waking upand imagine my surprisewhen my insides bloomedinto so many dandelions,and in a single breathi becamehollow.
with thanks to frost Now with a reading.two roads diverged in a soulless dawnand you pull over,idling on the shoulder of route 50.it's a polaroid morning andthe world is as grainyand sleep-heavyas your eyes,and one million milesis not far enough.it plays back, filmstrip,blurred along the length ofoptic nerves,and here you are:facing a choice betweenonandout.and this?this loosejointed, hollowbodiedweightless ache--this is whatgonefeels like.
with thanks to salingerAudio version.it's on those cold morningswhen you are nothing but indrawn breathswirling and knitted up inside too-bigskin and weightless bones--when the horizon arches up againstthe half-thawed tendrils of sunriseand smileswith golden teeth,and smiling, begs--it's on those cold morningswhen leaving is easiest.the car will be cold, and you willshiver, and the engine,much too loud,will smack of blasphemybut you will find peace in the steady rollof tarmac and the yellowing lightspilling across it,with dust motes kicked up and carriedlike fish in the undertow.when you come to that firstcrossroads, it will shock you:the way the decision hangs theretrembling and desperate--but there are no right answers and you will nothesitate. and each successive choicewill be made of its own accord,and you will roll the windows down,and draw down the scent of ear
4 Traits of a Damn Good Boyi. drivebuddy, you were a throwback. you had a lot of wolf in you,a feral soul.i hope heaven has eased the stiffness in your jointsand brushed the gray from your furand left you sleek and gorgeous,a solid pack of muscle with the kind of determinationthat can never be taught.i hope there are lizards for you to chase,doves for you to launch yourself afterand catch out of the air with a finesse that would make professionals weep.buddy, i hope someone's up there throwing a stick for you every now and then.i hope you give 'em hell when they want it back.ii. couragebuddy, it seemed like the world was a very scary place for you. i'm not sure why,and maybe i laughed at you a little--at the neurotic puppy inhabiting the commanding formof a hunter--and sometimes i got angry at youand your insistence that the world was out to get youand i'm sorry for that.it took me years to realize that something must have happenedto plant a deep and unshakeable fearin
to my good boylife is too short for regrets, mostly,but just long enough to wish for one more day,one more labrador lean--ninety warm sleek poundspressed against my jeans and one paw, trusting, picked up. one more ruffleup through the long, thick shoulder fluffagainst the grain--one more i'm sorryand the goodbyei didn't get.
sun worshipand we, the broken-winged disciplesthrum closer, closer--seeking warmth on our dust-drenched backs,and reflections,and a landmark in the wide and opendark.we breathe,together(closer)--moths among the fireflies.
all that hasn't happenedPretty please listen to the audio. i want to rememberthe rumbling piano baritoneshigh notes like hailstones--your handsrunning soundless scales.i want the summer seasnovember tidesthe vineyard overlook, the olivetrees and sunwarmed coasts.rememberwe filled the empty pageswith whole notes and halftones,oceans and lovesongs.we lived, we liveinkstained and drowningthrough nights thick with wordsand days shot with sound.
cervinejealousy--let me shed my skeleton with the seasons,and each time grow a fresh backbonefor the weight of these relentless days.
lovesong for sailorboyRead aloud and explained (somewhat) here.i have always loved words as you love the seabut i have grown to hate prepositionsbecause i have always had wordsabout youwith youto you--but never for you.words for everything except you.but i have words for this, soi'll take them one by one.about.the ocean was your first love andi could always see it in your eyes.most would call them blue--justblue like a swell over a sandbarblue like the spring sky over a poppy field.but i don't think anyonegot as close as i did and they're not bluenot shorebound andsafe--they're gray like the steelbellied sea itselflike the horizon at dawn as itencircles youhems you into an impossibly vast canvaslike a demarcation lineor a promise. one you always chased.with.maybe i had a streak of ocea
inhale, inhalethe birds are singing in the deep haze of dawnand your bones are loose inside your skin.you learn gratitude from the trees.
