infinityminustwo

2010-11-15T22:25:00.001-08:00

and so it is gladly that i say i do not think i will ever need to come back here again because these things are better said than written.

2010-11-13T03:54:00.001-08:00

i come here when i need to leave behind parts of my soul that i can no longer carry for fear of it infecting the rest with either unrealistic joy or too realistic pain.

today i think i must leave behind enough for my pacemaker (for it can no longer be called a heart) to float aimless and directionlessly, shedding itself until nonexistence, like a carefully scrunched up scrap of paper in a hurricane of knives.

2010-11-13T03:09:00.001-08:00

i am so very very tired of everything and moving and everything moving so someone needs to tell me why life can't just stay still like a small child about to have his picture taken and why it must get off chairs and climb on tables and kick everything around then put on the wrong shoes and run over your eyes and celebrate the triumph of humanity in a billion words but deprive firemen of a job because robots do it better.

someone needs to tell me why the human condition is not conditional on your humanity and why we cannot all leap into racial memory and take comfort in the fact that everyone before you has survived this and you could drop your burdens into a pool of their hands and watch it diminish like the light at the edge of the night at a quarter to seven.

but mostly i think i would just like someone to turn off the sky and unscrew all the light bulbs in the universe and find me a clock the colour of a shroud because i must never let myself fall asleep like this again.

2010-11-10T18:54:00.000-08:00

i'd like to think this is the silence between two people who have an infinite number of things they'd like to say an infinite number of times but don't have to because they'd already known before the other realised it.

2010-11-03T04:46:00.000-07:00

dying.

i am sorry my existence is neither very noble nor sublime.

2010-10-21T09:09:00.000-07:00

you call me out of harbour and send me looking for broken things beneath the waves

and in your demanding for me to set sail, you forget that simply having lived at sea

does not make you one who was meant for it

2010-10-16T08:42:00.000-07:00

this silence, the one that rings louder and more hopelessly

than a thousand fire alarms going off in a desert,

this silence, of looks that bore through every depth of ocean

and height of sky in concert

this silence, of feeling darkness rising and other horrible things that people say you are better than and not knowing if they are right, and worse, not caring, for your heart is no longer beating

this silence, of snapping, broken daisy chains and resting empty heads on hollow doorframes that need no greeting

this silence, this,

is the sound of my heart breaking louder than the moment my universe exploded into being and softer than when it will go out with a whimper

2010-10-14T06:32:00.000-07:00

throw throw throw throw yourself out onto the sea onto your belly and feel the ice feel yourself splitting and diluting across green panes until what was once the reflection of your face is now just an eye or a nose miles away from each other because the loud ones know you cannot be hurt if you cannot be found and glued together and water is not adhesive once you know how to swim in it.

vanish varnish vanish varnish your mind brightly, like a lampshade without a bulb that glows, the light-crowded nothing that means you never know where or who you are and define yourself only by the next and the next because the silent ones know that the empowerment of running is not in reaching a destination but in leaving one behind.

2010-10-12T08:17:00.000-07:00

i have lost my voice and that frightens me more than dying alone or paper cuts or breaking my spine or seeing you with another.

i have lost the ability to feel the entirety of my universe swelling up within me, like hugging a balloon that is still being inflated, and feeling it pushing against the cage of your arms and that sensation of skin-thin fragility and power all at once. to know that you can channel the unspeakables and indescribables out of you, screaming down your arm and through your fingers and into someone else where they will grow anew and fill them up.

now i just feel emptier than this

2010-09-25T08:06:00.000-07:00

i have forgotten how to feel like a ship in a sea of troubles

now i'll hear only foam

and taste only depth

on my underwater skin

2010-09-20T06:19:00.000-07:00

furious silence that boils like a kettle about to explode into seven different dead ends and a very low ceiling

2010-09-18T09:47:00.001-07:00

i write so you can feel how i see

every song could be ours

i see you every day

2010-09-09T07:14:00.001-07:00

please read this first

it is the choice to start down an irreversible path, because you believe that what you'll find waiting for you at the end is so timeless and powerful and blindingly bright that there should never be any other way for this to end but in groaning silence and the inching spaces between your hands that crackle like a million lightning storms.

it is the willingness to sit quietly with the one for whom you would erase the sky, (because you've already wiped your heart clean and what is any sky to the expanse of your love?) to sit and feel her head against your neck, to paint the softness of her skin and hum the eternal rhythm of her heartbeat, rising and falling like a sine curve of love that has been made absolute. to sit quietly and say nothing because you're afraid of what would happen if it fell.

it is the yearning felt by millions around the world tonight, who wish the oceans would crunch, deserts would gush and mountains would pancake and stack like towers of Babel, just so they could be that much closer to their own him or her.

it is the realisation when you wake up early in the morning, in that time between the end of one day and the start of another, when it's still dark out and you shut your eyes tightly once more and wish the shape you have memorised with your arms would be the shape before you and you could reach over and kiss her and hold her and dance with her and never ever have to open your eyes again.

2010-09-08T17:40:00.001-07:00

sometimes i feel like i die

forty-two times between you

but that's okay

because i wouldn't want to be alive

at any other time

2010-09-07T22:18:00.000-07:00

it's like you're running through this house that wants you to go racing through it; it opens doors for you and dissolves walls so all you see is the endless corridor ahead and all you feel is the muffled carpet beneath your flashing feet and all you hear is the joyous beating of a heart that knows it is free to beat and free to live and everything seems to matter but not matter at the same time because as long as you can keep running you can keep letting go and it will always seem like bad things fly away from you, because when you're running this fast it never occurs to you that you're the one flying, that you're the one being let go of - to fly away and away until your feet no longer touch the carpet and you're running on the sky of the ceiling.

it's like you're walking through this house that doesn't want you anywhere near it, where doors slam shut the minute you see them and the reflection of you on the knobs is someone who lives next door, someone you see early in the morning and late at night but never in between. you can sense someone else in this house, though it does not creak and it does not groan or indeed make any noise that would make you feel cheery or frightened, it gives you the look of a man who has just had his heart broken, a silence that screams louder, more powerfully and ambiguously than a thousand newborn cries, the muteness of being ripped forcefully out of something you once called your own and harsh sunlight raising goosebumps all along your arm, even though you know you shouldn't fear the sun; but you're having trouble wrapping your arms around this hard light, harder than the distance between us - harder than a slamming door.

it's like i know you're somewhere in this form, just not this structure.

