A star imploding.
As dull as the cat's meow.
Sir, a dagger into my heart, a catastrophe into my hub of desire.
Understand a wakeful slumber.
Cowering, fearful, regrettable.
Give me a lesson and I shall learn.
Cortés' New World.
Sheathed, beguiled, misunderstood, unbegotten.
6.29.2009
6.18.2009
Back
Benches watch, white oak crimes.
Number count, trois deux un.
J'avais l'amour, toujours j'ai un cœur.
Sur le pré je ne rêve rien.
Mais, nous sommes près.
Les lits vides pour qui est loin.
Ma chaleur, pour toi.
Je donnerais tous les chose, si tu veux.
Viens-ici.
En beauté.
Number count, trois deux un.
J'avais l'amour, toujours j'ai un cœur.
Sur le pré je ne rêve rien.
Mais, nous sommes près.
Les lits vides pour qui est loin.
Ma chaleur, pour toi.
Je donnerais tous les chose, si tu veux.
Viens-ici.
En beauté.
6.15.2009
George
Tan lines and unheralded screams.
Sticks and stones in to pizza dough.
Cold shoulders and colder hearts.
Sanity unstable, unattainable end table.
Sandy socks and dusty shirt.
Gilded eye sockets.
When the wind blows through my empty chest and freezes the bones around, when the west is lost and the world goes under, the trees uprooted, its unburied parts burning and the rain stops coming around. We will all be brought before the judgement and a mirror will be placed in front to see our face. There will be no magic or trickery of light, just the purity of white and the frailness of a naked human body left to squirm under a self-administered autopsy.
Sticks and stones in to pizza dough.
Cold shoulders and colder hearts.
Sanity unstable, unattainable end table.
Sandy socks and dusty shirt.
Gilded eye sockets.
When the wind blows through my empty chest and freezes the bones around, when the west is lost and the world goes under, the trees uprooted, its unburied parts burning and the rain stops coming around. We will all be brought before the judgement and a mirror will be placed in front to see our face. There will be no magic or trickery of light, just the purity of white and the frailness of a naked human body left to squirm under a self-administered autopsy.
6.09.2009
Invisible Litter
In a city called home rusty metal rattles, where street lights bleed into the sky. Sit and sleep in musty flannel, let the world pass by. Uncalled for communion, may peace be with us all. Folded up in concrete chairs underneath wooden creaking arms. Hair raised, back of neck, little choirs sing the praise of each minute that passes. Coaxed through blood, red life preservers looking like candy store drugs. We have issues of non-communication, mute but never deaf, dumb, or blind. Hands, holding little paper cranes, incomparable with metal giraffes in industrial zoos. Placated thoughts, trembling, little excuses left to rot.
You ask me why we break these shelves,
You ask me why we don't go to battle ourselves
Well why can't I rise above the rest and come tell the stories of the best
They knew how to fight and how to lead
Their eyes knew no fright as their might conquered all.
Where the greatest have gone to die.
Young, charming, and full of romance.
You ask me why we break these shelves,
You ask me why we don't go to battle ourselves
Well why can't I rise above the rest and come tell the stories of the best
They knew how to fight and how to lead
Their eyes knew no fright as their might conquered all.
Where the greatest have gone to die.
Young, charming, and full of romance.
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