DuskCrowning glory aflame,a golden QueensurveysJeweled ladiesrevel in the comingof night.
predatorRead aloud here.slyfox eyes, i will beyour rabbit--running prey covetingevery cinnamon-stridedeath wish.miss fox, i wouldn't mind--there must be worse ways than beingswallowedby that slick little smile.
Dreams TravelDreams travel asThoughts over the sea,To whisper in my earAs I drift o f f to s l e e p
how to discover a justified reason for lovei want nothing more than to visit italy.i do not want to see the crumbling colosseum,nor do i want to fall in lovewith a charming, dark-haired italian boyworking at the gelato place in sicilywho compares my eyes to stars in broken english.i want to see the tiny townwhere my grandmother was raised,to know the rolling hillsthat lie between the church and the horizon,to see the house where she and her mothermade large loaves of bread to be given out to family,to listen to the sounds of birdson the farm she gave up multiplication tables forwhere the men drank wine and played accordionsand the women shook tablecloths and laughed haunting melodies,and where soldiers marched and searchedand marched and searchedand marched and kickedand shot and left.i want to know why she traveled,a family of smiling emigrants in tow,to a country they'd only ever dreamt of dreaming.i want to hear the whispers of an eager familyfrom before it was left divided by the bitternessthat they
by now the bathroom tiles are stainedand i'm sitting hereslathered in water droplets anda bright light about tomeet my skull.the concreteground breaking intofourteen hundred hundred pieces.the rain isn't rain anymore becauseit’s stopping two inchesbefore ithits the groundand my ankles are dry butthe rest of me isn't because my momalways told me never to getmy feet wet so i don’t catcha cold.and i'm only fourteenepisodes in and myshoulders are too bony andmy fingers never touchthe broken bones scattered across thebathroom tiles. i let abroken machine controlmy life and every single goddamnday it disappoints me. numberscan’t be low enough butthey only go lower andlower. i’ve beensearching and waiting for the right wordsto be written on the pagebut all that comes out is scribbles.my life a lie and i’m the one telling it.
things i am getting better atmeandering.comparatively caressing the curvatureof broken bodies and flower petals. an elbow,I have learned, is not so different from a tulip.speaking contemplatively& creating similarly.recognizing your handsas life preserving devices;grasping with intent.purposefulness.
to the raccoon trapped in my chimneylook, I'm not really sure what you want me to sayyou're the unwelcomed guest to my pay-per-view party, and I meanI paid $6.99 for entertainment but I guess I was thinking ofsomething a little less livesome things are just better left to animal planetand well, here we aretoo close for comfort,my body tells mevia the pleasantly warm fluid flowing down the inside of my legthis is not to say that I'm uncomfortablebut from 1 to Vladimir Putin riding in on a radioactive bear, you're likea 7 on the scale of how frightened I am that you're in my fucking house right nowI apologize for being a little crass but I guess it's a kind of defense mechanism too,like camouflage or playing dead or soiling your favorite pair of sweat pantslook, I too have felt the walls go up around me, brimstone couldn't be moreunforgiving and it's been a cold winter, we're all trying to get a little closerto someone elseit hurts, the way you must look at the world from behindprison bars & two bl
She Is Rome"Hush," said the girl draped in hearts and pearls."I am Rome,honey.The rules don't apply to me."
You found loveSly shoulders withtiny bruises notmeant for lovers eyes,Teeth and wicked collarbones:You argued in the stairwell,Fingers flirting withthat pretty dress of greenas you felt yourself asphyxiate.Her lips, the antidoteto your wildest dreams.
confessions of a misguided poetcertain things in my mindwould be better left unsaid,such as:i. how I stared at a bottle of pillsfor an hour as if they would slide downmy throat on their own.ii. when I stepped out of the showerwith bloody knees and didn't botherto put a band aid over them. iii. why I can't keep a smile longenough for someone to takemy picture.iv. who I wanted to be when I wasa little girl and who I amright here and now. v. where I tried to jump off abridge and landed in waterdeep enough for me to swim in.vi. what I wanted to scream atyou that day but I just stayedsilent and hoped you would forget.no more pretty words andludicrous metaphorstoday; just life,the truth, and everythingthat I never want to tellanyone else.
