Monday, February 22, 2010

And I'm tired of writing sad poetry, and I'm tired of telling sad tales.

I want to listen now

to Moon's

lonely whisper to

her saltwater lover.

The one

who froths and foams

and dances

on Sandy Earth.

And I hear the sky cry

for her Salty vixen is always

daring Moon Maiden

to come down and dance.

Sand promises to smooth

Moon's craters

and polish her luminous surface

if only she'd come down for a drink.

But she can't.

And she sings

sad poetry and tells sad tales

while she watches her Ocean

make love to Sand.


Filling your ego is the easiest thing I’ve ever had to do. (half-true)

All the way to the brim the gold liquid rises; faster and faster it goes

the smart, sophisticated things you say. (My god don’t you realize, you really aren’t that clever; I am fooling you.)

Like a little boy you splash about in compliments, never fearing that they

might stain your hipster physique. Quite frankly, your vintage look is boring me.

Of course, I am the real fool. I waste my Saturdays in bed with you,

half listening to your sweet ideas and mostly gazing into your

hazel eyes. Thinking about their desperation, your dizzying desire

to be free of stereotypes, to make all your dreams come true, to use the women as your momma that wasn’t there.

(You must have been fed by a bottle) Sweet boy, I will kiss your cheek once more

and laugh at two more jokes, and then I will have to roll away and go to sleep.

For this is pathetically boring, this young love thing. I’d much rather

sleep by myself.


mad to live jitters in my spine and my true soul. everyday. but the shouting inside can’t articulate out. send all thoughts i feel to the press! the warehouse where things get done. no, no, i know. no one knows. anything(really). we are all hoping to make some noise; we all deserve to shine. we are exceptionally creative animals who make it all up, all the time. well done! answers cannot always be found(unless a green fairy knocks on your broken window). my mind blowing ending to this lost rift will never come. there are a million truths for a bad day. there are a million loves to be had. and a million drinks. and she(i)(me)(he) is never done talking.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Nuggette of Light, I Hear You


questions usually follow your statements

that slip from your lips, your hips, your stare.

soul sister or is it demonic twin?

yikes the ironic friendship

the synchronized sadness

and love-ness and loneliness.

i see your bunny and i raise you

a guinea pig named after the greatest

love story and a corroded dog

that fell upon my lap on a day

of bull shit 'thank you now pass the tators'. insane in what brain and where?

fever isn't my only excuse for aggression towards my mother

or my old apartment which burned down last week

in a dream of mine.

brown and icky and sticky lilacs are the most beautiful thing alive and dead.

revealing their age and the inevitable with each peddle that drops or dries

just like my fear, just like your reality.

dance in the mirror for six hours and admit love

but then spit on love because love is hate just as

breath is life.

never really knowing what i am talking about i respond to you

and you respond to me and so on and go on and keep on keepin' on.

hazel eyes that spin our brain until it's vomiting important information out and leaving only charming moments and then wait! shit.

anger. the morning after. fuck the morning! the life after him.

nuggets of light and life and love and truthful depression

pile high on the window sill when i smell

herbal conditioner and find dark brown curls on my pillow.

i'm a blonde. life's a brunette, kicking my ass and kissing my neck

and promising to never love.

up and down and push and pull and here we go a wandering

down the youthful path of elimination.

self loathing and self loving. it's all right and it's all so wrong. valentine's day is for the single people to be thankful and for the relationships to burn like california or beirut.

truth is i think about mars more than venus. and that, my imaginary friend, is just plain boring.

Monday, February 8, 2010

Purple Toes

purple toes

coming out of the ice.

peasants walking by

asking for a chance.

fire escapes

my torn lungs

and owls cry

in the trees.

running on empty with

fake words i don't understand.

silence is the only way

to truly make some noise.

a chance for love

and a good meal.

it's all i ever want

in this life, today.

good love comes

and feels like a dream,

but when it leaves

that's when life begins

to be so real. you are

the soul that feeds

my heart. and you'll never

know how alike we are.

purple toes fall off

my feet and ice becomes my blood.

chances come and then they go

and i never know what's right.

Muted Melody

walking for 1,000 miles,
in 4 seconds.
pavement turns to hot sand
and the bull’s skeleton
hangs around me in invisible trees.
take a break. lying down now,
on my side with the
gold sand surrounding me.

and then
a hand, appearing lovingly,
tricking me.
what a beautiful hand.
is it you?
a silent yes slips from
your sweet lips
and you pull me in closer.
come back with me.
you say no, you promise
you’ll never come back with me.

running now,
barefoot. hot sand smoothing calluses
that have grown for two decades.
the bull’s skull hangs
in a mysterious oak.
i start to scream, but a
muted melody
is all that comes out.

it’s time to wake up.