays in your eyes.
The world will revolve around your lips
and I will write you love sonnets.
Where there is no ink, I will use blood.
I shall be the new Shakespeare.
Our lives will join together,
like a bruise progressing backwards,
like your sweater unraveling into spools of thread.
What of when we will exist purely in soul?
When the moon ceases to reflect sunlight,
when our parachutes refuse to unfurl so
we plummet.
I’m ill-equipped for skydiving,
less so for rejection.
You hand me my words,
we’ll toast incongruity
like we’re defining wicked.
Ten feet under salt and sea,
yet still I attempt breathing as your fingers unlace
me, I’m a flower in bloom.
We’re no love out of convenience,
even if we are, forgive me, but
I’d rather cling to my vain, tortured semblance of romance.
I’d not give it up for my weight in gold.
I’d rather be useless and beautiful,
like a plastic fruit display in the heart of the Sahara,
then admit my whole existence exists purely in my own imagination.
I will savor our game of pretend,
played out amongst this meaningless war,
this corrupt society which we are forced to inhabit
until our veins cease to function,
hearts slowing their rhythmic pump.
I hope my pale visage is the last thing you ever see.
The Sun, A Cyclops
The Sun, A Cyclops
Six AM is not too early for
rabid laughter. Shadowy forms
merge on the doorstep,
we strip off our fishnets in the kitchen
over bowls of plastic lemons.
Later, we’ll crowd, shoulder to shoulder,
into this very room, rehearsing steps,
but for now we spin on candy apple stools,
knees cracking together in the cold.
Night fades into sunrise, striking
my tight-shut eyelids as I attempt to hide
inside faux fur and leather.
Her voice rouses us from sleep every time,
knives to our eardrums,
until we issue an ultimatum
that finally evicts them from our slumber.
Six AM is not too early for
rabid laughter. Shadowy forms
merge on the doorstep,
we strip off our fishnets in the kitchen
over bowls of plastic lemons.
Later, we’ll crowd, shoulder to shoulder,
into this very room, rehearsing steps,
but for now we spin on candy apple stools,
knees cracking together in the cold.
Night fades into sunrise, striking
my tight-shut eyelids as I attempt to hide
inside faux fur and leather.
Her voice rouses us from sleep every time,
knives to our eardrums,
until we issue an ultimatum
that finally evicts them from our slumber.
Carbon Copy
Carbon Copy
Something snaps,
sinking lovers back into reality,
every sigh another city show.
In the urban darkness,
photos become mirrors,
gilt edges shining for no one.
Discarded valentines overflow
from every crevice in the skyline,
she doesn’t understand holidays or herself.
The rabbit jumps back into the hat,
the garish light invades the void
and on every street corner,
couples quarrel into bed.
Something snaps,
sinking lovers back into reality,
every sigh another city show.
In the urban darkness,
photos become mirrors,
gilt edges shining for no one.
Discarded valentines overflow
from every crevice in the skyline,
she doesn’t understand holidays or herself.
The rabbit jumps back into the hat,
the garish light invades the void
and on every street corner,
couples quarrel into bed.
Mistaking Tornadoes for Tomatoes
Mistaking Tornadoes for Tomatoes
Exchange languished sighs for
fumbling hands, pale as doves
just released from the dovecote,
feathers of silk.
She’s so young, tread carefully.
No longer do we enforce the wear
of red A’s on maidenly breasts,
but eyes can still wound
just as much as verbal accusations.
So she falls prey to the sharks,
naive but not quite innocent,
eyes wide and mind empty.
You had such promise,
but it all breaks into shards
within your hands.
Exchange languished sighs for
fumbling hands, pale as doves
just released from the dovecote,
feathers of silk.
She’s so young, tread carefully.
No longer do we enforce the wear
of red A’s on maidenly breasts,
but eyes can still wound
just as much as verbal accusations.
So she falls prey to the sharks,
naive but not quite innocent,
eyes wide and mind empty.
You had such promise,
but it all breaks into shards
within your hands.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Only You
Only You
I’m too far gone to breathe you in,
hands too weak to untie this noose.
With broken jaws and blistered lips
we bleed through the teeth,
eyes locked on the cracks in the sidewalk.
We wrote each other’s epitaphs,
rotten words form rotting corpses,
shin bones prematurely decayed
into dust.
The pecan tree I planted
above your still-warm flesh,
produces fruit that only tastes of you.
