August 2012
41 posts
5 tags
The Spray
The wind tonight is a toxic howl of insecticides breathing over our sleep-tortured forms as it rushes in through the open windows and lifts our drapes into gorgeous, twisting ballets.
By morning our skin will be freckled in sparkling wine-colored spots and we’ll grin at our reflections while we wipe a crust of toothpaste from our chins, thinking, oh thank you moon, for kissing me with your...
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I propose that we all unplug, for one day.
So here’s what I’m thinking. Just throwing this out there to see if anyone bites.
I say we collectively choose one day in the month of September to go dark on our writing blogs. No posting. And during that day, with our laptop lids closed or our monitors off, (unless you’re plugging in for a little musical inspiration) we write one piece. On paper. With the writing utensil...
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she never thought she’d turn out to be a 4am girl spent the whole night masturbating and rolling decisions across her bottom lip with the underside of her tongue never thought she’d become an early riser up with the setting moon her skin still creepy-crawling with the devils leftover thoughts and her own phantom-trailing fingertips bruised from the back of her neck to the arches of her...
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we can write only what our atmosphere (in complete darkness) dictates to us - be it sadness, be it love, be it that moment over sunday morning coffee when our sticky syrup-fingers suddenly want to tell us a story of murdering our own bodies, walking straight out into the ocean we can speak of gods we haven’t met, somehow and of sex and cigarettes, the beat of the boys we knew, the beat of...
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she gets her sunshine from capsules and her sleep from pills a slight buzz from the nicotine a high from honey she is the doctors orders gone to waste with black hair and blue veins that shine so vividly you think they may be wet to touch but when the needle goes in it misses every time
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the first sip was the devil the second was the sin
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We
we do what we can what we know little lies and friendly fuck you’s that we toy with all day and string together each night until the rhythm works until the beat is right and like something newly born or half dead we shove it out through the doggy door and into the threat of thunder showers and stormy drunken rains, to be picked off by the vultures or warmed gently by the streetlights in the...
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Did a bit of visual appearance clean-up on the blog, including a new little about me blurb. Let me know if you hate it!
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Okay, Okay, We Spun
okay, okay we spun like sugar like cotton like webs from a spider okay, okay we spun like an alcohol-night spun like the ballerina like the carousel and we twirled off into twilight and spun some more in the dark in the after-glow spun some more in zero gravity to jazz and swing and we swung and spun until we crashed back down okay, okay we’re coming back tonight stop the phone calls and let...
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Like Pills
like pills i swallowed a handful of lemon seeds with water and waited for the roots to grab hold of my hips and force upward until the branches burst out past my lips yellow and bright like little suns or burning lanterns
like lemon seeds i swallowed a handful of pills with liquor and waited for the warmth to spread through my belly and force upward until my blood burst out over my tongue crimson...
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Sugar vs Shots
for us there were never simple times there were never cherry cokes in parking lots or candy necklaces staining our collarbones our tongues were never numb from hard candy or kisses there were never carousel rides or beach walks never backseats never busted stereo speakers for us there was only the dark skin pooled under our eyes and the cheap vodka unfiltered cigarettes stolen lipstick hidden in...
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10-19-11
if i wake up mid-morning choking on the moan of a name you don’t recognize, cover my mouth with yours to remind me where i belong
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Cross-legged on a dirty hospital floor I waited wondering how many had died in that spot died or almost died puked or shit themselves in that spot where I sat, waiting bullet holes and gurneys with broken, squealing wheels children’s toys and magazines covered in a million fingerprints carrying a million viruses crawling and oozing and sliding from the pages into my skin like tiny fevers...
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He’s so sorry, he says for the scar behind my ear, the burnt toast, the broken heart. He’d take it back, if he could the broken bottle, the night behind the wheel, the arrest and the rug burn. He’ll make it up to me, he swears buy flowers, fuck me from behind, share the whiskey from now on.
But there could never be enough whiskey, sex or flowers to heal the wounds that...
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Between the watched pot and your broken heart it’s a wonder time passes at all. I think of you in the moments that occur between the seconds. And for a beat longer between the minutes. I see you as the lull between the elaborate set-up and the let-down punchline. When I sit down to read you, I flip ahead to see how long this chapter will take. I can only invest so much time in backyard...
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How To Make Love In The Waves
A Guide to Losing It All
The first lesson I learned easily and I’ll share it with you now. The first lesson is to let the coral bite up into your skin. Let it embed its pink-salmon teeth into your heels and your toes and don’t pay any mind to the soft smokey billows of blood that seep slowly to the surface around your throat. Don’t hold your breath. Breathe normally as if the...
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I don’t need to be analyzed so please keep your hands where I can see them and take your breaths as slowly as your lungs will allow. Read a bedtime story, swallow the smoke and the shards of mirror that come next. I can’t be picked apart because the bits of me you’re seeing are already in their smallest form, seeds that are single molecules vibrating around each other to distort...
sensibly-foxy-deactivated201210 asked: I love your writing, and I'm wondering, have you ever tried writing songs? Because they'd honestly be the most beautiful things.
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I am tired of the steam rising from the asphalt after rain. What a tease to think so often that finally, the world is going up in flames.