2010-09-04T08:46:00.001-07:00

someone else needs to steer for me,

for this life is too surreal

and i'm too afraid of leaving

fingerprints on the steering wheel

2010-09-03T09:11:00.000-07:00

today, i wished i would know what to wish for

2010-09-01T09:23:00.000-07:00

hello darling, i'm afraid i cannot deal with

your loveliness right now because

my blinds are still open and

i never found the time to buy

shades so please

leave a message after the leap

and i'll get back to you

now

2010-08-30T07:17:00.000-07:00

if i cannot love you then let me hate you

for like pants, scissors and glasses,

my heart is useless in halves

2010-08-21T09:44:00.001-07:00

i made something new today

complextion

2010-08-07T22:23:00.000-07:00

young girl

but when i woke up from you yesterday

i realised we'd grown old together too fast

dug our graves out of arm's reach of each

other and kneading a death too soft that it passed

with us still sinking deep

(taking last mile steps barefoot,

when we were still young and asleep)

2010-07-28T03:48:00.000-07:00

you have to see life before you can be alive they say, and that would mean i was long dead before i met you.

for you remember the little things that keep my world together - the song of ticking clocks, the taste of empty mirrors and the scent of waiting - moments when all of time is crashed together and stacked neatly into each line break in the story of our correspondence.

you are the mirror of the world in that all which shines is reflected and the darkness made visible only by your absence.

so when you say that you forget what you are, when it must be clear to all - i confess that i find it frightening

that you do not remember what you wrote on your back,

for you cannot see it without a mirror.

history

2010-07-18T07:25:00.000-07:00

dangling conversations

and sometimes when you talk to yourself at people

you forget that they are not

the same person

sitting behind your eyes

not a slow echo of yourself

bouncing back and forth between minds and lines

but someone who just happens to be

thinking the same thing at the same time

by

2010-07-18T06:57:00.001-07:00

vapidities

2, 42 and 69

conspired to make a deadly rhyme

they too felt for the sick's mind

and mined the line for truth

tea he

2010-07-10T05:01:00.001-07:00

duofold

her smile: is like a thousand secrets

being told but kept

from me

and she burns

like the last lava lamp

at the end of time and sea

she sees my every shadow,

of thought

and figment tree

in her hand i find the universe

and (like her fingers)

it finds me

sweet disposition

2010-07-04T09:28:00.001-07:00

smaller

i now see that i made the mistake of assuming

that simply because you were timeless

we would be eternal

story of my life (not ironic)

2010-07-01T06:42:00.000-07:00

queen of argyll

oh, if you could have seen her there

boys, if you had just been there

the swan was in her movement

and the morning in her smile

all the roses in the garden

they bow and ask her pardon

for not one could match the beauty

of the queen of all argyll

- silly wizard

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fv0zauTaUj0

you had 19 to your name, this makes 20

2010-06-25T07:09:00.000-07:00

flora

nothing brightens my heart more

than the melting

of your crystal laughs

and blossoming of our minds

in quiet smiles over

long periods of no one speaking

but mostly in how

the roses and tulips of our house turn water-proof

when you flower

this is for science

2010-06-19T07:37:00.000-07:00

paper forme

1. you should know that

what drives me round most

is the silence

and the concept of being

alone in this room/world

(which is anywhere you wouldn't be)

1a. this is when time for everyone else is a construct

you don't have an invitation to.

and you can do nothing but watch,

falling old while they grow their young

2. you should also know that

basic duties i require from you

are living and loving

for yourself and everything

respectively

(although it would be nice if i could figure somewhere in between)

3. your working hours are from

two in your marriage to

one in my night

and overtime consists of

growing old together

and sitting on patio benches

wriggling toe-roots beneath sunned wood

and into welcome mats

4. the warranty

consists of you saying i would

4a. and lasts for a period of

up to as long as you feel comfortable on my neck

5. but you should also know that

you can skip all this

and purchase my heart

by leaving the room

(in a classy manner)

springfeed

2010-06-09T03:00:00.001-07:00

v

i'm just afraid that the sky might break

(before we have anything
to show for our twined
but eloping fingers)

and with just a stone
over the door of
my heart to say:
you once lived here

--

youhoo

2010-06-08T04:22:00.001-07:00

why we enter civil contracts with deities

she is like jade bubblegum

that you've been chewing for years

and isn't going to lose its flavour for

the fore seeable future

lawn juries

2010-06-08T04:08:00.000-07:00

selling death

this is a world where

the lightest of touches

bring me to my knees

and the absence of them

murder

so if you need an anchor

because your life is a storm

find out who brings you down

then run off with

their best friend

but this is why you cannot balance love letters

toothpick

without breaking either

nèamh

2010-06-07T02:19:00.000-07:00

qualifiers

i would like you if

you didn't have to

pause

before sliding your gaze

and locking mine in place

i would like you if

when picking those careless tinkles

and brush strokes

with parabolic wrists,

you didn't shatter worlds

i would like you if

i didn't have to wait and

you would listen more

to the storm around you

instead of sym-

phonies inside

i would like you if

you didn't drift so far

that i had to creak over to pull you in

like an errant yard growing beyond what i could see

in my picket-fence mind

i would like you if

you didn't make me feel like one of a million

then make me a million out of one,

after dropping intractable numbers heavily,

a rucksack loaded with your thoughts

i would like you if

you didn't qualify anything

you or i

say or do

and you don't

which is why

(holding ceteris paribus to be true)

i would like you if

i didn't love you

a moment to love

2010-06-05T10:19:00.001-07:00

little things, unyousual

you know me

and how i need scraps of fiction

to feed my dreams:

because if you are that goddess the first democrats saw

and if those heavenly moments whenwetouch form the veins of my hope

then i am

intravenus

drip

(your hand is an adventurous cradle i need to know)

its like how i

like those songs where i can't really

hear what they're saying,

and the lyrics

you think you're hearing

end up more poetic and meaningful than

anything packaged

a million miles away from

your heart in plastic and wire

which is why

i sometimes

write possible poem endings down

in memos {like i wish i could for ours}

on my phone's calendar,

because i'm afraid

of forgetting you

deuxasperastation

2010-06-05T09:14:00.000-07:00

this poem is yours

because yours is the swooping voice

of swans casually spreading wings

but choosing the earth,

sitting still in lakes

since you have no need for the sky

because yours are the emptiest eyes

they fill and are filled with everything around

like that moment before a mug shatters/

sucking in air

with deep, jagged breaths

and letting go at the same time,

like broken, limp hand

les

because yours is the finest scent

that once tasted,

i can now pick out of a hurricane,

or at least anywhere with frozen floors and

s e e - t h r o u g h h e a r t s

balloons

2010-06-04T09:40:00.000-07:00

wind societies

so when you lean back, close your eyes

tell me what you see:

do i look like him

or does he feel like me?

