My Contemporary Life
I have been writing.
of all other things, I feel these things:
went to the appalachian mountains in p.a.
re-reading miranda july's book of short stories for
bookclub at the ypsi library.
i miss the
dark haired ones
with lava for eyes
and jean jackets
covering bodies made of
corduroy.
the concrete floors
that we grew from
before today-
the tangles i live in
the empty doorway
and the feedback from
the guitars, like echoes
of their voices on the
other end of my
telephone- beckoning
the moon from the sky,
and scrambling it
like some wet
and willing egg
in my stomach.
those days,
long gone.
sidewalks
brown damp
grass matted
on the earth
like some
old unruly mop.
looking up, at
every stranger
i did pass. he had
your broad shoulders,
plaid flannel, deep
eyes. forgetful,
foreign.
i daydreamed
that we could be
together in a secret-
because it was all i
needed to imagine
the desert doesn't
exist anymore.
no more navajo
blankets. no more
daniel johnston.
just the wooden planks
and the chipped paint
above and below your
spine- balancing
parallel to mine-
and later, the world
consumed me. until-
i watched you
in the mirror,
pretending
you were much
further away.
and yes,
it was easier.
it made your
face go down
smoother,
in the etchings
of my mind.
the curve
of your neck
illuminated
by the sun
setting
behind you-
faking
a silver lining-
along the speckles
of your hair-
much shorter
than i remember
it.
brown damp
grass matted
on the earth
like some
old unruly mop.
looking up, at
every stranger
i did pass. he had
your broad shoulders,
plaid flannel, deep
eyes. forgetful,
foreign.
i daydreamed
that we could be
together in a secret-
because it was all i
needed to imagine
the desert doesn't
exist anymore.
no more navajo
blankets. no more
daniel johnston.
just the wooden planks
and the chipped paint
above and below your
spine- balancing
parallel to mine-
and later, the world
consumed me. until-
i watched you
in the mirror,
pretending
you were much
further away.
and yes,
it was easier.
it made your
face go down
smoother,
in the etchings
of my mind.
the curve
of your neck
illuminated
by the sun
setting
behind you-
faking
a silver lining-
along the speckles
of your hair-
much shorter
than i remember
it.
your lies rubbed off on me
dark smudges below my eyes
and in the corners of my flesh
places you were the last to touch-
with your lips- if that counts.
i could send you letter
after letter- infinitely playing
the game of infatuation;
or i could speak to you-
in tongues, catching glimpses
of your eyelids- every chance i get.
but we could never quite
sit across from each other
at any diner. no- not on my
birthday, eating pancakes;
and at tim hortons-
your half-eaten bagel
still remains.
dark smudges below my eyes
and in the corners of my flesh
places you were the last to touch-
with your lips- if that counts.
i could send you letter
after letter- infinitely playing
the game of infatuation;
or i could speak to you-
in tongues, catching glimpses
of your eyelids- every chance i get.
but we could never quite
sit across from each other
at any diner. no- not on my
birthday, eating pancakes;
and at tim hortons-
your half-eaten bagel
still remains.
time
clocks, rulers-
roads that tee.
birthdays, rings-
inside the trunks
of trees.
sex, birth-
human life you
love and entertain.
and now the
fireworks-
they're over;
the skies plain.
but your words-
they survive
the drought.
'cause alexander
graham bell-
he helped me
out.
roads that tee.
birthdays, rings-
inside the trunks
of trees.
sex, birth-
human life you
love and entertain.
and now the
fireworks-
they're over;
the skies plain.
but your words-
they survive
the drought.
