last song..
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 20, 2012
a revisit
Mar 10, 2011 Nachtmusik You wear your red t-shirt like my fever, cover your eyes with sun glass.. and drive, drive, drive. I wake, only to find more snow has fallen. .. Fallen looks, that glitter in their shells .. Shells & songs. sung out loud. spaces, roll by, and pass your cursive heart. the crunch of tires on ice. Ice blue. the waitress sits down our steaks. more lemon slices in a plastic cup. your phone vibrates on the table. tattered cherubs stuck to the wall. Labels: jj kills posted by Tasha at 2:01 AM ;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;
Apr 15, 2012
Apr 14, 2012
Mar 31, 2012
Midnite Rider
me and my dad's old truck.. the s10 .. i have my own vehicle now, a 2000, ford explorer, i'll post some sort of photo soon. xo
midnite rider
Mar 28, 2012
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 12, 2012
i'd like to climb up on the baby-sitter,
a kid stamping the pieces of broken things
at some garage sale in Iowa, almost a father in some mediocre ways and slays the next cheap-ass professor nursing a drinking life with a plastic knife
later at the Bastard's Sign he is randy and pokes this broken light of glittery squander tit tag with his broken almost soul until he thinks about how he creamed on Iowa's own Flanagan sisters, one outside each page of whiskey with jail. the lecturer at the car rental place finally placed the keys into his hand. driving, he noticed the clouds red with tears all the fears and years of nothing except being slick on how to be alone. he never needed a wet nurse to show him how to pull off/of life. headlights played on the brick of his beard. seein' his street. the clouds.. he'd feel her up tender in this, this killing of the rest of the night when he got there she was shit-faced without the same maternal look she had had at Drake's long narrow bar where they had thrown down sickly green shots of something jumpy and jello, a kid's whiskey without any kick at all.
leaning against the curved railing he watched the handsome thespian in the mirror, the one who sometimes taught himself how to play the guitar, suddenly
laugh at her enourmous forgettable mouth, easily a pool of red glee yea, that's before the match strikes the floor.
at some garage sale in Iowa, almost a father in some mediocre ways and slays the next cheap-ass professor nursing a drinking life with a plastic knife
later at the Bastard's Sign he is randy and pokes this broken light of glittery squander tit tag with his broken almost soul until he thinks about how he creamed on Iowa's own Flanagan sisters, one outside each page of whiskey with jail. the lecturer at the car rental place finally placed the keys into his hand. driving, he noticed the clouds red with tears all the fears and years of nothing except being slick on how to be alone. he never needed a wet nurse to show him how to pull off/of life. headlights played on the brick of his beard. seein' his street. the clouds.. he'd feel her up tender in this, this killing of the rest of the night when he got there she was shit-faced without the same maternal look she had had at Drake's long narrow bar where they had thrown down sickly green shots of something jumpy and jello, a kid's whiskey without any kick at all.
leaning against the curved railing he watched the handsome thespian in the mirror, the one who sometimes taught himself how to play the guitar, suddenly
laugh at her enourmous forgettable mouth, easily a pool of red glee yea, that's before the match strikes the floor.
Mar 11, 2012
Feb 12, 2012
Jan 6, 2012
not about tapeworms, smelling salts or shootouts.
12.21.2011
11:22 P.M.
when
did your tongue
become
a piracy
open ing
darkness ness
With glossy hands, Nina cups his shy
slide back
in
silt
sinking
questions
low clouds over
a clear ceiling, the long Floating heavy yourself, (or a weightless slow
in this – room
there is no breath
you are Somebody and a sorrow, the image of my heart
except I can't trace a god.
you like being my Want.
)arms(above my head) the under of them so fragile they chain
you
that is what i like
as we roll through a twisty dream -
silent temples
twined
with an
All
important ness
on
your chest
i like the slim ness
of
you ~ the way we move , smoothly around and away
from
~*~
------- ---- ----
but - later -
in the code market.. i die. Fall: to
break
how can you open me more?
......
on the white skin of Dellarina> reflections of red digits
~~~
my #?
276-233-5072
how presumptuous of me
by
semaphoring whoring
***
**
*
.
and the cool sky , slender with
.
Black Dress, White Room
11:22 P.M.
when
did your tongue
become
a piracy
open ing
darkness ness
With glossy hands, Nina cups his shy
slide back
in
silt
sinking
questions
low clouds over
a clear ceiling, the long Floating heavy yourself, (or a weightless slow
in this – room
there is no breath
you are Somebody and a sorrow, the image of my heart
except I can't trace a god.
you like being my Want.
)arms(above my head) the under of them so fragile they chain
you
that is what i like
as we roll through a twisty dream -
silent temples
twined
with an
All
important ness
on
your chest
i like the slim ness
of
you ~ the way we move , smoothly around and away
from
~*~
------- ---- ----
but - later -
in the code market.. i die. Fall: to
break
how can you open me more?
......
on the white skin of Dellarina> reflections of red digits
~~~
my #?
276-233-5072
how presumptuous of me
by
semaphoring whoring
***
**
*
.
and the cool sky , slender with
.
Black Dress, White Room
Dec 25, 2011
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