jargon

2010-06-04T09:27:00.000-07:00

hour voices

if we sit silent

it is because i'd rather be mute with you

than alive with everyone else

cure it

2010-05-20T01:27:00.000-07:00

and it brightened

when i am sick and the world is cold scudded grey

i think of us holding each other, and wish that one day

though passion may dim and forget may grow

neither of us would have to let go

you

2010-05-15T06:57:00.000-07:00

and i think i am at last content.

don't ever go

2010-05-07T09:18:00.000-07:00

the U&l cases

tell me is this now?

if open walks echoed with heaven

and/or our footsteps

babbling brook

2010-05-03T09:15:00.000-07:00

your-titled

it is your every fibre - being your being

that when stroked by light causes it and you to resonate

a tune that harmonises

with the beat of my heart

it is your every glance - caressing and seeing

that i know you right, (never reminded)

even when you rise/write as such

that i and eye am blinded

it calls to me across what little remains

of our indifferent seas held in place -

you stay still and you still stay

like i have spent eternities before your face

it is a repeated whisper of possibility;

a dream-breakfast promise made good

so we have now new responsibility

to one that was, is and would

to find somewhere: a place for you and me

where we live life: to laugh in restrained glee

till then i suffer with this compunction

to find this somewhere under the cold grey sky dome

where we would eagerly wriggle into non-verbal conjunction

and feel warmths closer to home

much too soon

2010-04-30T07:56:00.000-07:00

newants

we feel ancient amidst modernity

like this has happened before

and this sighing into eternity:

i do adore/abhor

time stretches and has no me-

aning like streetlights on the road

but what we have now in our presence

:circlet arms are our abode

what is hidden under covers,

under layers of you&me

is a breath of fresh morning walks

and of late night hidden glee

{

}

your gentle mind,

fits more perfectly

into the embrace of mine

and numbered rhyme,

slips more suddenly

when these digits intertwine

but yet remains, i kneel

for at other times, i feel

my silent enduring fear:

a you-shaped empty here

and when you want to live how do you start where do you go who do you need to know

2010-04-18T08:59:00.000-07:00

i like you

i like ungrounded, underground optimism

i like watching open-air music take flight

i like seeing lights turn your face into a prism

reflecting meadows and sweet bread: where everything's right

i like our eyes meeting in a million out of one

i like hearing you whisper amidst deafening sound

i like feeling like we've only just begun

i like knowing love is less lost than found

i like the idea of picking us up and running away

i like waiting if it means maybe tomorrow

i like the notion that pianos may one day

play us down the aisle and out of sorrow

why i cry

2010-04-15T05:58:00.000-07:00

peaks and troughs

you keep me off the ground
when you swing me round

your eyes, in a lost and found
your heart, i think, weighs more than a pound
of flesh - of silence, the sound
of your smile,
keeps me swinging round and round
swinging, swinging, off the ground

everyday till now

2010-04-13T08:19:00.000-07:00

unspoken

2010-04-04T03:56:00.001-07:00

to get her, together

let me tell you about it

it is a dove-

white, pure, easily stained by a third

party

to get her (but condensed and without silent spaces)

it is above-

like what they taughtold you on sundays

and what you learned

for yourself

from the crowded, lonely silver people

that saved the last lost dance/kiss for someone

other [(after) you please]

it is a glove-

hand in hand(?)

skin against dead skin

(tell me is it true that only one can be alive at a time, though

both can be dead?)

it is of-

what you get when you can't think of anything that rhymes with her name and you sit for minutes uneasy in the task that you wish you had never started but now know that you will again end in pretenses of indifference and false ellipses for once

(it is what rhymes with the last word of the first line of each stanza)

it is -

i can read your mind

2010-03-31T07:54:00.000-07:00

speak softly love

still the chairs arrange the tables and force the doors

into an order that finds us mazes out of nothing

like how your magic created this glue

that now yellows and eats away the

paper holding itself together, barely

and to describe the non-feeling now,

is as distant as the u(space)s

and to see the unseeing bow

from applause that lightnings in darkened places

so leave your paper illusions behind,

sit quiet with me and lie -

like an empty cup

waiting for drips

beneath the shaking sky.

no, i can't

2010-03-30T07:23:00.000-07:00

bucket list

and i want to witness something truly majestic,

the library-quiet knowledge of an older, choral mountain

or the unknowing, unseeing mirrored sequenced squeaks of new life

in gardens, incomparable, beyond the pons Varolii fountain

i want to smell the stone in bloom,

flowers darting like bees around these weathered ages

morning mist dispersing midnight gloom

and evening breeze fluttering leaves and pages

i want to hear the assurance of pitch black water and life beneath it

the whales sing to themselves of somewhere below the bathypelagic zone,

where the sea is endless midnight, and the stars wither to spit,

of a place with a deeper light; and we are dancers to the ocean's devotion

in our little wires of night - cycling with light-emotion

i want to feel the security of another,

but i touch nothing and am overcome with sorrow -

yet you will my dreamful sleep be in the here-and-now,

if i know you'll still be here tomorrow

minutes of rain and orange realisations, just

2010-03-29T06:23:00.000-07:00

fearless symmetry

as little ones never experienced

in new

airs,

crush random overtures with declarations

her old lingering desire illuminates new ground:

when he arrests tension,

it soils

hearts eradicated; {relationships' serendipitously

closed}

lost on sea-breeze embers

upperhouse

2010-03-23T04:11:00.000-07:00

minor errata & yellowed old ushers

crossing into naivete;

not a younger, understanding me

journeying and caressing,

kneeling in eternity - i lowered

our view

ending yourself over us

yellow elephants

2010-03-15T07:15:00.000-07:00

the dream keeper

Bring me all your dreams,

You dreamer,

Bring me all your

Heart melodies

That I may wrap them

In a blue-cloud cloth

Away from the too-rough fingers

Of the world

- Langston Hughes

red light

2010-03-14T08:30:00.000-07:00

stop or go

and/but/if the answer is know-

to one and all. ignorant as a dove

that one day we should fall in -

-----------------------------------------------

this is meant for one pair of eyes only

that are like a tide at my mind's shores

curiouser and curiouser still in my heart

i wish

-i hope

-it's yours

yes

2010-03-11T06:11:00.000-08:00

cottage industry

pre-possessing my veins

(i see hazels in your eyes

the only nuts i would not balk from)

and sweeping my heart hesitantly

over your shoulder

in stepping sideways within

and feeling everything suddenly dear

in one so adjunct.

i miss being near.

red flag

2010-02-17T08:06:00.000-08:00

a[bridge]{meant}

so chillax/////, my good lady

i will mock thee no more :)

:(or run thine ships of ignorant joy aground):

for who am i, wandering twit! that i am

to begin to determine-

and count your happiness

(when my own is nowhen to be found);

i hate the weekends

2010-02-13T02:53:00.001-08:00

applied morology

because i am afraid of remembering,

(drinking)

but more because i'm afraid of you

(thinking)

so turn off your mind

keep the curtains drawn

and let's plunk us in stasis

till a sleepy, noisier dawn

step thirty four of two

2010-01-26T08:58:00.000-08:00

fig{me}[(a)nt]

why the paralysis.