'cause alexander
graham bell-
he helped me
out.
theories
open windows
how your psyche
jumps-
when the air-
plane lifts
off the flat
earth-
ignoring
gravity.
science- take
me with a grain
of salt;
who says these
words- lasso
the thought,
brand it real
good.
i'm all ears
today. thousands-
transform my
eyes-
taste- the
tides. tears-
the gaudy
sun can no
longer tame-
cause i'm all
ears. never
full- Freud,
where are you
now?
need you, need
that purple
bottle
back.
how your psyche
jumps-
when the air-
plane lifts
off the flat
earth-
ignoring
gravity.
science- take
me with a grain
of salt;
who says these
words- lasso
the thought,
brand it real
good.
i'm all ears
today. thousands-
transform my
eyes-
taste- the
tides. tears-
the gaudy
sun can no
longer tame-
cause i'm all
ears. never
full- Freud,
where are you
now?
need you, need
that purple
bottle
back.
through your venerable visage,
peaked the homely character-
and contrary to the geometrics,
the eyes were glowing with warmth,
plush and ancient like an old family couch.
though it had once been fresh and new,
the stories it could tell through it's winsome
disguise boiled like a hot soup on my range-
and i could smell the oregano steeping the air,
coating my lungs with its opulent fragrance.
my slick mouth gleamed with saliva,
heavy from the aroma and palatable display-
an ironic bravado that i eyed with deference;
you had traveled countless via dolarosa,
and i- yet molded, will never see the days-
decades- my rose, that you called home.
peaked the homely character-
and contrary to the geometrics,
the eyes were glowing with warmth,
plush and ancient like an old family couch.
though it had once been fresh and new,
the stories it could tell through it's winsome
disguise boiled like a hot soup on my range-
and i could smell the oregano steeping the air,
coating my lungs with its opulent fragrance.
my slick mouth gleamed with saliva,
heavy from the aroma and palatable display-
an ironic bravado that i eyed with deference;
you had traveled countless via dolarosa,
and i- yet molded, will never see the days-
decades- my rose, that you called home.
i see you in
the forest-
as the pinecones
that haven't
fallen off the
evergreens-
yet.
and i see you
as the rust
that decays the
corporate vision-
of life;
traveling
the backroads
of my
heart-
forging
trails
that i forgot
had even existed.
library chairs-
i watch you
from the poorly
insulated window
in my bedroom-
and the chills
seep in,
climbing my
skin, hugging
my veins.
don't let
the calendars-
or the sundials
tell us what we
want.
picture me
when you take
your sheets
off the line-
a crisp new world.
the forest-
as the pinecones
that haven't
fallen off the
evergreens-
yet.
and i see you
as the rust
that decays the
corporate vision-
of life;
traveling
the backroads
of my
heart-
forging
trails
that i forgot
had even existed.
library chairs-
i watch you
from the poorly
insulated window
in my bedroom-
and the chills
seep in,
climbing my
skin, hugging
my veins.
don't let
the calendars-
or the sundials
tell us what we
want.
picture me
when you take
your sheets
off the line-
a crisp new world.
once you lose your sense of smell, it's gone-
sitting in a
room-
fluorescent lights-
a man's voice
scribbles out
a plethora of
words
pertaining to
the human
anatomy-
when all i
really want
to learn about
is yours.
room-
fluorescent lights-
a man's voice
scribbles out
a plethora of
words
pertaining to
the human
anatomy-
when all i
really want
to learn about
is yours.
I wrote this last nite: Feb 5th 2011
bad waves
on the hotel road
travel almost a
million miles
but the full
moon
couldn't keep up
with the flowers.
we froze-
who me?
I will grab it
from the sky
and you-
by the ears;
sand, moon,
earth.
Blueberry
pie.
on the hotel road
travel almost a
million miles
but the full
moon
couldn't keep up
with the flowers.
we froze-
who me?
I will grab it
from the sky
and you-
by the ears;
sand, moon,
earth.
Blueberry
pie.
New Hampshire
BY HOWARD MOSS
1
When the loons cry,
The night seems blacker,
The water deeper.
Across the shore:
An eyelash-charcoal
Fringe of pine trees.
2
The lake reflects
Indefinite pewter,
And intermittent thunder
Lets us know
The gods are arriving,
One valley over.