I’m too far gone to breathe you in,
hands too weak to untie this noose.
With broken jaws and blistered lips
we bleed through the teeth,
eyes locked on the cracks in the sidewalk.
We wrote each other’s epitaphs,
rotten words form rotting corpses,
shin bones prematurely decayed
into dust.
The pecan tree I planted
above your still-warm flesh,
produces fruit that only tastes of you.
Bruised
Bruised
A finger pressed hard
against a bruise as fresh
as yesterday’s bread,
lips form an O,
eyes reeling fast
find ceiling cracks.
Concentrate on anything else.
Not on teeth, not on hips
or the trailing of lips across
that shadowy place
above your eyelid’s crease.
Even eyelashes can stretch
upwards, to meet moving flesh,
towards reawakened desire.
Pulse beats faster, faster,
no knowing if this moment is the last
or if every second fades
into another shade of gray,
another broken vow, toes curling,
fingers scrabbling.
Hands find mountain ranges,
peaks and valleys as strange as
entirely new worlds hidden
among scraps of deceptive clothing.
The clock ticks from the wall,
reminders that this will all
fall apart, eventually,
when it strikes twelve.
A finger pressed hard
against a bruise as fresh
as yesterday’s bread,
lips form an O,
eyes reeling fast
find ceiling cracks.
Concentrate on anything else.
Not on teeth, not on hips
or the trailing of lips across
that shadowy place
above your eyelid’s crease.
Even eyelashes can stretch
upwards, to meet moving flesh,
towards reawakened desire.
Pulse beats faster, faster,
no knowing if this moment is the last
or if every second fades
into another shade of gray,
another broken vow, toes curling,
fingers scrabbling.
Hands find mountain ranges,
peaks and valleys as strange as
entirely new worlds hidden
among scraps of deceptive clothing.
The clock ticks from the wall,
reminders that this will all
fall apart, eventually,
when it strikes twelve.
Crash
Crash
Dashboard meets
shin bone, patella
smashed hard
into glove compartment handle,
thigh cracks
under pressure.
Pelvis clings to leather,
joints snapping back
into place,
ribs find resistance
causing whiplash,
neck straining
to retain
normalcy.
Eyes wide,
mouth opens in
silent scream.
Windshield shatters,
metal buckling,
spinning,
straight into
darkness.
Dashboard meets
shin bone, patella
smashed hard
into glove compartment handle,
thigh cracks
under pressure.
Pelvis clings to leather,
joints snapping back
into place,
ribs find resistance
causing whiplash,
neck straining
to retain
normalcy.
Eyes wide,
mouth opens in
silent scream.
Windshield shatters,
metal buckling,
spinning,
straight into
darkness.
Gravitron
Gravitron
The floor drops out,
disappears,
like Josh’s dad on Sunday nights,
like the football we left in the street
that one day when the pool’s
seductive, chlorinated waters beckoned.
Anything you drop gets sucked out
into another dimension,
so if you lose a shoe,
that’s it, it’s gone forever.
You have to hold onto the bar
really tight,
or you’ll go flying out into space, too.
“It’s true! I saw it happen, I swear!”
That isn’t funny, let’s
throw rocks at the lamppost
instead of going, okay?
The floor drops out,
disappears,
like Josh’s dad on Sunday nights,
like the football we left in the street
that one day when the pool’s
seductive, chlorinated waters beckoned.
Anything you drop gets sucked out
into another dimension,
so if you lose a shoe,
that’s it, it’s gone forever.
You have to hold onto the bar
really tight,
or you’ll go flying out into space, too.
“It’s true! I saw it happen, I swear!”
That isn’t funny, let’s
throw rocks at the lamppost
instead of going, okay?
Gangrene
Gangrene
A human being spends,
on average,
up to two whole weeks of their life
kissing other human beings.
You were only eighteen
when you died.
Where did your number fall?
Flames leave marks on flesh
like lips, like teeth do,
metal bites down harder
but we’re all left scarred.
I saw the car that held you
crushed,
like a soda can,
its embrace too forceful –
people perish this way daily.
No one dies from kissing.
A human being spends,
on average,
up to two whole weeks of their life
kissing other human beings.
You were only eighteen
when you died.
Where did your number fall?
Flames leave marks on flesh
like lips, like teeth do,
metal bites down harder
but we’re all left scarred.
I saw the car that held you
crushed,
like a soda can,
its embrace too forceful –
people perish this way daily.
No one dies from kissing.
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