1. if she is a doctor making her rounds

speeding my dying heart)

and the lights have gone out for the night

so i can no longer tell anyone in this part

of the hospital

is there(not/a/question?)

2. if this was a movie

it would be film noir

or contain old flickering dancing children:!groovy

was the windy light that ached softly

so softly it was like eyes

in water/

that always would

but not because they hardly could

more out of obligation; that they never should

vagaries

2010-01-23T08:21:00.001-08:00

a story

these words are real

yet they do deceive

and they do conceal

but similarly water; translucent-still

quietened, they do too but reveal

beating softly, my [nerve]r-ending appeal

moments i wish

for your eyes

oh! for your eyes

(not discounting your smile or any other coupons that would buy me more time next to you again)

but oh, i want it to be me :(beyond what i would believe, much less than anyone else would bereave):

who when he's with you is happiest simply knowing that you're his

and when he isn't - is jealous of everyone else who is

the one last thing i hold 2u to be true:

i cannot fathom living a life without you

smoked phlegm

2010-01-16T06:40:00.001-08:00

tuktuk

in the darkened quiet of

an obscure bus stop at night,

(with a single bus that comes every 2

two hours.)

in the empty

edges

of an unfamiliar neighbourhood

separate from the

world out

of your

window

you wait,

[quiescent, not wanting to attract attention, although

you are

you:think

you are alone again] far as the pools of

weak light from the streetlamp across the deserted

road-show.

so you wait,

first standing uneasily,

then sitting ->

down.

you keep your eyes low, hugging ground.

because you'd rather see the uncertain coughing of stone and cement

(*than the bleakdarkmenace above and around)

an ant, a mind distinct of your own, scuttling from a leaf in between your feet. it crawls across your eyes like sandpaper on marble, skittering a drum beat. it slips past the lumps and irregularities of the ground (and textual structure), heading irreversibly for your left foot.

the single-

mindedness of its primitive brain scares you

but in this world, fear is moot.

so you shift your foot next to your right.

the insect turns course and heads back towards your right.

startled. why, how does it know? does it follow the light

absence of, that is

shift it back, further apart this time.

it turns

shift

turn

shift

turn

you grow more afraid by the second.

you do not want to get up,

for that would be akin

to acknowledging defeat at the hands

of the insect.

as would be resorting to physical force to crush it.

(and also you are afraid to admit

that you do not want

any contact with

the invaderalien even

through your permeable shoes.)

so your fear grows as your

feet

move and

the ant changes direction.

and you die a little inside that night

because you feel as helpless

{as an ant caught in the streetlight.}

moskau

2010-01-12T07:26:00.000-08:00

"Our gods are here, below with us - in the Bureau, in the kitchen, in the workshop, in the latrine. Gods have become like us, ergo, we have become like gods. And to you, my unknown planetary readers, we will come to you, to make your life as divinely rational and exact as ours."

- WE, Zamyatin

D-503 is such a bitch.

egg concept

2010-01-07T08:15:00.001-08:00

sock (sic)

if oulipos structured your frame

then petals too-whee scorched and taped by sides

shallow and deep into those

glass (petri[fied]) dishes holding loose change

that possibly came from badges, (that is: bandages)

and bagpipes of former lustrous grandeur

echoing in the lochs and locks

of a further ruralbanity,

that was and would be future digs

the towers never fell

2009-12-30T07:43:00.000-08:00

observers are here

i dare not comment

since nothing but falls from these lips

and i dare not help

your failing attempts and freudian slips

i dare not speak

for fear of the unspoken

i dare not reap

finding all things broken

i would not reach

higher cliffs over the shore

if i could but adore

that which i must abhor

i would not save

that which i have to surrender

i would not crave

that infinite splendour

so in turning

examine lovely, your bones

that you claimed was broke

with sticks and stones

examine once before pleading help,

(for your eyes may yet play tricks)

there are some things, alas

(though not many)

that [no] no man can fix

civic auditorium friday night

2009-12-25T06:43:00.001-08:00

ultima ratio amor

help me make my choices

help me silence the voices

echoing truth and lies

now hard to tell apart

saying sink so you can rise

empty could-be's frame your eyes

so help me dream when i awaken

help me find the path less taken

in the wandering

silent footsteps of

setting love and strife

past sunny gardens you've always known

you'll walk the rest of your life

audiotextisual

2009-12-19T00:47:00.001-08:00

the determinist's code of conduct

the only sin

is in having the same experience twice

for which the existentialist price within

is like hearing rusted nails on a chalkboard made of

the dried fossilized remains of your skin

instilled with this sense of modernity,

imagine hearing that for all eternity

so make this your wish and ambition

that with every day, a different mission

make this of your own volition,

a different ambition in every mission,

so with permission

for one final rendition,

be mindful of the human condition

life is too short for repetition.

hello darkness my old friend

2009-10-31T07:51:00.000-07:00

i've come to talk with you again

every day in a letter
every life in a word
every moment in forever
every sound you ever heard

every one you ever met
every choice you now regret
every love you ever lost
every sword you ever crossed

every vice that filled your life
every height you would have reached
every husband without a wife
every sermon never preached

every coincidence turned to fate
every curtain sung too late
every tree run out of leaf
every mourner out of grief

every death in dropped flowers
every lie that came true
every second turns to hours
all these things i do for you

as the crow falls

2009-10-13T06:52:00.000-07:00

riding to hounds

oh, you blind(!)
happy patricians
walking down strasnoy boulevard
(or equivalent in valence)
hand in hand with someone only
solemnised by late-falling snow

listing talk of singularity and dulled devotion
behind rusting closed doors that begin to open
alone by themselves
telling tales through what chinks
they shall never show

and all the ink marks of the universe throughout
all the passioned fires that glow
shall come to nought - while optimism plans your future
with someone only you never know)

the strangest of peoples

2009-10-11T04:15:00.000-07:00

refusal to wake

i dreamed a strange dream
question: we were brought together by happy chance
(the details were strange but they always are)
we were walking, responsibly, with accepting irrelevance tailing behind
your arm goes around my shoulder and you pull yourself closer
(i don't yet understand why)

i hope we are indistinguishable from a distance,
a lopsided creature slowly leaning against itself
our load is poetic, when then it starts to rain
yet i have never felt downpour more gentle, cool or right
it hardly affects our conjoinment, and less so our spirits
you laugh in an urban cloudburst at night

the images are growing fainter
so draw them faster, like a hurried painter
converting a dream
into what would seem
in passing, reality.