3
After the long
Melancholy of the fall,
One longs for the crisp
Brass shout of winter—
The blaze of firewood,
The window’s spill
Of parlor lamplight
Across the snow.
4
Flaring like a match
Dropped in a dry patch,
One sunset tells
The spectrum’s story.
See the last hunter’s
Flashlight dim
As he hurries home
To his lighted window.
BY HOWARD MOSS
1
When the loons cry,
The night seems blacker,
The water deeper.
Across the shore:
An eyelash-charcoal
Fringe of pine trees.
2
The lake reflects
Indefinite pewter,
And intermittent thunder
Lets us know
The gods are arriving,
One valley over.
3
After the long
Melancholy of the fall,
One longs for the crisp
Brass shout of winter—
The blaze of firewood,
The window’s spill
Of parlor lamplight
Across the snow.
4
Flaring like a match
Dropped in a dry patch,
One sunset tells
The spectrum’s story.
See the last hunter’s
Flashlight dim
As he hurries home
To his lighted window.
excuses
and now
all i see-
faint flicks
of smoke
filling the air,
dancing around
my lungs
like rough patches
of leather
falling
apart.
and no,
i don't like to hear it.
the sound of a
silver spoon
in the oven-
crackling to its
own beat
like a comet
chasing the sky-
viscid, and ambiguous;
all the men on the
moon couldn't
save you
now.
and the metallic
shift of beads
falling-
like a rain stick
down my throat and
neck-
forgetting that it's only
today.
tomorrow isn't that far
away.
the impact of this railroad
cannot be gainsaid,
even after all the planks
you've laid down so
haphazardly;
i could travel
forever,
my omnipotent
scientist
of soil.
all i see-
faint flicks
of smoke
filling the air,
dancing around
my lungs
like rough patches
of leather
falling
apart.
and no,
i don't like to hear it.
the sound of a
silver spoon
in the oven-
crackling to its
own beat
like a comet
chasing the sky-
viscid, and ambiguous;
all the men on the
moon couldn't
save you
now.
and the metallic
shift of beads
falling-
like a rain stick
down my throat and
neck-
forgetting that it's only
today.
tomorrow isn't that far
away.
the impact of this railroad
cannot be gainsaid,
even after all the planks
you've laid down so
haphazardly;
i could travel
forever,
my omnipotent
scientist
of soil.
(sometimes i see)
us Freezing-
Mother earth
Brought us
Together
Delicate
And hushed
Hidden
behind a thin
layer of ice.
MARDI GRAS.
You fill me
Up with
Longing-
And forever,
I am yours.
Darkly, softly
Out of distance
Out of sight-
Like nectar
To that
Hummingbird's
Cry.
My fears-
I’m lost.
Mother earth
Brought us
Together
Delicate
And hushed
Hidden
behind a thin
layer of ice.
MARDI GRAS.
You fill me
Up with
Longing-
And forever,
I am yours.
Darkly, softly
Out of distance
Out of sight-
Like nectar
To that
Hummingbird's
Cry.
My fears-
I’m lost.
mind your reading-
what was i
good for?
was i snapped
in two
folded
like a paper
mache
cardinal-
you set me
on fire.
clearly, only
through the view of
a drop of water
what we are
taught
is not all that
there is
to be learned.
my lovely,
sweet enjoyable
ice cream cone.
dripping on
my hands-
sticky;
you forged my signature
so many times
on your
heart.
and now,
i am struggling
with the lack of
employment
in these
regions of
puerto
rico-
i love
these
clues.
and when
you're in the mood
to here a rhyme
go read a
book
of
american poetry.
and yet-
you believe yourself
to be so
sovereign
over
your
own
bad
wordsworth
poem:
and yet, like
a foraging young
lover,
he gave out pieces of
sunshine
on sticks-
but it was
usually
raining.
and i'd lost
my umbrella
a long
time
ago.
good for?
was i snapped
in two
folded
like a paper
mache
cardinal-
you set me
on fire.
