things that go bump in the nightabsence makes the heart a monster.
july 14th (1:58 am)add a hundred milesfor every yearbetween usfind the daywhen I can saythat's your best smilemaybe time's just a compass(and an arrow's accomplice)and all it's accomplishedis pointingthe wayfor a while
all insometimes you fill my headso (full) I canfeel you therethe progress of a constantthoughta dream made tangible
imperfect architecturedelicate templeyour heart is a chandelieryour brain's a traitor
everyday, every night, all...in preparing a heartfor the vast expanses of americabe sure to schedule disappointments earlyso as to leave endingsopenfor bitter defeatbe a firm believerin the healing power of laughterthis makes trying to stiflethe unavoidable giggles that occurwhen considering the ironyof your own demisea lot more funwe're makingfailure romantic againwe're takingwhat we're givingand completing the circlewith ourselveswhen truly taking the timeto find yourselfbe sure you've filled outthe proper formsyou'd hate to find yourselfangry orworse yetfalling asleepeyes blurryand just one more line to goit's something like infinity(...dot...dot...dot)if it's enough to make you angryit's enough to make youit's enoughandit all comes downto proper planning
open opinionthe empty mouth of poetryall blackened throatand stunted teethan echoexplainingstandard shapesto meall these wallswant (youto want)all these walls
apoc in progI often wishfor somesort of apocalypseso I could just stop with thisconstant non-sense droppretense andget on with itabandonthe hollowed outhomewhere I staythis shell has beenemptyso longanywayand I sleepbut I getno restwith the weightof these wordsand the worldon my chestbut if it'sgoneso am Igetting started on thistwo daydrive sowe can sharebreaththe shape of myheartis this mapwith an Xthe place where you arethe space I fill nextor maybelovejust dependson the chanceswe take beforeour worldends
everyone's a criticI don't do spoken word Iperform a living sentence I'ma pro noun taming verbs andthe pretentiousmiss the premisetheydon'tseepoetry's a giftwhich opens peopleup like presents wellof course this caged birdsings his song'sprotestingeach bars' presence uswild flowers bloomregardless ofa garden'sfencesandwhenthe sundeclines(to shine) the nightde-lights allof our senses
if a tree falls in...a fenceless gardendefenseless and unguardedshe watches you grow
cannibal snowflakeswatching madmen (and)eating fresh killsin the darkpicking the carcass apartmy handshalves of a euphemismthe raw start of symbolismhearts unharmedare poemsunwritten
personal libertytime severs all bondsa silent revolutiona lonely freedom
072i ached enough that dayto salt the atlantic oceanthree time over
a noiseand they're clamoring for contentbut the concepts aren'tconstantthe kind (that kind)of commentmeant tomine mindsmost unwanted
the reoccurring kindawakeI gasp andclasp youtightyou smile andkiss my eyesand Iawake Igasp andclasp youtightyou smileand kiss my eyesand Iawake I gaspand claspyou tightyou smileand kiss my eyesand I awake.
that night we all went homeseattleI'm sureI've seen yousitting silentin overlapping memory(the contact briefbut unforgettable)I was trying toapply myselfamidst the pressof premature ghostsand it seemed you set a smilein every eye that caught my ownburied by bit playerswith no bidson bigger partskept contentwith gray days & commitmentsas color crept byunnoticedthere aremanydifferent waysto travel
lemonwe walk down the streetsof a city named after the last thousand years.a breeze floats byand for a moment your hair lifts off your shoulder.the way it doesn't touch you,i want to touch you.there are traces of lemon in your light,a vague sense of mint on your fingertips.the way honey tastesdrifts inside your shirt.entering the citywalking calmly while the light fallsis like listening to your voice,like waiting at the bell by the riverfor a clamoring to do justiceto the patterns on the water.the way the bells never endi want to brush my hand against yours.the way you drop lemon into your wateri want to live.
It's still hereSummertime lingers,not in the cold slate grey skies,but in memory
immortaland i used to lie beneath the winter's still morning,watching the cornflower-blue gently bleed through cloud.there's something that glistens in your eye, so subtlebut i don't want another lover, don't let me take your hand.and i used to need you always, my lover, oh butterflyflutter by me so softly, like silken stolen kisses.we used to hold hands by midnight candlelight but now,i wish you would not return, for i will not survive you.there is something secret and untouched in your storysomething that stones will turn their heads to listen for;you were the beauty ground up into dust, darling-wilde,and i don't want you to be mine, although i adore you so.there is something that flickers softly in eternity,and it is that memory of who we were, dancing in starlightfloating in the sunshine, forever young, forever new;there's something so eternal within my hope, within you.and i once thought i couldn't live without your wingsyour wings that helped me soar and dash and freefal
pyrrhic lamentman's final sunset,lost in embered horizons;the purge is complete.
MythosThe Hunter Orion's prey— a sky of fleeing stars: dawn.Chiron Sagittarius: the archer's arrow, piercing eventide.
.i would shed my skinwith autumn, but my veins wouldcrack like the dry leaves
Aurora Borealisstars streak the canvasof goddesses witheclectic brilliance
Haiku IIThe moon shines bright whiteThe tides of sea send shiversWhen will my turn come?
winterice sculpts the sunrise,filters down to still the day;silver mists echo
HaikuWriMo1Church spire, stretching,weds the moon.2Slate skyand a heavy heat;collapsing.3Embroidered stars—celestial needlework.4Fairy wrens:steeds of elven knights,armoured all in blue.5Raindrops—wet wings,startled honeybee.6Huntsmanupon orange glass:a specimen, fossilisedin amber.7Scarred grape,veined in gold—kintsugi.8White blossoms,fallen like snowdrops.9Eagle in flight,great wings cradlingthe half-moon.10Pastel sun,peeking from a soft,smoky grey duvet.11The world settles;the heavens awaken—storm.12Black swans:two arrows in tandem.13Mirror-verse—sunset’s reflection,river-bound.14The yellow of anold book:crinkled paper moon.15Tangled in old web—a spider, noosed.16Rough brushstrokesof a smudged landscape:Impressionism.17Giant’s treasure:pot of molten goldspilledalong the treetops.18Raindropslike gemstones,flinging light.
LoveCaramel kisses drizzlefrom your lips, and Istill to a pulsebeat.
Space BlanketsPurple cloudsdraped over crescent hips--bashful twin moons.
meanwhile, statesideheat in the darknessyour pulse in your fingertipsthoughts of distant skin