awake

awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake

love necessity,

love peace, love beauty
hate the word
for it is merely an utterance,
an unthing.
and who are we to create in way of words with intangible lines?
If I made a likeness of your face with
"oh"s and "ehem"s and "erm"s
would you hear the same face I see?
and if you were to coat my face in words,
same as phlegm or saliva,
could you cast a mask
to marry my countenance to this book?
could you
would you
surprise me?

I have scoured my thesaurus a hundred times
in search of you
so faint, like god twiddling his thumbs.
I have, so many a time,
brazenly plunged to the depths of my alphabet soup
only to find a crumb of you
canoodling in deep sea caverns with spoonerisms,
synecdoche,
and mainstream mediators of mental masturbation.

But if you were there
when my voice ran out,
I did not hear you calling.

I did not print commitment,
i signed it with a dizzying script,
an illeggibile roundabout of little nooses.

But if you were there,
I didn't see you speak
I only watched you walk away

lights lights lights

a little horrible
a little vacuous
a little and enough
of the stuff

I

miss you 

like a child misses 

their blanket 

dear love

my body's punishing me for a scurried resurgence
my mind's the breaker of my my head,
spewing sacrements,
like heady wine,
to a stoic barrage
of homeless heathens,
queued for soup
and soapy conversation.

And there I am a ladle
to plunge and draw,
plunge and draw.
And there I am a hot syringe
to draw and plunge,
draw and plunge.

and here's the doctor again.
he's come to generalize
the contents of my stomach
he's come to call sorrow
a cure for early-onset alcoholism.

dear love,
the heart within my thigh
has a circular pulse,
fighting last night like a tantrum,
and waking to a flatline.


dear love, Oh love,
how will you wake me once you know me?

Helen

I will paint the nails of your right hand and
always hold your ankles and promise that you're okay
we can forget to take our medication together
and shoplift trinkets and pine for bamboo rugs and that is what growing up is--
growing up is to catch a predator, and midnight ice cream runs,
and complaining about addiction,
and shrinking clothes, and figuring out
for the first time I don't feel always lonely,
only sometimes lonely,
but it helps to know that you're in reach
it helps to know that when I wake up in the middle of the night,
I can sometimes hear you breathing and know that you're ok.

I believe in you, go get 'em tiger.

both smells stain
your finger tips

”I detest my own past and that of others. I detest resignation, patience, professional heroism and all those nice, obligatory sentiments. I also detest the decorative arts, folklore, publicity, the voice of speakers, aerodynamics, boy scouts, the smell of gasoline, topical matters and drunkards. I love subversive humour, freckles, knees, the long hair of women, the laugh of young children at liberty, a young girl running in the street. I wish for real love, the impossible and the utopian. I fear knowledge of my exact limits.” René Magritte

I often feel grief
Like an eighth and final continent
An island set to tropical time.
It is a place held away from self,
With short and brittle correspondence
Of letters in jars
From a faraway place.

They speak another language there,
An unfamiliar farce of words
And swirling tongues.
It’s a bitter dance of seething syllables,
Spoken like a slow and steady breath.

My Idling archipelago
Rambles like a train of mismatched
Thoughts,
Only ever in halves.

I feel my grief like
A plentiful drought
And as searing eyes,
Caught on my neck.
I feel it like a dragging and pulling
Farther and farther down.
Like a dapper fool or a loathsome clown;
A starcrossed parade
Of players and heathens.

I have kept my grief apart from my heart
Made it a faint, and witching voice.
It welcomes the hour’s thud,
And relieves my daily dose.
A gesture of hope,
Hid from the start.

soul soul

he tells his friends
she's got a voice
like if the Godfather
had been a bacchante

And a cross-eyed Buddha
to mark my dissent
from the righteous path
weening its way
to enlightenment.

I'm okay

there is so much to do to keep from dying

I have always loved you as a thief
To sing my head and to drown my grief.
It was no love song
That fought its Saturn strung hands
To ring my heart.

It wasn’t a melancholy melody,
Nor was it the dashing and
Swaying
That ran us home to safety.

It wasn’t your breath or
Your bitter taste
That kept the tune
So fervent in my mind
Nor the grassy eyed complexion
Of a halfwit seduction.

It was,
However,
The words you chose
And those you stole,
From another man’s head.
But I have always loved you as a thief,
To sing my head and to drown my grief.

I should have hungered longer
And kept the sham alive.
I should have lit the flame
And danced myself to ashes.
But mourners weep for lost loves only
And ache for the lonely still.
But they will never know a love like mine
Or the stars of your face
Or the enchanted sun
That seared my heart.

I should have loved you with more hope
But it was the holes that halved my heart
But I have always loved you as a thief,
To sing my head and to drown my grief.

not to be dramatic or anything

and now it's gone

happy valentine's minute

Mirrrrrth

what we would be like if we weren't who we were
in that coffee shop
where our problems mattered
and Monica was fat
and Rachel got married.

writer's block

most recent team building exercise

my mom and I started watching the bachelor