?

Log in

29 August 2010 @ 11:34 pm
The moon casts a bigger shadow than the sun, but I don't see how that's my fault
It's beginning to rain, and I am the faithless one
It's beginning to rain, and I am the one who is heartlessly hopeful
So pedal on a little more, and persevere
Push and pump and feel the rain
smell ozone and think of San Francisco.
 
 
09 March 2007 @ 01:28 am
It was one-twenty three
when I finished your cd
held my breath
pressed the button
and hoped to God it'd burn

it was one-twenty four
when I walked out the door
and thought I'd take that cd right to you

but the squirrels are climbing under the cars
and they're chewing through the wiring
I can see their beady eyes
as I try to get the engine firing

So I'd guess that walking's better
so I put on other shoes
two thirty in the morning
I hope these songs will do.
 
 
09 March 2007 @ 12:58 am
I would say my hands have never felt
anything as solid as this glass
I would say my lips have never loved
anything quite as much as this drink
but there is always the recollection of you
which they have spent time on
but asides from that
this glass is chief in their thoughts
and this glass has hierarchical prominence
against my liquored lacquered lips
so this is just another fuck you
please add it to the list
thank you.
Darling.
 
 
05 March 2007 @ 09:51 pm
For you I pine
for you I balsam
prune alone and splinter
thus stokings check
to wringings' choke
I spine I salt I gander
neck and neck and caraway
crumbed and sulky dumplinged
I'd eye I'd sigh I'd cardamom
and allay decantered unc-ling*

(*the verb of giving in, crying uncle.)
 
 
22 February 2007 @ 11:54 pm
What he's got, that joshing, it has weathered tough and sinewy with his excercising, and he might not know it, he might still love me and grip me and choke me when he whispers and kisses his love at the back of my neck, but the other actions have lived so long they grew up into a cruelty that makes me not want to breathe anymore when I finally step outside. They laugh at me, when I correct myself, after he talks about fucking. Look at you! Your arms are crossed, your legs are crossed, that tone in your voice when you are sitting there in that chair, alone. You are not fine, not like you said. And I am fine, I am, but he goads me so that I go on a scattered defense for no particular reason, and once I get sucked into the explanations I wring out in my head, I hate myself for airing them so needlessly, and I hate having to stop and look a fool for going on about the dead and dying.
 
 
 
22 February 2007 @ 11:54 pm

Oh big dumb heart you are so tired of all your frantic beats, lately. And the old ones have started that wear, so there are smooth patches rubbed down on some surfaces that just don't catch like they used to. Oh, sometimes, it flutters like tobacco papers gotten loose. I am sorry, you heavy thing, I am sorry I am trying to make you fly. Forgive me.

 
 
15 February 2007 @ 09:21 pm
limbs float lovely on liquer
sweet breaths light on barely anything
discarded everything behind
lines that blur in front of abashe-ed eyes


(your words are dying
watch them now they perish!
And our space in between
grows like ripe tomatoes
Wait and let me fall on them.)

(Wonder why our words didn't make sense
wonder why we never fell through
into the-)

-laurels falling quickly
let's not deny our chance
roll with me in earnest
let it lie there as it may

my hands are kissing glass
my eyes are kissing you
but our lips are moving false
black teeth behind them
bile secreted in our throats
(why can't we breathe in unison
why can't this stretch unbroken)

forget the work of finding
and fuck the easy smiles
I am taking the hard route
and I'll fuck myself thank you
over at best
under at worst
and all the boys come calling
so I shut the door
and pull the shutters
and pretend it never happened.

the only answer
is as yet unfound
no matter what he says
no matter what we two sing together
I am still untethered
and weaving in my atmosphere
like some dull balloon

there is a warm blowback from the candle
as I swiftly blow it out
and the warm gust of air
just reminds me
that I have no body to do the same
 
 
04 February 2007 @ 12:19 am
smitten
smitten
damned
and doomed
(perils of
coarse hearts
untombed).
 
 
25 December 2006 @ 09:19 pm
Damn niches
damn crannies
all those dirty crooks
all those hiding places I am too obvious to fit for


and phone numbers
I'd like a pox on them too
or maybe just all uncouth
all heavy-handed men
who wish I wore pants to get into
and all the others who don't notice
 
 
Maybe my problem and the one problem I should put the most effort into dealing with is those times when I am to be so unabashed as to say things I don't mean except for with my tongue and fingers. Like right now when I am driving home with one forefinger tucked in the side my mouth like it is someone else. Like now when I am wondering whether to put myself at some plea of joining, like I am willing to say, hey, meet me. And God, but I wish I had love, love in some big veined thick fingered way where movements threw themselves about like a gravitational pull was whispering at the back of their neck. Like some weaving thing, hands out at the wall, a slight wind-blown stagger as I lament lament half turned towards my stupid shallow dooms.

And maybe it hurts when I breathe but maybe I like that, the exhalation as an exhaltation of once more concurring with my past self, of the dream self that thought she was writing memoir but got wound up in fictions instead, with no one to come along and accuse me because nobody thought of the facts like that and nobody gave more than a few half-hearted sighs at its lamentable tremors of a demise. But it was more than just a dream and you can tell by the way his chin buckles a little in on itself in a photo like we've both taken on some different world's weight since then.