clearly, only
through the view of
a drop of water
what we are
taught
is not all that
there is
to be learned.
my lovely,
sweet enjoyable
ice cream cone.
dripping on
my hands-
sticky;
you forged my signature
so many times
on your
heart.
and now,
i am struggling
with the lack of
employment
in these
regions of
puerto
rico-
i love
these
clues.
and when
you're in the mood
to here a rhyme
go read a
book
of
american poetry.
and yet-
you believe yourself
to be so
sovereign
over
your
own
bad
wordsworth
poem:
and yet, like
a foraging young
lover,
he gave out pieces of
sunshine
on sticks-
but it was
usually
raining.
and i'd lost
my umbrella
a long
time
ago.
a residue by charles bukowski
stuck in mid-flight,
wickedly sheared,
dreaming of the
dactylozoid.
turned away,
fashioned to stop
on zero,
flamed out,
hacked at,
demobilized.
where is common
laughter?
simple joy?
where did they
go?
what a vanishing
trick,
that.
even the skies
snarl.
what rancor,
what
bitterness...
the cry of the
smothered
heart,
now
remembering
better
times
wild and
wondrous.
now the sad
grim
present
cleaves.
wickedly sheared,
dreaming of the
dactylozoid.
turned away,
fashioned to stop
on zero,
flamed out,
hacked at,
demobilized.
where is common
laughter?
simple joy?
where did they
go?
what a vanishing
trick,
that.
even the skies
snarl.
what rancor,
what
bitterness...
the cry of the
smothered
heart,
now
remembering
better
times
wild and
wondrous.
now the sad
grim
present
cleaves.
if only he could understand. but first one would have to be willing. and he was never willing...
"O, can I really believe the poets when they say that the first time one sees the beloved object he thinks he has seen her long before, that love like all knowledge is recollection, that love in the single individual also has its prophecies, its types, its myths, its Old Testament. Everywhere, in the face of every girl, I see features of your beauty, but I think I would have to possess the beauty of all the girls in the world to extract your beauty, that I would have to sail around the world to find the portion of the world I want and toward which the deepest secret of my self polarically points — and in the next moment you are so close to me, so present, so overwhelmingly filling my spirit that I am transfigured to myself and feel that here it is good to be." -Søren Kierkegaard
"O, can I really believe the poets when they say that the first time one sees the beloved object he thinks he has seen her long before, that love like all knowledge is recollection, that love in the single individual also has its prophecies, its types, its myths, its Old Testament. Everywhere, in the face of every girl, I see features of your beauty, but I think I would have to possess the beauty of all the girls in the world to extract your beauty, that I would have to sail around the world to find the portion of the world I want and toward which the deepest secret of my self polarically points — and in the next moment you are so close to me, so present, so overwhelmingly filling my spirit that I am transfigured to myself and feel that here it is good to be." -Søren Kierkegaard
long ropes
flicked at ya
snap
and a mandolin,
a keyboard
dribble out
some tune
baked in a
sunset
slice me
off a piece
of that
you are so
indigenous
to my heart
yet here come
the chainsaws
they'll chop
down the trees
the rivers will
be polluted
by nicotine
i say i can stop
if i want to.
and maybe today
i will
but i just won't
have anything
to replace it with
i can't plant
a new tree
i can't drain
the old river;
scars are permanent
to nature.
we are
nature
tainted
chemically-
enhanced
nature.
thats why
i'll listen to
descartes-
i'll take him
seriously as
you all take
your cigarettes
and i'll believe
we're all dreaming
and nothing exists
my fingers and hands
and this music
it's all in my head
my head-
and it takes up
no space at all!
but none of this
does any good
if the forests that
grew so richly
in my heart
were capable of being
decapitated
as well.
you and your ax
so proud of yourself
bring your living on
home to your wife
and call yourselves
intelligent,
worthy even.
what your outcome
may be
is yours to decide.
never forget-
all the stars in the sky!
