Through glassThis is permanence,This empty room.No vibrancy herebut the adamant beat of my heart,And the blue sizzle of my mind.The deep breaths before me.And the sensation of glasstouching my fingertips,sending chills up curved spines -kissing pale hairs on the back of necks.Gently and quietlyI passed my hand through the glass,And stepped from the roominto clear, cold water.
Vase with thistlesAn alabaster infant lay down in nettles,gripped them tightly in fat little fists,and said they tickle.picked them from the roots and called the nettlesroses, a vase lined with thistlesplaced on the windowsill to sitand wait in grey light, for the alabaster's stings to fade, their spikes to dull, their leaves to brown.
Pale FishPale fish seen through blue window paine,Behind net curtains, touching the glass,Leaving behind prints and breath,Drawings in condensation,A face with a smile,A sunbecause the beams don't penetrate through the double glazing.Daisies which don't grow inside.And the playing children seen through the blue,Who laugh at, not with,Until until, pale fish, she drowned.'Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself,She turns to favour and to prettiness.'Flipped and flopped.Wasn't found for weeks.
A DeathI think things matter less,When you get older,But the small things mean more,The kiss in the evening,And the smile in the morning,And the endless endless nothing,The waiting until the end,I'll choose the font on my gravestone,And pick my slice of soil,My upturned grass,My coffin, made of willow,At least the details,I can control,If not the odds and ends.If I planned it all,The days after my last,I still won't know what to say,In the last moment,Feel I ought to,Really,Or should I go in silence,An unsettling silence,No closure,And no wasted words,Just a blurred line,And a flower I didn't see by the bed.Thank you all the same.
Like ghosts at cockcrowA thick glass lens held against light,To bleach out grey tones and burn antsaround ant hills and under leaves,pinned down under beams,which they never deserved, but got,which we, desperately, need.It's hard to make loveAnd call it fucking,Or fuck and call it love,When you hear ambulances and babies crying.When anything could be happeningother side of the wall.They can take your touch and make it theirs,underline its commonness,make you feel like animals behindcomplimentary wordswhich apes forgo and poets blubber,through bookstores and tears.Not so much disappointed,but out of ideasof how to dress it up in bowsand embellishinto something more eloquentand more brightthan a beautifully greyand done life.Like ghosts at cockcrow,We're an imagined noise,That makes a man wake in his bed,Not knowing why,And drifts easily back into sleep,Shrugging off their nerves for a creakand the croaks of old pipes.
Caught on a nailOf nature, our function to function,To stop and drift,Easily passed and grey.As vague as dreams and fleeting fanciesVaporous, hazy existence,Diaphanous and weightless.My body passes as easily and quickly,as delicately as the blood in me,unnoticed, it's as soft as shadows,weak and easily damaged -fine silk caught on a nail,a fragile sensethat one is never secure.A shock to the egotistical state,Bone and muscle blocking my mind from yours.Light and tenuous,thin as hollow bird bones,their downy feathers.And it's comforting.As a species barely here,It instils an uneasy calm.Uncomfortably -it makes me squirm.Comfortably it makes me soft and stilllike tired eyes closing,like lying down to sleep.
I may be dirtI may be dirt.There may be better dirt.More fertile and soft to touch.To tread over carpets and stamp into doormatsTo cover knees and leave hands grubbymucky pups in darker dirtto keep them dirty for days.You're still in this dirt, in this pile,shovelled and dug for things to grow,daisies raised from dust with pink tips on clean white.for love-me-love-me-nots, forget-me-forget-me-nots,and stems without flowersTo arrange in small vases on window sillsAnd leave until March, through 'til April,when it rains and rains.So when there's sun, it glitters.The dirt which made grass which made daisesglitters in April under dew.before it's yellowparched and done.After it's mud around toes.