flashes of problems, tears spilled in the rain
and in time travel we start all over again

but this time i feel a different tone
this time you see, your arm stays alone

--

in a boat on the lethe

2009-10-06T05:59:00.000-07:00

i forgot why i am here.

but i'm still afraid of letters
i'm afraid of the empty
within my eyelids
(not dust)

i'm afraid of holding up in tatters
life and not seeing
my hands (or anyone elses)
in the swirl
that must
have some form of direction

but sprightly dance now
into the light
waltzing and spinning on an angel's pall

dance without a heart
and then enthrall one and all

because even ships that sail into the night
for whom the greatest of bells would toll

must all at some point in the morning
have a port of call.

--

bright young is

we daringly sewed boots for ourselves proudly
out of the sky
(just to show we could bend over far enough
to spit upon the stars)

and walked upon the heavens underfoot

with little children crying behind your noble visage
and cacti dying within yellowing earth page
the scent of burning potpourri poured out in rage
listen to the old men,
(you die upon their old adage)

heed these words
(shuffled and messed)
and perhaps in another world
your life will be blessed.

bombing the fascists to picnic and cold kvass

2009-09-26T09:21:00.000-07:00

about not of

I.

first glimpse;
you are familiarity made a-
new

eyes upended by casualation
with one who wasn't; though
the edge of your passing was enough to
cobble us together

so avert these eyes again
as i avert my mind from passing you over as anything more
than another responsibility

we sit at the table and i think of this as a family
(with roles, obviously selected for
maximum discomfort of mind)

of course back then
regardless of any advances on the field
my first instinct is to retreat
and i delude myself that not to do so would be churlish and
not at all what i want to be.

in the lateness of that hour
a rejected answer and
infinite words
(first smile too)
that moment will stay with me forever
as will my/your choice
forever to be analysed and thrown from the table
where reason dines

II.

it was a mere pleasant thought afterward
my first recollection of actually waiting was against red checkers
meaningless to you then and now

when you first spoke up
it came back in a flood
washing away doubt(?)
filling me with bright ideas(?)
that sadly for all, fell out
of time and favour above

(for the second smile)
i would do it all over again.

III.

you weren't there.
i didn't wait.

and just as well that a sideroad opened
all tunnels lead to gold

(but the cliched windows of your soul lead to a greater
mine)

IV.

we meet changed
either, neither
(on second thoughts)
i begin to remember/wonder why i went awry
and don't change course
becauseihope.

(third and more because i lost count of your eyes)

--

boo!

2009-09-12T09:16:00.000-07:00

i just realised that if humanity ever achieves
its maximum potential
in the evolution of an entity of near infinite
mind and incredible intelligence and perception, that
knows me deeper than i know myself and
understands the universe better than laplace's demon,
and if i
were ever to meet that person and
attempt to have an incredibly insightful
and revealing dialogue into the mysteries of
life and our perceptions of the universe,
he/she'd probably open the conversation by
punching me
in the face.

(partly for being a twit who
breaks up perfectly good paragraphs to
make them sound more
intellectual than
they actually are)

thoughts from the last ma/en on earth

2009-09-08T09:52:00.001-07:00

day 3
timestamp: 1:13 pm, Saturday, 24th December, ***2

found the e-diary.

i can't hear anything. maybe i should. but i don't think i would want to, if i could.

i don't even know if anyone will be reading this. maybe i will. maybe me.

--

day 3
timestamp: same day but later at night, i don't know what time it is because the sun went behind that big building at the end of the park and i don't want to go anywhere near the park because the sky there is redder and it's lighted but not in a bright way

i'm cold. the blankets don't work. the radiator doesn't work. the FIRE DOESN'T WORK! i need a new fire. the old one doesn't work it doesn't burn it lights but like the parklight; not bright or enough.

night.

--

day 4
timestamp: just woke up and thought the fire was on but it wasn't and i don't want to touch the ashes because they might be cold. 25th December i think.hoho

where am i going to find food. do i need food anymore? maybe i don't. should i risk it? no.

1. grocers on main
2. ashley's house
3. vending machines
4.
5.

i should try main street but i don't want to go into barry krakowski's store, there's too much dust and ash and it might be cold.

but i'll be colder if i don't eat so i'll go straight for the vending machines. i can't think of any where else. i don't want to think of any where else.

i don't want to go anywhere. me neither.

--

day 6
timestamp: the suns just about to go behind the building again and the windows on it are looking like their covered in blood. but it's not blood it's just me and the sun but it looks like blood and i don't want to see me. i'd rather look at the books i found in the bookshop. their vending machine was empty but i found the books instead and i think they're great, especially the trashy novels because they cheer me up, but i like the cartoons too because they cheer me up too and their easier to read by broken firelight. and harder to see me.

note to self: fix fire.

day 7
timestamp: 4:56 pm, Wednesday, 28th December **12

fixed watch. saw me. found a bunch of watches in one of the stores but the window was broken so i didn't want to go in. saw me. oh why bother with aposthroes im not bothered wih them or spelling err or seeing me

day 8
timestamp: (not entered)

me. am i here. in the park somewhere. i can hear me. closer. stop. go awry.

day 14
timestamp: afjadg[o309u14

ii.i.i.i.i.i.ii.i.i.ii.ii.i.i.i.ii.i.i.i.i.i.i.ii.i.i.i
ME>!>>deathnaowrdoitkillllll

day 52
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day 93
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--

how to save the world without a pencil

2009-09-02T06:53:00.000-07:00

sonnet for sixteen

this is how you should never
write a poem (or piece of poetry)
with words like: thee, thine and forever
and others not of this century

do not submit to repetition
for repetition is dull and boring
true writing is not a competition
merely of the soul, an outpouring

the above stanza is a prime example
of what not to have in your poem (or piece of poetry)
disgustingly insipid, though only a sample
of filigree sonnets and assorted bombastry

but by far i think, the most abhorrable crime
is a poem that is forced (painfully) to rhyme

--

the vice of moderation

2009-08-28T09:37:00.001-07:00

toxication

stabs in the light
often miss more out of intention
than discretion
since the latter is
resting at the bottom of a toilet

it is the pill hurriedly popped
that makes it all go away
your life (or what was)
you
should go towards the white light
that broken-down disco ball
now only broadcasting one station

but keep trying:
there is more than one way
to expire a dream;
so keep lying

though i will never quite be there
where people jump and scream
(but that's perhaps
i think, not
for lack of dying)