if i have to sing to you,
to make you feel,
well then so be it
this is for you,
you little
dream
o'mine
9:11am
last nite
in my dream
my one and only,
he wrote to me,
"don't think
i don't look at
all of your confusions
sprawled out and
writhing with
desire-
i can love you
as much as one
could ever love
an infinite object.
and that's all.
i can see your love,
and i can feel it
in all the bones
inhabiting my body.
but will it ever
really touch me?"
and then
i dreamed
that someone
else
wrote to me
begging for
my forgiveness
and i thought about
how we'd walk
down mill sometimes.
and some bum would ask
for a contribution
to his 'church'
and you'd give him
what you had.
'they prey on
couples'
you'd say.
don't let me
fall backwards
into a mistake.
in my dream
my one and only,
he wrote to me,
"don't think
i don't look at
all of your confusions
sprawled out and
writhing with
desire-
i can love you
as much as one
could ever love
an infinite object.
and that's all.
i can see your love,
and i can feel it
in all the bones
inhabiting my body.
but will it ever
really touch me?"
and then
i dreamed
that someone
else
wrote to me
begging for
my forgiveness
and i thought about
how we'd walk
down mill sometimes.
and some bum would ask
for a contribution
to his 'church'
and you'd give him
what you had.
'they prey on
couples'
you'd say.
don't let me
fall backwards
into a mistake.
exerpt from a list, a long time ago:
9) imagine creating strong visual, emotional memories. imagine feeling happy, feeling like this is a good thing. feeling wonderful. wonderful music, wonderful faces, wonderful conversation. imagine you, imagine me. now imagine it all was just crammed into a balloon. everything. and one day you just pop that balloon. it was all a lie. we were based on a lie. those memories mean nothing, they were fake. there was never anything there at all. i don't care if i'm crazy for recalling it, i don't care if i'm insane for telling you: this is how it is this time. this is how it really is. "you're only what i see sometimes." all you have to do is tell me what you are thinking. it's not that hard, don't be afraid. i miss you and you and you and you. but only sometimes. and you, always.
many moons ago
i would read books
about kisses
and hugs
and sweet dreams.
i would never know
the true meaning
of the feelings
described.
AS IF
you are on a beach
sprawled out
on the wet sand
waves come rushing in
water runs over your body
in and out of
all your little grooves;
AS IF
someone's lips
were soft enough
to make your insides
grow wings
and fly above you-
you're weightless.
AS IF
syrup
was poured
all over your
naked body,
and ever since-
you tasted
so sweet.
i was lost
until you took
ahold of the wheel
and drove me into
the clouds.
i never felt
true bliss
until i felt
you.
do you do this often?
oh, forgiving muse of mine
do not push me away
and do not give me reasons
as to why i should stray;
bring me back to life-
ever so often
light my fire
tell me everything
i want to hear
and mean it.
i have never wanted anything
as much as i want you right now.
i don't know you -
but i will.
my sweetest intentions
are always true.
my happiest days
are filled with
(thoughts of)
you.
a rare dream
of flying
above the trees
with the birds -
let me unravel in your arms.
i can only taste
your mouth
i can only feel
your hands
i can only see
your eyes.
i can only hear
your voice
telling me
everything
i ever wanted
to hear.
and i want
so bad
just to
be able
to believe in
everything
for
once
1234
listening
to some of
the last songs
you ever bothered
to send my way
and how
sweet
and honest
they would have been
if there had been
any legitimate feelings
behind any of them.
and how perfect
things would have been
if i had only really
known
you.
but i'll go on
speaking in what i believe
to be clever
riddles filtered
with sanity.
even though
i have accepted
my fate
and my brother says
i'll find love when
i least expect it.
so maybe
i'll finally forget you
someday.
but i don't want that.
i just want things to
feel like they do
in my imagination:
you tell me
i remind you of
a mix between
audrey hepburn
and
regina spektor
and you kiss me
and i fall asleep
so easily -
i'll tell you a secret:
the whole time i was with you
i barely felt a thing.
