September 2012
101 posts
2 tags
do i, devil? alt #4 in SE USA
I. you kick open maws as if the twitching of my feet could cause the monster’s need to eat [[MORE]] II. bruises on your lips dirt slimming down your hips and thighs and whys and why-the-fuck-nots and summer is too hot for you summer is too hot for you my summer is not for you III. itching insides open wide,open wide) feeling fault inside your hide scarred and...
1 tag
my pen stabbed me seven+ times in the chest this...
so please don a raincoat and note i am not responsible for any wayward splattering thank you for understanding. be well.
August 2012
114 posts
2 tags
chains that choke the rabbit's eyes
vultures dripping sewers off their tongues spiteful glaze on excavated eyes whose clinging hollows — (bled among the bravest cowards) — reap young hearts and use their insides as rewards (breath, beat—) claw your seat from pain you bid and rest upon the truths you hid the boards get bored without their blood and you get bored so bored so bored until you...
2 tags
on, in, under dreams and alien trees
you showed up again, still looking fourteen. behaving like you’d never change. the other psychologically unsound unwound ungrounded residents played their plastic spoons against me. we wore no hospital gowns but i wore something paper because i crinkled and unraveled with each step. [[MORE]] a social worker i once loved was driving off a californian cliff and i heard the news and fell...
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hello new followers
you have excited me very much and so i will make a new introductory post since thanking everyone individually makes me nervous, even if it would be just +1 follower some things to clear up: i sometimes refer to myself as we ( s. o. e. ) i am painted in gore mixed metaphors and alliterations here the table of contents is here my horror/scifi/humor blog is here my photography is...
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to positive pivotal words and affectionate actions
how funny how bad days sometimes transform into such wonderful and beautiful nights .
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encore
weakness is infectious, said the demons, madnesses are puppeteers with lint of broken wings weeping dust upon their strings the world burns to please them and the oak attracts the fire, the oak attracts the fire do you like the sickness, asked the demons, begging freedom on your knees “please please let this kill me” you scream you scream and do you dream it could be better...
1 tag
300812
tainted tinted sheets blood- baked in the angry heat but always weeping always bleeding with the secrets they have seen
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room for growth
fluidly:
I. the boles are scarred and etched with letters (initials not remembered by equations that are carved) here the stars are brighter and they watch the dusty fields like their child like their child
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on hot hot weather
i conjure storms in any room i’m in and tend to keep my temper warm until the thermostat is opened wide— caution caution do not look and do not look inside
there is so much beautiful everything on my...
please keep making magic wow
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seas of harmonies tied together at the throat
like concertinas we co llapse into ourselves spit shards of piano keys into the ground and the static-static sounds we hear are swift and near near so near— (the way our music drowns)
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journal entry 29 08 12
the trains have wailed eight and a half times today. [[MORE]]eight and a half because the one at 14:36 was short and meek, as if it would matter at two-thirty in the afternoon, and not at two in the morning. i’ve rehearsed the jump 133 times, although not really. who would count something that sad i dreamt briefly last night and remembered people who are not really people in dreams but...
3 tags
room for growth
I. the boles are scarred and etched with letters (initials not remembered by equations that are carved) here the stars are brighter and they watch the dusty fields like their child like their child [[MORE]] in distances below the fallowed land is grey like sleet and dusty snow i used to be so small so small II. on velleity and tantrums could the human child fly armed with...
1 tag
290812
the thirst of youth has parched me dry and i have lived a hundred lives in a single fatal breath
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dying, we are most alive
bone-gates and tired paths alive with sick infertile dirt and hives of drowning iris dust must you play your fingers to that tune must you stay behind? in the tracks of beasts i lay my feet thrive between the steps— a breath in flora so alive i sink to sleep with death
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a sacred cynicism alt title thank goodness for...
to the (maybe) one person in an estimated 7,035,755,642 (as of two minutes ago) who could fall in half-love with me: if we ever meet: be careful. yes, be careful. you would get nowhere stepping into mud-milled seas by tripping through the caution tape and red lights. it’s an unwitting sacrificial stumble. a waiting tragedy. a soap opera. you see only corpses would wake within our...
3 tags
speak|h|er
i bleed in symbols like our sparrow needs in cymbals and the thimbles of the drowning girl keep picking up the pieces to feed pigeons on the sidelines of our post-apocalyptic worlds did you ever ache for...
