batteries unincludedyou are an hoursixty minutes of sixty tickings in this hour is every word youve ever saidi have an old wrist watch my father gave mei say old, because five years is a long time when it is a quart of your life.i use it to count you.staring at the straight lines and reflecting the tubed light into a dancing circle on the walla spotlight for an anti imagine a woven straw hat and cane and dancing, there was always dancing wasnt there? there was, but it was never us that were dancing. its just a configuration. you know, of talk.something we forgot all about. perhaps. perhaps. perhaps it wasnt forgetfulness but forced ignorance. you know, being stubborn, like stains you can never get out in the morning.
Spiderling"Next!"Shuffle, up, shuffle."Three teal, seven harlequin, ten spotted mauve… one spiderling.""Gimme your ration card!""I… I… I… I… here…"Mumble mutterings, "three teal, seven… spotted mauve. There ain't no spiderlings on this here card!" Eyes ablaze and as meat."Please, for my… back, the pain."Slam down hard."Everyone gets their fair share. Nothing more. Always less. Nothing more. Next!"Twenty coloured pills danced down his fingertips and I quickly picked them up as they bounced once, twice. Never let them more that thrice. Or pop! All over the counter. And no more. Always less.The ration dispenser flicked my card at me. It twanged laminatedly against my forehead and landed on my gloved palm. I tucked it back into my pocket; card and pills packed safely. No one dares traverse the insides of another's pants these days.They say everything's contagious.It is the year of our Lord, 2100, June twelfth, eight fifteen post meridian and I am cold. Our lady is but a bloated memory fl
to build-up smilesi'd like to seduce happinessbuy a new dress for contentednessslut it up for ecstasypull down the sheets on frivolitymelt down the wax around sacrificeexcuse myself for rushingi'd like to choreograph prayerthe build-up to the artificestop smiles from touchingbegin the wake before the dawnthe black before the white; a pairdisbanded before a circle sharedone half realising, "i'm just another pawn."
whichever waydon't you forget that yesterday used to be a tomorrow.
I Love -Hate-The way you scuff your feet. The way you pick the roses past their bloom, so you can jingle shake their petals as you walk, without a bride. The way you haven't brushed your hair since you were ten. The way you're comfortable with taking turns in dialogue. Your pauses of breath. Your silver step. The way you croak good morning in the lazy afternoons. The way you only like your yolks runny. Your meat soft. Your bread hard. The way you fill the cup with too much hot water. The way you let things steam until we're blind, with something not unlike tears. Your apologetic 'no's. The freedom in your 'hello's. Those jeans you never wore. The picture in my head of your fingers, your thumbs, the backs of your knees. The smile you wore as a badge whenever I was leaving. The way your face becomes the same blur as I swing you into dizziness. Your look of disdain when you've realized I've written the day away.Love is a lot like hate.
is this how it is to fly?the sleepy storm of your aeroplane fingershurricaning gentle rushes along the tips of my ear flesh--no, i did not say stopas a child in your arms, I wish for more wishestoo few are the moments we glide beneath our eye sheetstucking our tears into slippery sleepwhen does wait turn into savour?jester flowers dance jangly yellow beneath my feet and i feelthe gentle grumble of the wind's distaste through my ear pipesalong my jaw; my straining necka furore of bent elbows and outstretched arms tasting cloud whisperson my cheeks, on my lips, and my hair no longer obeys the lawof gravityis this how it is to fly? arms wicked propellers and spinningturning running sideways centripetal;my centre? is where, is where?i am your el(e)-o-c(tro)utionyou are my hard starboard.everyone was once a smaller face to cry
your lips spill truthyour ardour pearls into cups to catch my eyesbut we do not fall for weakness; pin pricks beneathmy toes and i keep fallingyour empty hands caress the washed streets of my cheeksbut too late for the delugeyou stroke tomorrows downstreamyou are a word i suddenly remembered the meaning formisusing it this whole time,i feel such a fool.im caught in an updraft of your hellothe easy way that smile turns into my nameturns to a frownim seducing the last traces of your nonchalancebeckoning him out with promisesof promisesi sense your lips do lie, but we both knowa kiss can last forever andforever can end with a kiss.