like a dream: emotionless-
until you wake up.
and suddenly it all dawns on you-
waves washing over your face.
i can remember everything
because it's the one of the
only good things
i have left to hold on to.
people who matter
don't just come into your life
and disappear forever.
you've been on so many road trips
without me
and that's how it is-
that's how it will be-
until life takes me away again.
because i don't get your laughter
and you won't ever get mine.
you won't ever find my eyes beautiful
again.
and i won't ever find you
honest again.
i say, i find you, good.
but what does that mean?
it means i have a problem
with forgetting to forget
good memories
attached to bad people.
sweet
dreams
to some of
the last songs
you ever bothered
to send my way
and how
sweet
and honest
they would have been
if there had been
any legitimate feelings
behind any of them.
and how perfect
things would have been
if i had only really
known
you.
because without
the ability to
watch a smile form
right in front of your eyes-
well i guess, to you,
this meant nothing
at all.
but i'll go on
speaking in what i believe
to be clever
riddles filtered
with sanity.
even though
i have accepted
my fate
and my brother says
i'll find love when
i least expect it.
so maybe
i'll finally forget you
someday.
but i don't want that.
i just want things to
feel like they do
in my imagination:
you tell me
i remind you of
a mix between
audrey hepburn
and
regina spektor
and you kiss me
and i fall asleep
so easily -
entwined
in the warmth
of your arms.
oh but that wasn't my imagination;
it was your coked out heart
telling me everything i wanted to hear.
i'll tell you a secret:
the whole time i was with you
i barely felt a thing.
like a dream: emotionless-
until you wake up.
and suddenly it all dawns on you-
waves washing over your face.
i can remember everything
because it's the one of the
only good things
i have left to hold on to.
people who matter
don't just come into your life
and disappear forever.
you've been on so many road trips
without me
and that's how it is-
that's how it will be-
until life takes me away again.
because i don't get your laughter
and you won't ever get mine.
you won't ever find my eyes beautiful
again.
and i won't ever find you
honest again.
i say, i find you, good.
but what does that mean?
it means i have a problem
with forgetting to forget
good memories
attached to bad people.
sweet
dreams
i dug out
all of the old photographs
i have left of you
ripped them up
and set them ablaze
in an ashtray
in my bathroom sink.
i had to stop
when the smoke detector went off
in the background
best coast wailed,
"when i'm with you
i have fun..."
and now
i feel nothing.
the only photos
i couldn't bring myself
to rip
or burn
were the polaroids
and i folded up
that old daniel johnston poster
and stuck them deep inside that
and the flyers
from the shows we went to
they're all shoved in the bottom
of my picture box.
i hope i forget about them
and never have to find them
until i'm happy again
and i can look back and think,
"what was his name again?"
but i won't even care
because i'll be on a whole new
planet
wrapped in silver
gold. warm
blankets in the wintertime
keep me warm
but someone else's feet
replace my socks.
someone else's
essence
replaces my thoughts
of the person
who's face
is now the smoke
in my lungs
that i will eventually
breathe back out.
and never breathe in
again.
all of the old photographs
i have left of you
ripped them up
and set them ablaze
in an ashtray
in my bathroom sink.
i had to stop
when the smoke detector went off
in the background
best coast wailed,
"when i'm with you
i have fun..."
and now
i feel nothing.
the only photos
i couldn't bring myself
to rip
or burn
were the polaroids
and i folded up
that old daniel johnston poster
and stuck them deep inside that
and the flyers
from the shows we went to
they're all shoved in the bottom
of my picture box.
i hope i forget about them
and never have to find them
until i'm happy again
and i can look back and think,
"what was his name again?"
but i won't even care
because i'll be on a whole new
planet
wrapped in silver
gold. warm
blankets in the wintertime
keep me warm
but someone else's feet
replace my socks.