--

the world was a restless place

2009-08-23T05:56:00.000-07:00

78mi2slp

i tell them
my head is full
of dead poets
and dying)

of one-hit wonders
and whether control devices
that would never work outside
in the sunlight, in the glow of reality
is what h
is left when the rain starps(exclamation mark)

my head is full
of things better off imagined than lived
things better off lived than imagined
noisechee, static in the attic with new and improved mind
control; the elusive slip through non sequitors
and rhymes in time; lime for a dime;
though nevermined

my head is full
of things fantastical and horrible
and leap-prerequisite imaginative feats
linguistic orange juice, squeezed through
processed ick and my(grains)

my head is full
of emotive emoticons that nuance
subtle songs to me. and i wilfully assume
serenade you similar subtext
but i could be wrong.(ihope)

my head is full
(but in the face of sterile examination
they tell me my head is empty.)

beyond the mondayne

2009-08-22T03:17:00.000-07:00

god, your eyes

look into my eyes
and i want you to see
all the weight of the world that there will ever be

look into my mind
and i want you to wonder
why we leap from heights and fear things asunder

look into my soul, new friend
tell me what you feel
fingers between metal scraping, and if what you feel is real

look into this skipping beater
turn, tickle then look homewards
for we'd rather run in circles
just to make sure we're not going backwards

--

closer look into the mind of,

2009-08-19T03:29:00.000-07:00

mixed signals

i write this in the hope that

some distant beating of drums
bereft of space and time
voidless, speaks and comes
closer, 'fellow wanderer, hear'

the hope that i write this in

is that ginger calling of mates/birds
liberated from geographical constraints
but still drawing lonely landscapes
in cries and soundless paints

in the hope that i write this; -

that some lovely stranger of mine
set free from sanity and rhyme
should one day plead with me
saying 'fix me,

fix me'

--

facade, polycarbon

2009-08-19T02:58:00.000-07:00

queen victoria

i dreamt today that it broke
and that one was there
and distinctly not amused
at what one betook
-the seething madness within

so gather your flimsy sticks and
malprop up my fledging attempts at pain,
at a truer li(f)e and
please do it quickly
-before i dream again.

not cricket

2009-08-08T04:32:00.000-07:00

regret

what can you learn in a year
that would convince you to live one more
so your existence could be

mended and patched hastily, like as to
torn dresses and sleeves on the
bramble bushes, where we used to squat
and hear the earth breathing

a sigh of condensed relief
at a night reached not too soon
when the moon comes out to cry
(though why?)

but then it should.would.

and that we do not break our necks
is perhaps concrete;
of the human spirit

the potter is not the pot

2009-08-07T09:21:00.000-07:00

the question of legacy

so when you wander home tonight
you shall tell your sons
we lived for the little things in life
and died for the great ones

--

far left, out of three

2009-08-04T07:05:00.000-07:00

but the mind makes the audacity of hope palatable, possible.

and since rational thought dissolves when it strays to you, i have nothing but fantasies and dreams to construct your mental abode with.

it is a pretty house.

and that is why i live.

crossing over

2009-08-01T05:31:00.001-07:00

i need power to feel alive
over time
over death
over tongues
over breath
over hands
over goals
over aspirations
over souls
over hearts
over minds
over glaring
over blinds
over noise
over light
over action
over night
over expectations
over love
over margins
over above
over sidelines
over pain
over history
over gain

the moment

2009-07-24T04:24:00.000-07:00

On days like these, I can't feel the earth turning.

inability to maintain a corporeal form; remedial lessons 101

2009-07-16T06:22:00.001-07:00

cuneiform

absence; how you don't feel sitting alone in a cold room.
breaking; scorned or else shared under puffy red
cashmere; the feel and touch of our mutual doom
decadence; waking up to the sun and breakfast in bed
eldritch; darker forces than within your eyelid
fricasse; tangle of blood and limbs out of time
geraniums; shears and cutting words could never get rid of
home; where what you say doesn't have to rhyme

event horizon

2009-07-10T22:22:00.000-07:00

'And, I think, the reason why you're better than me,' he says unsmilingly to her, 'is that you never said you were.'

Sunbeams still where hands once met.

'And just knowing that, I wouldn't trade it for the world.'

Stone does not tear easily.

is this idle curiosity?

2009-07-02T04:18:00.000-07:00

clean-up crew

so jump, JUMP!
hands in the air,
joy in your throat,
clothes on your back

into that blue-blooded blue,
when you longed to
splash, in the name of good fun

before you learnt that someone would
have to pay the price for an afternoon's
frivolities

and then you never wanted to leave
that good morning sun

--

this is control speaking

you have no say in this matter
and you feel pulling threads,
like a marionette

dancing and sitting
loving and losing,
laughing and failing to live
truly, the way we want you to

but keep caution away from the winds,
and spin, twirl, while you have a heart

because those fingers delicately waltzing with you
will one day tear you apart

--

bluebird ladies and independent incense

trying to start again
the sounds of harrumphing engines
and breaking-point parts

in the shattering, sparkling frozen air
the warmth of rhythmn is hard to hear
the sound of spotlights, harder to see

and when dusk begins to draw near,
you'll still be sitting still, you wait
your body, heart as cold as the tea
alone since half-past eight.

--

triplets again, how fertile

2009-06-18T09:15:00.000-07:00

morituri te salutant

this is how you should die

chin up,
head high,

this is how we should die

peace on your mind,
death in my eye.

this is how i shall die.

--

still waters

you come into this world alone

and leave it
in similar fashion

but what remains?
second fiddles and crashed ships

for having lived
is no guarantee

of knowing how to live
--

nine to five

everybody seeks closure
in one form, then another

selfish, loving, spiteful, generous
nature that runs deep through

so you cry and laugh
to keep up appearences

because wearing your heart on your sleeve

means that it's easier

to forget it's still beating.
--

Colours, They Fade Away

2009-06-08T05:17:00.000-07:00

ubikwitchus

this is the story of
a man named detective
and how he saved the world
and Hardy as we know it

in a six-part series

IColloquialism Shortages and A Complete Lack of SuspicionI

It was another bleak Wednesday night.

The streets were aglow with nightlights, the sky was aglow with skylights and the theatres were as dark as the day they were burnt down and gutted out.

Flickers of light and shadows shone from worn, rusted barrels, where indistinct shapes huddled around the weak flame, the cold night air threatening to put it out with every heavy breath.

The dock was about ten metres away. Detective could hear the sly slapping of computer-generated waves cosying up to the genetically-modified barnacles on the rotting wood of the jetty.