Diamonds making jigsawsTo see bones under skin,Kept simple, plain and white,Comfortable and worn softso it runs smoothand tickles the hairs on the back of hands,arms and necks.for dry mouths,and lightly curled fingersrelaxed on pillows,or fingernail palm fists.the insignificant details, the cracks on skin,diamonds making jigsaws.For words read slowlyBrazen and barefaced.Through ivy and mazes,Through a veiled, romantic glaze.Through all the bullshit.To leave them anxious,listening with eyes closed,so they feel every word.For the anticlimax finish.
Circled like oceansBeating,slowly, calmly,heard the rain and the windsaw dust and breath,and shadows on a white ceiling.My heart beat heavy then, and now,different cause,blood circled like oceanslike seashell noisebeating.
Our WorldTonight we shall awakeAnd we'll feel better;While scars dictate out a eulogyBefore icicle stars drip a lakeOf blood and ink.And our life is scribedAnd our destiny transcribedUpon ozone highways ofA time swept letter.Tonight we shall smileAnd we'll be fine;While bones taunt us in penuryOut of sync to heart's design:Never will we blink.And our strife is mystifiedAnd our history pacifiedTowards x-ray epitaphs onA lunar forged shrine.Tonight we shall glowAnd we'll fly high;As souls sing forth in melodyTo harp string's of an angel's sigh,But joy fades in a wink.And we're aliveThere's nothing we can't surviveAnd we're a mysteryTo bandaged eyes living misery.So let's set things right!Let's burn out tonight!Set the world alightWith the unity of our cries,Never to let the flames burn lowNor to allow our nightmaresPermission to fester and grow.So let's set things right!Tonight we shall awakeAnd even if it kills us;The world. Our world.Will be alright.
Blink.there's a futureI don't wantto plan,apast I don'twant to let go,and a present fullof love,of distance intimacyI hold closest,and peoplewho knowmy storybecause it runsso deeply with their own.and in the balanceof all of thisis where my story sitsblinking cursor-
Send HelpI'm stuck in the middleOf this never endingBody of waterExpecting someoneTo throw me a life jacketBut all they're doingIs throwing me anchors
The Word RoseAnd from the blue and cotton clouds,Out forth I plucked for you -A single word rose.Notebook petals, blooming in the bloodOf scarlet love,Dripping sweet melodies from high aboveShowering us in an embracing flood.It was a single word roseAnd upon it was written your heartIn the form of a hundred rhymesPlaying out your song,Your beautiful songAnd nothing could let it fall apart.And from the blue and cotton clouds,Out forth I plucked for you -A single word rose.Poetic thorns, glaring through the galeOf obsidian disgust,Sneering dark voices of our innocent lustWhispering to us of that word rose pale.It was a single word roseAnd within it was hidden my heartIn the form of a thousand crimesWeeping all my sins,All my blackest sinsBut no one ever saw me fall apart.And from the blue and cotton clouds,Out forth I plucked for you -A single word rose.Word rose, oh where are you?Word rose, ah shining in the blue,You hide my secrets andCover yourself in her heart.Wor
Late nightAll alone in my roomSurrounded by darknessThe clock keeps tickingTime doesn't stopAnd there I layMy mind wanderingWhile I waitFor another day to come
182,400 stars were created as you read this.We are woven loosely togetherwith the fabricsof stardust and big bangs.No more amazing,in the grand scheme of things,than any other life sustainingbeing of our little dust speckcalled Earth.We are infinitely smallin comparison to our sun,which is infinitely smallin comparison to the galaxy,which is infinitely smallin comparison to other galaxies.I'm pretty sure the Milky Way has her lunch moneystolen by the bigger galaxies on the playground.Yet, we humans, feel more important than it all.There are more stars in existencethan there are grains of sandcovering our entire world.And there are, roughly,7,000,500,000,000,000,000,000grains filling the cracks of our planet.Literally,1,000,000 times more insignificant pieces of dirtthan there are people alive at this very moment.We are so concerned about leaving our marksthat we forget about the goodwill of others.And our marks are nothingin the history book of everything anyways.Not even worthy of a dogeared page 7
But desolateI took a telescope to the skyand saw no life.No message,no god.I saw stars and planets,All empty,And our own isolation Our view bright but desolate.