someone else's
essence
replaces my thoughts
of the person
who's face
is now the smoke
in my lungs
that i will eventually
breathe back out.
and never breathe in
again.
they always said
"dont get your hopes up"
what kind of life do you lead
if you can't appreciate every single day?
well guess what, over optimistic bullshit like that
won't work on me.
because there
are people out there
who don't have a choice
if i really do have a brain tumor
or something else fatal
growing on the back of my neck
in between my skull and my spine
then i'll maybe start living
the way i have always
wanted to.
that is one of the saddest
shittiest things
i have ever
thought
about
"dont get your hopes up"
what kind of life do you lead
if you can't appreciate every single day?
well guess what, over optimistic bullshit like that
won't work on me.
because there
are people out there
who don't have a choice
if i really do have a brain tumor
or something else fatal
growing on the back of my neck
in between my skull and my spine
then i'll maybe start living
the way i have always
wanted to.
that is one of the saddest
shittiest things
i have ever
thought
about
of course
with all of the metaphors
i'll pretend i'm not
writing
about
you.
of course
i'll play the songs that
make me feel the saddest
of course
i'll believe there really
isn't anything else out there
waiting.
of course
i'll believe that if
i can just go back
to when it was so good
i can rejog your memory.
i forget that most people
most normal people
forget. replace.
lose memory.
lose me.
lose.
somethings
last.
somethings
dont.
somethings...
with all of the metaphors
i'll pretend i'm not
writing
about
you.
of course
i'll play the songs that
make me feel the saddest
of course
i'll believe there really
isn't anything else out there
waiting.
of course
i'll believe that if
i can just go back
to when it was so good
i can rejog your memory.
i forget that most people
most normal people
forget. replace.
lose memory.
lose me.
lose.
somethings
last.
somethings
dont.
somethings...
you said no more runnin'
but there's been so much more.
what you mean to me
ain't nothin' at the end of the day
i can't get anyone to cement themselves down to reality
i'm waking up to drunken laughter in the middle of the nite
can't sleep
and when i wake,
can't look myself in the eye
cause it's ended the same
every time
but there's been so much more.
what you mean to me
ain't nothin' at the end of the day
i can't get anyone to cement themselves down to reality
i'm waking up to drunken laughter in the middle of the nite
can't sleep
and when i wake,
can't look myself in the eye
cause it's ended the same
every time
i threw away the wallet i bought last summer
at the guatemalan import store
when i flew three thousand miles to see you.
i don't care about writing
about you
it never comes naturally
it never feels right
unnatural, artificial.
like a bad addiction to fast food-
or cigarettes;
it seemed so harmless...
but now
i have to live
with the consequences
and that's the only thing
i'll ever care about:
how you've ruined me
at the guatemalan import store
when i flew three thousand miles to see you.
i don't care about writing
about you
it never comes naturally
it never feels right
unnatural, artificial.
like a bad addiction to fast food-
or cigarettes;
it seemed so harmless...
but now
i have to live
with the consequences
and that's the only thing
i'll ever care about:
how you've ruined me
this is for each and every one of you, on the earth breathing.
you are old and tarnished
but polished up just right-
but polished up just right-
quenching my thirst-
for now
we're taking baby steps
backwards
and maybe if we
are not afraid
to test the truth
we won't feel
to test the truth
we won't feel
so stuck
just trying
just trying
to figure it all out.
now if this is all it takes
for a good nites rest....
maybe?
now if this is all it takes
for a good nites rest....
maybe?
#11: POEM BY ELIZABETH SCOTT
Been feeling you
in every single cell of my whole body.
Licks me like flame;
can't rightly bear it.
(Human bodies:
broad shoulders, anguish, skin.
Somewhere deep in the caverns
of another life
you are kissing me
wet and soft
your lips grazing
rosy ripples just like
a young boy's hand
tender and new
to the lushness
of what's under
all the
under-
clothing.)
The dream will remain
again and again
unbroken;
filmy white smoke
fleeting and melting.
