The birds preach:
"empathy, all things
beneath the arms of oaks;
all the wingless toilers of the earth.
Turn a kind eye on your lot
and we will gaze down upon you,
And the men beneath,
so busy carving arrows
do not reply.
StonesTake your time, intravenously;
like patient stones that never try
but polish over
as other shapes pass.
Give Up, SomeOur intentions slipped quiet
beneath the door
to let love run free
in the dusky streets
like some wild killer
just out of jail.
like the taste of iron, suddenly
and soft, unprovoked laughter
[ c o l d ye llo w c ur ls ]
with love between pressed pages
like a gun in the top drawer;
there was a lioness nipping at my collar bone
but she never comes home anymore.
Per Alius NominaFingerpainted
twisted little comets
sad young things
One LessT i cks
are a consistent bed partner
not to be confused with the humming of ceiling fans
or the thrumming of cardiologist fascination
not to be mistaken for
the soft exhalation
in tangled threads or pallid flesh;
certainly they are similar
and quiet audible reactions
can drown within each other
if you listen
Arthouse FearIt struck softly; as though epiphany itself were unprepared and thus not committed to the impact - which did nothing to reduce the shock.
I was living in a studio with windows that were really mirrors that faced inward only all of the reflective surfaces were melting so that one was shown a bent, macabre version of the world within, which seemed a fitting commentary until the surfaces began to splinter and like a cannon or a child's baseball words came tumbling in with the sour air, the hollering streets and the scrambling masses; words like so many well-mannered gents into the grand opening of an art gallery in which every piece portrayed a terrified child cowering from wolves of a clearly phallic nature.
All at once with the air and the streets and the masses I could see and understood - as though the punchline of "us" had been reached and I were frozen there, in the moment just before laughter, living the lives of every bleeding heart with raised hands nearly compressing in applause
Of Poets and CosmonautsThe astronauts we abandoned
on the finite expanses of blasted white
riddled the empty with
stark black lines and sharp curves
letters built from letters and mailed home
shipped by ship to our rock
"we will not mine your pages
drinking deep of sadness,
with only these fleshy suits to tether us
to a universe of terror."
i hate your love storiesand your tumblr aesthetics
with your shit john green quotes
full of naivety and idealized concepts
of what romance is supposed to be.
i want to burn your paper towns
into a silver-spined grave looping
around the melted ink and torched page
and i want to shoot your gas balls
till they dive bomb the dust everyone
loves to proclaim as their aura.
and there is fault in our stars
'cause you believe you are one
and i'm sorry
but you're not even a setting sun;
forerunner of gatling gun stunners
you're more thief
(hiding) in the night (from life)
than ray of (shining) light (in the sky).
illusions of oasis making you look twice
when beauty becomes ugly--
beholding stare of immaturity;
eye maturing knowing nurturing hue
over letting nature torture you
is the best route for two.
and emptiness is a kind of cagequestions,
nights under the sky
and the dark feels so small.
like the constellations are nets
that cage and pull you close
while you run the midnight circle;
burning, burning with desire
(it's hard to tell
which is which
so many questions
on the sidewalks,
at the edges of everything;
a cacophony of shame
behind your lips
and you reel,
that echo in the night
and beat with the wind
all hollow inside,
a faltering halt
of an answer that glimmers
in the dark.
Yes, I Have a PenisYes, I Have A Penis
Do not assume (if I hold the door for you),
that I am making a statement
about your inabilities
to open the door for yourself.
If you hold it for me,
I'll say 'thankyou'.
Do not assume (if I pay for the meal),
that I am underestimating
your earning capacity
as a woman.
If you invite me out for a meal,
Do not assume (if I defend your rights),
that I am belittling
the attempts that you have made
to defend your rights yourself.
If you defend my rights,
I'll consider you human.
storiesi begin and end with stories
where hummingbird hearts play sonatas
against my ribs and i drown in
early morning light and
the girl in me sinks into the sea
like rusting anchors chained to
ships and i sway port and starboard
the lion in me rises like lazarus
from the savannah where dust swirls
and i begin and end with stories
where i swallow the world and all
the rain and girls and lions in it
where i hold it up like atlas,
where i support jupiter with just
an index finger and where i chase
comets and cup them like fireflies
to hang on my bedroom walls
Insanity needs companyand now I’m stuck here,
how the walls became
a veiny sight-
(could the cause be me calling out
in the middle of the night?)
and alone I stand here,
how my feet got
nailed upon this floor-
(do you hold my ankles
like an anchor
does the shore?)
and I know it’s been thirteen years
since you were here at all,
according to the hash marks
the wooden wall
but I can’t
of our memories,
so for now,
I’ll let the doc declare:
Insanity needs company.
How to love a girl who can't love herself.one.
When she cries herself to sleep
six out of seven nights a week you must
say nothing. You must simply take
her in your arms and kiss her gaunt,
pale cheeks and wait for her to
slumber at the sound of your heart.
On the days where she wishes she
were part of the stars, tell her
no. Tell her that there are too many
lights in the sky and that just one
would be forgotten the moment you looked
away from it. Tell her that she is perfect
the way she is: completely human.
Don't let her think about the scars
that no one but her can see. If she
says "I think I'm broken" smile like you
know a secret and say, "No, you're mending."
But do not be the one to fix her - no, she