The Central Skylight illuminated the water, reflecting whiteness across the lake, making it hard to see its true colour, which was in fact, black.

Not that Detective didn't already know that. But if he hadn't and had wanted to check, he couldn't have. And not just because of the rapidly forming abbreviations that lurked on the edges of the cloying darkness, held back by nothing more than the weak light and grammatical convention.

Detective shuffled towards the makeshift campfire. He shuffled a lot.

Walking was getting far too expensive, what with the sky-rocketing verb prices.

He had about five 'walked's and about three 'ran's in reserve, but the current scenario didn't warrant such extravagant vocabulary.

He had more 'shuffled's than he knew what to do with.

This was partly because he had believed his local grammargrocer's claims that what with the rapid expansion of Crime/Mystery in the Fiction market, furtive was the new the.

In fact, apparently, Alfred was all out of 'furtive' descriptives and you would have to place pre-orders on adjectives from 'suspicious' to 'shady' if you needed character realisation in a hurry.

Detective had listened politely, nodded a few times, then bought up the entire stock of 'shuffled', 'listened' and 'earwax' before he shuffled to a cab and listened to his driver moan about how he lost all his money on some ill-advised scam involving aural excavations.

Detective shuffled a little nearer to the fire and listened to the dim crackling and spitting of roasting nouns on an open fire.

The men around him were shadowy figures (only one of them was rich enough to be shady) that ignored him mostly, as they stood by the heated barrel, grimy hands outstretched.

Detective fumbled with his pockets a little, trying to appear furtive, shady, suspicious and dubious, in order to blend in. Qualifiers were still going cheap.

One of the men glanced at him before turning to his partner.

"When will you be moving him?"

"Tomorrow night, when the lucent descriptor engines fail."

"This is all top-secret of course?"

"Yes it is."

And with that the two men turned back to stare into the depths of the barrel, its failing light throwing shadows across their shadowy faces.

They tossed a negative ion disposable into the flame and basked in the temporary happiness together, with a complete lack of suspicion for anyone in the vicinity. They were too poor to afford it.

"Thomas Hardy must die."

Which was a spot of luck for Detective really, because he had been paid a fair bit of money to make sure that was exactly the sort of thing that didn't happen.

--

Blue Skies

2009-06-03T03:38:00.001-07:00

rhetoric rhapsody (rhyming)

if life is starting
why do we already fear the end?

if life is learning
why do we refuse to bend?

if life is loving
why do we nurture hate?

if life is pre-destined
why do we curse fate?

if life is correction
why do we mourn stumbling?

if life is straight-forward
why do we lie, fawning?

if life is tangible
why do we paint the surreal?

if life is remedy
why do we not heal?

if life is comedy
why do we cry?

if life is beauty
why do you sigh?

if life is in our hands
why do we feel fear?

if life is you
why am i still here?

Three Too Many

2009-05-30T03:48:00.001-07:00

ingenue

whenever i see your smile,
i am forever lost to this world

that finesse, that elegance,
encapsulated is too mechanical a word
to convey this slim slur on serenity
(yet, better still - )

whenever i see your smile,
i am forever lost in translating

that boldness, that charm
without blinding myself, frustrating
is the light-filled dancing dust
(sparks, their eternal partners)

whenever i see your smile,
i am forever lost of mine,

for agape, the pun, is my own
and the meaning of the life that beats within
suddenly is known

We Won't Remember A Thing

2009-05-28T09:24:00.000-07:00

it's in the (e/a)yes

it is a question of choice
apparent for all to see
whether i'd choose you
or
whether you'd choose me

the rhetoric was ripe to pick,
though thinly spread as margarine
you could scrape with dipping stick
in these summers of sixteen

this great war has little weight
to the complexes of us all
for we are all time-travellers of a kind
though the time we travel is small

so make your choice;
comfort or truth,
and by extension your voice,
your stand, on this matter
lest some less informed soul come along
and decide your fate as the latter

a hundred years of conflict
across channels of space and time
the vagaries of literature
and surfeits of insipid rhyme,

locked as i am in this
the good ship ethical dilemna
i might eventually begin to miss
the manner, the way of your tremor

but that fate had seen fit to furnish me,
(for isolation makes for little strife)
with any sort of weaponry,
i might wean myself off life

Further Eagles and Market Fluctuations

2009-05-15T08:34:00.000-07:00

remember when you were young

but there is an hour
in a man’s life
when he stops
and listens
to the birds

gives pause to
early morning,
and from his mouth, dripping
pre-dawn words

the bright to-be-afternoon
resting it’s blades,
sharply-suited,
neatly-attired
for their task

warm springing water
slips from his hand
like star-crossed lovers to
their discordant masque

moments embroidered
in
tie-knots
and
depressing aerosols
till indistinguishable
from poised, coiffed, crisp words

but there is eternity
in a man’s life
when he stops
and listens
to the birds.

these things take time

2009-04-28T07:33:00.000-07:00

venetian blinds

Shall I paint a picture for you?

They say a picture paints a thousand words.

And from time to time, it would be nice to believe words are painted, and not stabbed into paper, angrily, but rather, calmly, with infinite patience and alignment.

A splash of subtext here, a bold stripe of double entendre there. a little wavy line that may or may not be our dialogue, always so brief and detatched.

So, close your eyes and breathe deeply. Think forward far enough to be thinking back; like a mobius strip of memory.

---

do you remember the sight of decline?

(the sun, reddened and bloated, like the sleeping one on the bench, seabreeze lifting too little, too much.

the light was losing its clarity, and we stumbled and staggered along, laughing and believing, like insane blind monks, all the way to the breakwater.)

and do you remember the smell of the sea?

(Salty and fresh-eyed from untold depths, where ignorance swam blissfully in the deep blue of calm and letting go.)

and do you remember the feel of the sand?

(Each grain demanded attention from you. Listen to them, talk to them, scatter them over the waves, like grains not from your hand, but from the hour that has already passed, and hours more yet to be.)

and do you remember the sound of the land?

(bicycle wheels softly clicking somewhere up the track, the trees shushing each other into softer silence.

the wind that carried with it the scent of freshly abandoned charcoal and laughs, hastily, cheerfully, crudely jammed into plastic and tossed off, amid whoops and cries of joy, far, far out to sea.)

and (please say yes) do you still remember me?

Funny/Sad/Beautiful/Dead

2009-04-26T01:12:00.000-07:00

raindance

before the storm
the world looked dipped in fallow
dark shapes cawed around darkened structures
in a gloom deep yet shallow

but there, in the rising chill
that howled and screamed around
there could stand, just space for two
in the eye, where there was no sound

and as the clouds race, a frightening whirl
i want to walk with you through it
rain and lightning have no power here
over what fate and faded ink hath writ

but you are absent from this place;
i have not walked with you in the rain
so before our lives are lived and through
i hope it rains again.

because He promised me

2009-04-25T21:20:00.001-07:00

who is this for?