Never ends.There's a man, and when I say man, I mean that very loosely. He's more of a beggar of a child, than a man. A beard and a smile.There's a woman, and when I say woman, I mean that very loosely. She's got these liquid legs, this fluid walk, this, this… Well. Something out of a wet dream. And boy did she like to make dreams come true.So this child of a man, and this liquid lily, they have nothing to do with each other. And this is the pivotal part: they never will.Enter stage right. Man awkwardly juggling two cups of coffee, on two saucers, juggling so much like trying to keep still. But excitedly.Centre stage. Woman languidly pouring herself over an open book. Like hot milk. Like steam. Like a student belatedly studying for an exam. Which is precisely what she isn't doing.Interaction. Wait… Dialogue."Mind if I sit down?""Well you better, I paid for the damned things."End dialogue.Man shifts around uneasily, like a live worm on the end of a line, or pinned to a board in a dirty ro
face anotherhopefully there could just be another face--she asked so why arent you crying?i saidbecause i lost my heart years agobefore i was bornand i had not a sayso there isnt much use crying over something i cant changethe point is revenge.i'll kill that fucker of a moon, one day.--you are a sorrow no words that i borrowcould ever unravelas silk does, in rewindfrom spindle to wormand when i think whatever i could managewould only be hollow forgeryas soft satintrailed across lipsi wonder the imprint yourfeet leave on every heart youwalk across,fumble towardif traces of my laughsomehow got caught up in your eyesor perhaps my penchant for mockeryin your hands; clutchingconfetti of namesi would have to sayi have your acrid cynicism, coupled with my ownmakes for a strange messof strengthening--she asked so why arent you crying?i said i am but it isnt from meshe asked how do you mean?i saidi allow every landscape to become my ownfor mine is a sorry excuseway-l
The loss of sanityAnother pillHidden under my pillowGreen linoleumMy face fluorescently litWhite shoesPacing up and down the hallI writeTo maintain the sanity they denyI'm not crazyI write again and againI'm not crazyI whisper as they turn the lock
ImitationIf I were carbon paperI'd lie down to trace your perfect linesand then I could duplicate your beautypretending it was my own
Poetry is my friendWallflower girlTrying to blend with the sceneryWishing for this night to endAnd she can return to seclusionPeriods of small talk interruptingMillennia of lonelinessOnce the crowd is goneShe'll be safe once againSurrounded by the comfortOf the ones she truly lovesThe ones who don't judgeIf only books could hug back
You'll never knowYour words blow through me, chilling my heartThese sentences stringing together, icicles raining down on meI can't bear to look at you.I stare into the trees, feeling as naked as they appearAll I can think is, I wish I hadn't found such a way to keep warm last nightand I know you are hurting, but you hurt me tooYou feel miles away, if I could only reach out and touch youIt's so cold, we're so cold,and I'm afraid your love is blowing away with the leaves.
This stinging in my eyesVivid pictures burst to lifeas the cool air rustles through my hairSeeing those burgundy tipped yellow petalsand orange falling leaves,the beauty of this beginning of the end engulfs me.I pull my jacket just a little tighter as the wind picks upand my thoughts are carried awayonly to be caught up in empty brancheshopelessly tangled like a child's kite stringI know these ideas of you, of our life togetherwill continue to haunt our secret placelike a sweet dream turned nightmareand I'm left here wondering when I'll wake
ghazal for kateversion 192924billiona whitewashed fence looks orange beneath the lamplight andi think she's beautiful, limpid on last autumn's leavesher knees are stark against the dirt back drop as the bruises blossomlike varying species of olives mounted upon her calveshand in hand, we stumble through the deadened plots wherethe drying sheets look more like billowing, middle-eastern scarvesand the pink fireworks rocket across the asphalt as herstomach explodes out her throat and into a slew of adjectives
Origami Love StoryPlayed Sudoko on the train, never had a chance when I saw you sitting across from me.Peeking at you, over your New York Times, in a New York state of mind.Noticed you'd stuck my favorite web comic between the pages,I wanted to tell you my name.Or take you to a ball game. Just for the popcorn and a chance to kiss you. Laughed out loud at your fuzzy hair and miss matched socks, first impressions are tough.Drinking coffee, staring at your chocolate milk with lust.You looked at me cross eyed with your tongue sticking out.Commented it was rude to stare.God it was beautiful when you frowned.Say hello to me stranger, I beg of you, we could both get off right now, and we'd be together. That's got to be wor
just likehe said,"you taste kind of niceill give you a try."i said,"its been too longi know ive forgotten."he said,"its just like riding a bike"i said,"i always used to crash"