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the moon, resting in the hammock of her own crescent, rocks gently in the resonating solar breeze. her golden skin will shed in fiery flakes that will stick in the velveteen night sky and harden into the stars. and while she sleeps she’ll hum a vibrating echo that carries all of our prayers up to jupiter and drifts all of our babies toward dreams.
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Our Two Hands
Not until we reach the spot where the stream empties into the river will I hold your hand or even so much as graze your fingertips with mine. I cannot bare the dirt of our two hands without knowing that when we make it, we’ve made it together.
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mid-thought
but please, don’t ask me to wait if you never plan to return
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nightly, i brave treacherous pockets of air just to kiss you. man-made clouds of my own stagnant breath wound up in itself and hanging from the tip of your nose like a paper star from a string. but i break the fog with a slice of my tongue and find you on the other side, glazed with sleep.
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Far Less Than Headaches
We’ve killed our nights over far less than headaches. Let me lie here like a flower upon the pillow and let the room fill with the sounds of my collarbones decomposing. Don’t speak. Your tongue is only sludge through the drainage system. Crack the bottle open and pour the backwash in my wounds. Far less than headaches have killed our buzz. Let me sleep. Point your pistol at the...
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Teeth
my teeth are made from cosmic occurrences and bone
they grind together while i sleep and fuck and fight the swell of tears that spring up when i realize that your teeth are exactly the same
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Rat Blood.
Tomorrow night I’ll meet you for a drink. Two fingers of scotch or fistful of beer, your choice, your bar. If there are roaches on the floor, and human flesh catching grill lines out back, I’ll still be there. Give me the name, the address. Tell me which abandoned car to turn left at, which alley way to follow, how many raps on the backdoor should I give? Will there...
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Dust Bowl (What Angels Waste)
The neighbors keep a baby grand against the wall in an otherwise empty room. I can see it through their picture-window, collecting dust in the winter that is coated in pollen in spring. The layers rest untarnished by fingerprints. A fine silt that climbs the walls with the help of cobwebs in the corners. A long row of tiny ivory tombs. A length of rotted baby...
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Writing.
I do it all alone. Some nights, it’s over a drink. Muddy coffee, a little white wine. Other nights it’s in bed by the light of the muted television in the corner. When I’m dry, I let the volume soar instead and steal tiny chunks of dialog from sitcoms or the local news.
I do it next to you. Sometime it’s early morning and you’re still asleep. Sleepy smiles...
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The Far Side
With you, I’d like to ride a Ferris wheel in Paris, a carousel in London, a subway car underneath it all. With you, I’d like to stop at the top, on the far side, near the thin pink line where the mountains become snowy clouds. With you, headlights swallow us whole and our tongues melt into our throats like chocolate. Candy teeth. With you, no more love poems, only the beating fists of...
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Hard Lives
We broke open and spilled seeds onto the concrete. We, our shells, crawled toward each other in the street. We, our leftovers, tangled together in a big warm wind. We, our souls. They, the seeds. Buildings sprouted up from the blacktop. Churches burst forward from the pavement. We, from above. They, new life. No need for dirt, to leave a legacy.
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With my mouth serving you as an open wound, I gurgle through apologizes for the blood on your thighs.
If poetry were an extra skin we may not have these problems with sticky words and pouring phrases.
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Our work here isn’t important. You manufactured the glass that bottles Coca Cola. You dug a fossil from the sand. But did you love? Did your stomach jump a little when you heard a baby’s cry? Did the suit jacket and the silk tie ensure the snakes won’t be crawling through your bones? Did the money pay to have the dirt and the maggots swept away from the place where your...
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The silk I hang over the window turns the light into a soft pink fog before it enters the room and spills delicately across the hardwood floor. I wake like there’s fine lace draped over my eyes. I dress in bright colors, add pearls, paint my lips in sugared beeswax. I pry the heavy door back and step outdoors. My bones turn to dust and my eardrums burst, marking the beginning of another...
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Trap
Let’s not be dramatic about this. I want to kiss you the way I think you want to be kissed. A little moan and not a lot of tongue. Not too wet, not too drawn out. I’ll save that for the good part.
I rolled you out like waxed paper and watched you curl back in on yourself. Caught your edges under my fingers and weighed them down with the pressure from my breath.
You’re a...
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Pressed Flowers To The East
I don’t know where to find you. Pressed flowers to the east and my teeth are falling out one by one. My dreams took massive amounts of drugs, and melted into night terrors. Woke up sober. Fucked the bedsheets. Bit my tongue off and watched it wriggle solo on the pillow. Pressed flowers to the east. Swallowed my teeth one by one. Bonemeal for breakfast.
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Clam Shell
Here are some words that i wrote, just for you. They’re not mine. I didn’t create them, didn’t think them into existence, but I mixed them around a bit to make them sound pleasant to your ears. You deserve that. You should always listen to nice things. Pretty words. You should always be surrounded by big waxy flowers. They should be your favorite colors. The should smell...
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You’re on my mind, he said.
I’d rather be inside of it, I said.
There’s a simple story here. The night I ran down the stop sign. I didn’t run the stop sign, I ran it down. Bent the metal, ripped chunks of important looking pieces from the under carriage of the car, kept going. Kept going and going but never went far enough to forget it. I should have been dead that...
