eminence of
self
above
all
eyes,
so
coward
fingers like electrical wires
sparking in a storm
disattached
moves
like a beast
can’t accept
can’t understand
eminence of
ego
cripples
one
to
blossom
Monday, February 14, 2011
Friday, February 11, 2011
grapevine of a widow
those wooden
brown
sad
sunken eyes
accent
your small
callous
red
lips
like one
of
a colorless
and oppressed
phantom
to proud
to give in
that your
absent-hearted
past actions
should be
reflected
(i'll remain the dream you abuse. i'll remain the instrument you play to boost that one-colored, puzzling aura of self.)
to you,
i'm the grapevine of a widow
or
the vines growing up the wall
of my broken home
brown
sad
sunken eyes
accent
your small
callous
red
lips
like one
of
a colorless
and oppressed
phantom
to proud
to give in
that your
absent-hearted
past actions
should be
reflected
(i'll remain the dream you abuse. i'll remain the instrument you play to boost that one-colored, puzzling aura of self.)
to you,
i'm the grapevine of a widow
or
the vines growing up the wall
of my broken home
yearning
your
heavy breathing
ear tips moist
our bodies together
chest to chest
our unholy gestures
oh spirits
would be ashamed
i can't figure out if this
is love
or
yearning
for
some
silhouetted
comfort
tell me
what you
see underneath
those
evasive
eyelids
i can only imagine
(the worst)
heavy breathing
ear tips moist
our bodies together
chest to chest
our unholy gestures
oh spirits
would be ashamed
i can't figure out if this
is love
or
yearning
for
some
silhouetted
comfort
tell me
what you
see underneath
those
evasive
eyelids
i can only imagine
(the worst)
psycology of cities
distracted stimulation's
of the sounds
of the people
to many to count
to many to see
car horns
waltzing feet
smoke rising
cold city wind
you're isolated
by the walls of people
of voices
of buildings
you feel defeated
by some
invisible force
people as walls
people as barriers
people as images among the static
--silently obeying
the psychology of
cities:
for the ones
that need
to be dis-attached
from
all that
lies inside
(all of that suffering outside and in)
the train doors open
you're free
at last
yet you're still stuck within
the body,
of this
stifling city
yet you're still lead
by the
alluring finger
of this city
it's
breath
whispers
"hush. follow me"
of the sounds
of the people
to many to count
to many to see
car horns
waltzing feet
smoke rising
cold city wind
you're isolated
by the walls of people
of voices
of buildings
you feel defeated
by some
invisible force
people as walls
people as barriers
people as images among the static
--silently obeying
the psychology of
cities:
for the ones
that need
to be dis-attached
from
all that
lies inside
(all of that suffering outside and in)
the train doors open
you're free
at last
yet you're still stuck within
the body,
of this
stifling city
yet you're still lead
by the
alluring finger
of this city
it's
breath
whispers
"hush. follow me"
Thursday, February 10, 2011
ghost of you
is it
the ghost
of you
the absent form
that you existed
as
in the past
is it that ghost
that I
adore
you're not the you
that I used
to know
the ghost
of you
the absent form
that you existed
as
in the past
is it that ghost
that I
adore
you're not the you
that I used
to know
druken souls
intoxicated souls
sit at the bar
sit at the round tables
like cockroaches in high chairs
with pathetic
filthy cigarettes
that dangle
from their
lips
nonsense murmured
fronted knowledge of anothers interest
bulletproof egos
mindless speech
all
for the dawn's
soundless
void-hearted
foul
--fuck
sit at the bar
sit at the round tables
like cockroaches in high chairs
with pathetic
filthy cigarettes
that dangle
from their
lips
nonsense murmured
fronted knowledge of anothers interest
bulletproof egos
mindless speech
all
for the dawn's
soundless
void-hearted
foul
--fuck
this age, framed
sit at a shore, illuminated.
the sun's grin like your misery
lines of those memories in the sand,
on your skin
reflections in the water, altered by some foreign hand
face blurred
you don't recognize
this horror
since you've never faced it before
it scares you even more
chords of some distant ancient
piano playing songs
a framed photograph
washes to your feet
one of a new born in a crib
looks oddly like you
thoughts with the photograph in hand: this age has progressed
no longer do we lie in our cribs for the sake of rest
we've dug these graves
to wake and see the face of man telling,
thee
it's all grand
it's all figured out
there's nothing
to doubt
but those in which go against
all that's man
it's all so real
the static tells
you
don't you see
you've just got to believe
in the static
creating images
you hold the framed picture
of the newborn
and
exist
at the
illuminated
shore
without
a word
the photograph becomes
the moment
of you
waiting for
nothing
the sun's grin like your misery
lines of those memories in the sand,
on your skin
reflections in the water, altered by some foreign hand
face blurred
you don't recognize
this horror
since you've never faced it before
it scares you even more
chords of some distant ancient
piano playing songs
a framed photograph
washes to your feet
one of a new born in a crib
looks oddly like you
thoughts with the photograph in hand: this age has progressed
no longer do we lie in our cribs for the sake of rest
we've dug these graves
to wake and see the face of man telling,
thee
it's all grand
it's all figured out
there's nothing
to doubt
but those in which go against
all that's man
it's all so real
the static tells
you
don't you see
you've just got to believe
in the static
creating images
you hold the framed picture
of the newborn
and
exist
at the
illuminated
shore
without
a word
the photograph becomes
the moment
of you
waiting for
nothing
chords of ink
me: stuck on that which is not here
(stuck on that which engraved it’s initials on this internal tree)
i, a single insignificant cell
--no different than the others
dwell on occurrences that only
exist within
no memory
no past
with a grasp
change this day
with a thought
of
wonder
like a ballroom waltz
to the chords
bleeding the ink
--of god
(stuck on that which engraved it’s initials on this internal tree)
i, a single insignificant cell
--no different than the others
dwell on occurrences that only
exist within
no memory
no past
with a grasp
change this day
with a thought
of
wonder
like a ballroom waltz
to the chords
bleeding the ink
--of god
my mornings
stars on your
hands
you’re a constellation
in the dark
in the night
in my mornings
--you’re still the warm aura of night
hands
you’re a constellation
in the dark
in the night
in my mornings
--you’re still the warm aura of night
Monday, February 7, 2011
be hush, be here
be hush
be here
as we decline
into the night
daylight
disappears
all soaked up
in sheets
(i think)
the sun has expired
pale-like:
a snow-white sparrow’s wing
(i am)
out in the void
night sky
“drift”
,says
the moon
dressed warmly
in clouds
sigh
i imply
quiet
“we point so easily
when we’re not
the night’s
, limp-winged
&
frail”
be hush
be here
be here
as we decline
into the night
daylight
disappears
all soaked up
in sheets
(i think)
the sun has expired
pale-like:
a snow-white sparrow’s wing
(i am)
out in the void
night sky
“drift”
,says
the moon
dressed warmly
in clouds
sigh
i imply
quiet
“we point so easily
when we’re not
the night’s
, limp-winged
&
frail”
be hush
be here
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