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on, in, under dreams and (subconscious) media...
never watch Inception on too little sleep
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on secrets and volume
fluidly:
i become a thrashing nothing every day carving silences and carving into silence with a scream to break my throat to shatter air and skulls i chase shadows with agendas and beat my head until the static static noise might stop — (but listen:)
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what toys would you have left
the tides swooned until the knife wounds sung my vivid lesions into saltwater fog. i dreamt its impact, i remember. or maybe felt asleep. fell, felt. the sharp sound of the letter T makes all the difference, and the treetops rotted from the trunks you touched with toxins and the forest fell — it felt — with autumn-like infection that turned it fast from summer. you talked in tied...
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love is a funny word
i’ve seen you need me clawed-in bruises chipping pores and diving into wounds until we both lost blood the way (our?) sanity would lose us — i swallowed down the gallows with the hollows of your gifts echoes of a viscous laughter but do you know what you’ve been after? inside all your screams are burning lies churning spitting rage sad sad people are your keys to leave the...
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on, in, under dreams and water
i woke up with a great deal of pain but [hours ago] i am in venice, only the water tastes clean and i travel by underwater routes and shortcuts, and i hold my breath for great moments. i know what it’s like to be invisible and i leave water-lodged love notes (safely, safely) in the hands of strangers. someone saw me, though, and asked who i was, if they could keep me there. i flitted away at...
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unmade [beds]
bedsheets crumple underneath the weight of sleeping ghosts who crumble in the woe of missing dreams that sigh in lost and founds from last night’s lights and darknesses— how often do you dream of day and what color is your sky do you remember every ember of the blood your dreams can bleed they’ve surrendered to the memory the sleeping ghosts you leave
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on bidding bottles break for moments to read...
i want to tell you something beautiful and wise and strong but my mouth is filled with dust and cobwebs. )) so please tell me who you are so i might have passion tonight — come and go, quick and fleeting — but passion nonetheless.
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galleries
“It was born this way,” the keeper said, while the crowd fought to peer into the bars. “Don’t get too close.” [[MORE]] Two stitched-together grown-together sides. Both pairs of eyes and fingernails running with blood. It dug into the concrete, said the keeper, thinking that the prison cells outside the jail could be better. That it’d escape its deformity. One...
3 tags
i fell for fall against advice provided in...
cold suns cracked wind-ows wind-echoes muting trees bur- ning in the brr of lucid autumn sleep— i will keep a bed for death still close to me while walking deathbeds of the kudzu’s strangle on the maples and [[MORE]] i know i will keep growing despite my always-dying: i hear passion in the wind and in the softness autumn’s crying it sleeps but sleeps awake and kudzu is...
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on, in, under dreams and apologies
you came back last night in a pale white-washed storm and told me you are sorry with your lips humming like cool fires but i told you very simply you are still not welcome here
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letter #26 08 12
If I were to ever have a lover, I think I would talk to them the way I talk to you. These sentiments and plans we write out and smile to are all characteristic of love, I think. What is love, though? Is it my need to hold you when you are upset and is it [[MORE]]I would punch an orderly if they wouldn’t let me see you — or let you see me? Is it that I would go to New York and sit in...
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5. hop a freight train
i found my bucket list again three hundred fifty-nine flashes of vitality and i (again) pushed it in a corner cried and am still waiting in an empty yard for a train i can latch onto
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journal entry 25 08 12
we wanted to write a post about “you.” the crackling collective that sh-sh-shhhs like static flies inside our head. the ones whose fingers we still feel on our neck and toepoints in our ribs and whose heart was their lame target and their sadnesses were our sedatives so we would watch and not writhe as they ripped our flesh apart. we wanted to tell you how we still remember you more...
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Z
i thought about how a nurse in hospital #3 had told my mother with all the scars i’ve etched into this body, the only ones who’d want me were the ones who’d want to hurt me. did i tell you that? did i tell you that when you took my hand as we walked out of the café, and we talked for a bit and a while and an hour and two. i saw the way you looked at me when we had met —...
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on good strangers and good friends i'll never see...
“do you remember” “do you remember” subtle starts to every poem in-between our rapid heart- beats like the hoofbeats of scared foals with coals crying with their hoofbeats [[MORE]] meet me in the mother country sparrow said to you 16 of nov at the station close to noon do you remember oh do you remember do you remember racing fog and racing wind and wondering...