We two:
concave, convex--
to be hollow seems
to ask courteously for a filling;
and yet you would think it strange--
in every single cell of my whole body.
Licks me like flame;
can't rightly bear it.
(Human bodies:
broad shoulders, anguish, skin.
Somewhere deep in the caverns
of another life
you are kissing me
wet and soft
your lips grazing
rosy ripples just like
a young boy's hand
tender and new
to the lushness
of what's under
all the
under-
clothing.)
The dream will remain
again and again
unbroken;
filmy white smoke
fleeting and melting.
We two:
concave, convex--
to be hollow seems
to ask courteously for a filling;
and yet you would think it strange--
i will make you into
the biggest deal that i can possibly create
in my mind
i remember glancing over at you sleeping
and realizing how small your eyes were
i remember
every song that you
the biggest deal that i can possibly create
in my mind
i remember glancing over at you sleeping
and realizing how small your eyes were
i remember
every song that you
laced with your affection
nothing is the same
except the feeling
because our hearts don't change
but our minds, oh our minds- -
nothing is the same
except the feeling
because our hearts don't change
but our minds, oh our minds- -
Love Sonnet 17
by Pablo Neruda (1904-1973)
I do not love you as if you were a salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
by Pablo Neruda (1904-1973)
I do not love you as if you were a salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
EXPERIENCE #1409
i look at you
dark hair
and olive eyes
like a pizza fresh out of the oven;
you look so fresh, so edible
though you don't even have a taste
all i can feel is the concept of you tugging on my sleeve
watering mouths; i'm numb to the touch
now you're telling me all about our friends,
the pants-
do you remember?
now what are we?
- so many questions i have for you
how was it so easy to say no words
but feel everything we've ever had to say;
speaking in tongues - - -
i know you know the answer to that question:
read between
the white lines
i have always been a fan of chelsee ivan's photos. they bring a feeling over your visual senses that is really quite hard to widdle down into comprehension; her photos are just right. if they had a taste, they'd be one of those smooth pink or light green mints melting in your mouth. and all the while she lives in a wonderful area of canada that was graced with some of the most beautiful wilderness! and chelsee ivan captures it all very charmingly. rich nature glazed over with a vintage feel.
some of her other photographs like the one below, pop like bubblegum.
you can also find chelsee ivan at her website.
just as the sun has gone down, and there is still a thin layer of light throughout the skies - faded blues, purples, pinks
girl from north country plays in the background and through his teeth bob dylan pushes out the words, 'i wonder if she remembers me at all, many times i've often prayed'
i can't help but think of another day
and how all of my days i have lived have forgotten me, with such ease
they didn't even have to try more than once - - -
with the window open, a chilled fall breeze finds its way into my bedroom
smooth glass, cinnamon; i like stepping on leaves and hearing them crunch beneath my size six feet
girl from north country plays in the background and through his teeth bob dylan pushes out the words, 'i wonder if she remembers me at all, many times i've often prayed'
i can't help but think of another day
and how all of my days i have lived have forgotten me, with such ease
they didn't even have to try more than once - - -
with the window open, a chilled fall breeze finds its way into my bedroom
smooth glass, cinnamon; i like stepping on leaves and hearing them crunch beneath my size six feet
you are. the object of my perception
by the nature implanted in me
i have a strong intuitive pull;
much like a magnet pulling its polar opposite.
in a million years we would not be the same.
you're very different. Yet!
you pull me in, and i am untamed--
INTUITION is defined by no conscious reasoning at all;
an understanding takes place immediately and its done.
my life is shaped by you
(my happy, sad days - all in all)
by the nature implanted in me
i have a strong intuitive pull;
much like a magnet pulling its polar opposite.
in a million years we would not be the same.
you're very different. Yet!
you pull me in, and i am untamed--
INTUITION is defined by no conscious reasoning at all;
an understanding takes place immediately and its done.
my life is shaped by you
(my happy, sad days - all in all)
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