for lack of a simile --every saturday,i scribble away at wordsthat have prettyyellowcolours, but mean nothing.because if i told you what was true about the both of us, it would be:we had something special,but now it's gone.that's all.because i don't have any clever similes aboutmagic and love and how fire falls into ash.there's just me, and the page, and the storiesi tell you about how we are fire, we are the oceanand we are the shore.
how it goesthis is how it goes; you meet a boy and you think he's cute and you hope that maybe someday you will kiss the nape of his neck. the ache grows inside of you like a tumour, you feel it pulsing every single day and there is a piece inside of you that hopes he likes you back.then you start to doubt it, you start to think you're ugly and your chubby and your clothes aren't pretty, but then you realize if you want him to like you, you have to like you as well. so you start to like yourself more, you're happier and you think he likes you back, which makes everything so much better.one day he walks you to the bus and you wonder how time managed to put you here, and you see his lips moving but all you hear is the sound of your heart hammering. you agree to go on a date with him, and you try hard not to maul him when you hug him goodbye. you sit on the bus smiling and miss your stop, but it's alright, because it's a breathtaking day.things are beautiful for a long time, trees look like they
Self-promotion, and a sign of lifeBelated happy New Year, everybody! Hope everything's fine.I've been a little bit off track lately,you know, life can be so time-consuming.So one of my New Year's Resolutions will be trying to catch up with everything you have created in the meantimeand trying not to miss any of the roughly 2.500 messages in my inbox.Also, breaking out of the loops...like every year! In the meantime my image "Windows in the Sky" has been chosen as one of the best of 2012 by KizukiTamura and his watchers.I'm honoured to see my work in very fine company.Please head over to his journal feature and show some devious love!
i don't know if you remember, but i doi don't know if you remember, but i do.i remember the way i felt when i went to go meet you for the first time - how i was the non chalant type of nervous but i went out with you any way, and you bought me ice cream and picked me a flower, and kissed me under the stars on the hood of my car infront of the most beautiful view of the city with the blanket that my grandmother knit me for graduation wrapped around our shoulders. i remember the way you shook hands with all of my friends and smiled and said hello. i remember the way you drove eighty miles over the speed limit all while holding my hand and asking me about my family. i remember how we saw that couple fooling around in their car and we laughed and pulled over and did the same. i remember the coy look i gave you when i pulled away from your lips to make fun at you for unhooking my bra. i remember the way i invited you to stay the night when my sister was out of town and we curled up in her queen size bed and started to watch a
burning clouds for the sake of silver liningscontrary to popular belief,i would've been fuckingamazing for you -licked the cold outof your tiredears, caressed your weight-riddenshoulders and knees,been the perfect answer toyour illiterate idea ofzodiac signs.but you cowered behind areflection, a "too" instead of"more";trust me, baby, i've heardtoo many liesbefore,to know for quite sure, howguilty you feltwhen the fire in your heartwasn't passion.you're trying all thewrong ways; keeping methe way you shouldn't,and it might just make mebetter at filtering.but that'sthe only silverwhitelilaclining;you'reonlymaking me wiser.
for hummingbird lullabies--he is not the kind of boy who chases golden afternoons or dreams of things like bright red ribbons and spiderweb silence and love. he doesn't like metaphors because they never say what they mean and he doesn't like himself because he doesn't know who that is.sometimes he draws pictures in the sky with clouds and feels like maybe they mean something. but mostly he forgets to look up.he likes things in neat, orderly rows. words that come in short sentences with two syllables and clear meanings, but really he doesn't like words at all. on his way home, he passes two shiny pennies, but he's not looking down so he doesn't think to pick them up.'look,' his mother said one night, pointing at the sky, 'that's the big dipper, and there! that's orion's belt, and that's andromeda!'but as hard as he tried, all he could see were stars, and so he stopped looking.he doesn't believe in the magic of finding a quarter in the bottom of his pocket and spending it on gleeful gumballs in celebration; i
TraslocazioneFra le molte cosea lungo ho cercato,ma più non trovole rughe del sorriso.
the breakers will always call us homedon't mind my voicein the twilight.i am without shoes,solitudebeneath my wings.i was the well that fed the lake--i [saw] your fingers touching the water.where did you sleep last night?things change,