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on, in, under dreams and languages
last night was a refresher course for our german alphabet while we were learning spanish words that expressed our different flaws. “pretention” the clerk called it, a dark-mauve cable she tucked around our gut. pree - ten - shion. not a spanish syllable but the meaning was there, oh yes. jam-packed and swollen with “you be careful now”s and “be more humble”s,...
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e. portraits}one
i’d like to live alone with hand-sewn switches crawling up and down my skin.
i’ll buy an old, old house that coughs and creaks and cries, and i will terrify the [[MORE]]poltergeists with the voices and the demons. i will scream broken cymbals to shatter air like glass from tall, tall buildings. bleed into the cracks and crevices and crippled floorboards that sway like boats and serve...
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the puppeteer
we breathe out mountains in your wake pave roads with boiled-over tar like seas that will not rest with moons we cannot reach you embedded stains threaded strains of flus into the skinny fabric of our skin masterful in execution, it’s been said creative execution
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on scars and life goals
Eva tore our face today because she couldn’t stand being in a crowded room among all the crawling wasps. How many [[MORE]]scars on our body? Counting has gotten old now, needy, something Sparrow would do. Last it counted there was a triple-digit number and the prospect of four if we kept going like we were. We didn’t, not really. We have been asked twice what gets us out of bed —...
2 tags
how to drown
write about them and how beautiful they are pump blood from plummeting your pens into your palms until you smear your thank-you notes and love letters onto your human paper skin
let them bite your hands because you want to feel something for them yes you want to feel something for them even though we know you don’t
tell them you will bleed and break and if they need the lullaby...
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the love we were warned about
fluidly:
do you understand you’d disappear on city busses trusses of your hair in pockets on trains too you’d get sleep-lust ‘round your eyes and parts of you would die if ever they would say or wouldn’t say they love you *** you’ve flicked others’ cigarette ash from way behind your teeth to trap your voice inside your tongue so when the time would come they’d feel so alive they’d want to ...
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faces
Last night we dreamt we fell through rotting floorboards and became suspended between stories. Between stories like we balance between lives.
what is the one thing (thing, not person) you have...
not limited to material possessions eg themes skills interests emotions
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ANAG]AP_ESIS
we bled in many fields of many naked daisies and the moon’s a liar the moon had said you are dancing with my knives
4 tags
the love we were warned about
do you understand you’d disappear on city busses trusses of your hair in pockets on trains too you’d get sleep-lust ‘round your eyes and parts of you would die if ever they would say or wouldn’t say they love you *** you’ve flicked others’ cigarette ash from way behind your teeth to trap your voice inside your tongue so when the time would come they’d...
3 tags
six major life events. no order. six words each.
faked sympathies. hooking claws inside us. concrete floor, cracked door. darkness stains. a touch of real people. loyalties. smoke. alcohol. no” again no” again. faltering hands but seconds of faith. restraints. we are filled with nightmares. +
-
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on, in, under dreams and poisons
We dreamt about old rifts and all the poisons we had split between us. Between us, between ourselves. “Myself.” We dreamt about our painkillers and using cinderblocks to break our knees like we had drawn of ballerinas years ago. We danced bad ballet, because we thought learning isn’t worth it if it’s too hard. (How funny when none of it comes easy now—) We dreamt...
untitled
[[MORE]]
Sparrow beckoned first the footprints on its ribs and kept loose locks of hair from its abusers to make wigs. Sparrow then walks dolls that smell like them and make it cry into the trash, but the stitches will not heal, and the memories keep sticking to its fingers. It finds strands of their hair on its scarred shoulders, on its scarred arms and wrists and breasts and stomach and thighs...
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one ugly third
sparrow sparrow rest your head you bleed too much to make your bed the world pits against you spikes that you invite with what your filthy lips have said you speak your wars muddy- feathered muddy-footed weeping in the soot and mud sparrow sparrow fevered bones fevered bones fevered soul and blood +
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for those who will come back
fluidly:
i must remember: monsters cannot fill on smaller things with shaking spines and broken wings and sometimes they will bloat on bones but always they will eat + -
3 tags
four.six, one.twenty-four
The room ached with absent weight. She swallowed the call with handfuls. He jumped, leaving two rings behind. The morning came again despite them .
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for those who will come back
i must remember: monsters cannot fill on smaller things with shaking spines and broken wings and sometimes they will bloat on bones but always they will eat + -