And it is a humbling experience,
for whenever i look into yours
I wonder if it could ever be mine.

bring me back to prose please
i adore your few fleeting words
that flow in a way
my most strained, futile efforts could never inspire.

and despite that
you now inject me, and i thank you for this
with a sincerity i thought i had long
lost and forgotten

which is ironic
for i believe
it was first you that brought me here
an age ago.

you make me better than i once was,
and ever will be

but lapping waves will remain no longer than
to catch glimpses of what we are
(what are we?)
by the docks;

each fragment viewed through
the emotional refraction of water.

that sense of honesty,
pure,
unbridled,
polished rawness

that vein of first-draft-perfection
that runs through you,
stuns me to the very core.

and makes me,
like a wretched fool,
thirst and hunger for more.

distractions that flit past us,
trust me lady, they do not contend.

for i would wait an eternity and a half
just for the chance
to hold your hand.

As You Were

2009-04-23T03:11:00.000-07:00

for the embrace of nostalgia(i would not desire now)

Oh, this place is as cracked as I remember it
Coverings,
worn out,
ragged,
off-white

Oh, the cement beneath me is old,
darkened and hardened
from years beneath
the sun.

Oh, old (ad)age showing through my tree
as it cradles the fleeing clouds
in it’s gentle, browned hands.

Oh, the wall remains ivy-covered
red-bricked as the day
it stopped being
mere barrier
and became memory.

Oh, playground of plastic!
Where now-inconsequential troubles
were swept under realistic(!)
blue, white, black speckled rubber-dove highlights.

Oh, happy hops
The numbers before me now
are like a psychedelic rendering,
Squared and multiplied
Still fall short of the number of times
I’ve yearned for/will yearn for this place.
In years gone/to come.

And oh, steely-eyed swing chains
Oh, pitted, scarred black rubber cradles,
How many more have you borne since my days of youth?
When I still did attend to you, daily?

Oh, warm, welcom(e/ing) wind,
Picks up, picks you up, picks your spirits up
Frisks your mind
For preposterous games and fantasies
To bring to staggering half-life
in the staggering half-light
the smells of dinner cooking, a-wafting.

Oh, wrought iron patterns,
The grownup’s benches
What was that bluish grey rust that adorned and
made me lean against you deeply? (back when i wanted to feel history breathe)
carefully sprayed on rustic paint no.2
or genuine oxidised tears?

Oh, how hard it is to tell (not what it used to be)
when life’s wearing down is manufactured
and sold to dull-eyed survivors.

Oh, this place is new in my eyes now!

Fresh-coated, buttoned-down walls and pillars stand where
Old friends once did
easy on your eyes, and my fresh mind
that blinked and sparked out of glamour and faux neon
but what of my childish one?
for this place is still old in my mind.

Oh, I will never return here again!
I was driven here by incident, not intention
for the memories are now too faint
to super-impose once more.

Oh, so I reminisce of the past!
where I once dreamt of the future
with friends I will never see again
nor miss, nor love, nor remember,

and the ixoras' hue
In eternal bloom, to the young child
That never grew -

Penumbra; you called it

2009-04-21T01:25:00.000-07:00

you don't give advice to yourself

because it is a welcome departure
giving language the wheel
and trying not to be a
backseat driver.

abandoning chains
of self-imposed exile
from free(dom/verse)
where equilibrium is vanquished
and we live
like
unbalanced wheels
always moving.

after all
how hollow do words ring
when strung neatly on
sun-kissed trellis
but sold
without meaning?

Conformity

2009-04-18T08:32:00.000-07:00

spenserian sacrilege

we chanced upon a fairytale
through untold dusty tomes
legends of the holy grail
and heroes leaving homes

you didn't like the ending
but didn't say a word
always, the pretending
not something i inferred.

i didn't like the way things were
and found a pen to rewrite;
something i thought we'd prefer
less fear, less lies, more light

and we fell in love, but both views we thought strange.
the more we shift, the less we change.

Triplets.

2009-04-18T07:56:00.000-07:00

first dark

In dusk we entered still, silent
The dawn rose cold as bone
Rays remnant of a better time
Still smoking grey alone.

(nonconformist)

contention gives life meaning
in the failing light's dissent
pursue the endless staircase
only the dead are truly content.

anticipation

The flash, dull winking shone around
Gave fledgling hope too sweet
But knowledge, he was laid before
The errors' clear deceit.

Dylan Hardy Synthesiser

2009-04-15T04:56:00.001-07:00

from the window

i stood for a moment's respite,
from cyclical ennui,
for i did not want to go into that good night
gently.

fractal patterns, ever
present in trees all around,
shattered concrete, foreign
drilling makes a foreign sound.

late afternoon light,
ablaze along the edge with quiet passion
the gilding of the rooftops
and other matters in that fashion.

the clouds, a formless, shapeless mass
like tired, crumbling cathedrals
worn thin by droning, directionless prayers
now, shadowed tetrahedrals.

in a break into revival
i raised them upon a scale,
my life against survival
honesty behind a veil.

the truth is in the trees
waiting for those who would, to see
oh, sooth be told
how simple our answers appear to be.
--

In other news: Good luck to V, A and their choir lackeys at SYF tomorrow!

Now We Raise The Dawn

2009-04-10T02:41:00.000-07:00

(a/drift/wood)

i see through you
all
like a rapier
through
self-melting butter

i see through you;
your constructs be
coming
tantamount to rice paper

i see through you;
your probability trees
spreading through the stars
like yggdrasil in her prime
and stealing fruit on a whim
ignoring the fact
that i only take the rotten
plucked before their time.

i see through you
your self-deceit
your self-loathe
your self-defeat
your self-both

and i then i looked
(a little further for her)
and saw everthing
illusions within illusions
within illusions
that were all
(and this is a great secret now)
real.

and i screamed
and dug
my eyes out
then wrapped them
in darkness and lovers-twine

because
at the end of the day
your pain should
never be mine.

serenade the sycophants now, once more.

2009-04-09T05:33:00.001-07:00

caught dead

i never thought i'd find me
saying this; (ever)

especially since i used to hold
your words
so dear to me

papyrus wrapped tighter

but we move
shift/
change with(in) time and
s p a c e

eternal centrifuge machines,
all of us

and in the shortness
of breath
and para(graph/digm)
we

live,
laugh,
love,
languish.

* In that order