honey bunches of oats ~
spring in winter ~
I hold on to your lip gloss.
I hold on
to
what is you:
light
in the most
un·ex·pect·ed
.
you are a frame
a flame
a color not of smoke
.
Dec 19, 2010
Nov 1, 2010
when have I not loved you
(11/01/10 01:21:53)
I have loved you forever - loved you like the moon's soft, silver, leaves - like art, exotic & sightless or rain - wet and glistening on Nina's window pane. I have loved you through your calculated phrases to potential lovers dash or mothers. I have followed you from alleys to mattresses to castles rich with gold and surrounded by snow. I have loved you for a million years. Loved you in gardens, in fountains - loved you through thick and thin. Loved you like a favorite song - like velvet, like cotton - like bare skin. Loved you like a grand piano, like a victorian portrait, framed in silky webs. Loved you when I was a cloud and you were a tree. Loved you when you said, 'I won't judge.' & 'Don't wait for me.' I have loved you in my darkest hour - held the grace of you in my dreams. I have loved you like a white swan in a dark cave - an endearing sonnet, leather and lace. I have loved you like pearls and pearls of skies & eyes - even the shifting of lanes. Love you like Mardi Gras - fog & ghosts. Loved you like the smell of long-ago trains. I have loved you in Paris & Rome - on balconies held up by angels on two legged toes. Loved you like a centipede, a turtle, a troll. I have loved you like falling and being caught - like a roller coaster, like a sling-shot. Loved you in smoky dimensions, barefoot and empty. . loved you - love you.
I have loved you forever - loved you like the moon's soft, silver, leaves - like art, exotic & sightless or rain - wet and glistening on Nina's window pane. I have loved you through your calculated phrases to potential lovers dash or mothers. I have followed you from alleys to mattresses to castles rich with gold and surrounded by snow. I have loved you for a million years. Loved you in gardens, in fountains - loved you through thick and thin. Loved you like a favorite song - like velvet, like cotton - like bare skin. Loved you like a grand piano, like a victorian portrait, framed in silky webs. Loved you when I was a cloud and you were a tree. Loved you when you said, 'I won't judge.' & 'Don't wait for me.' I have loved you in my darkest hour - held the grace of you in my dreams. I have loved you like a white swan in a dark cave - an endearing sonnet, leather and lace. I have loved you like pearls and pearls of skies & eyes - even the shifting of lanes. Love you like Mardi Gras - fog & ghosts. Loved you like the smell of long-ago trains. I have loved you in Paris & Rome - on balconies held up by angels on two legged toes. Loved you like a centipede, a turtle, a troll. I have loved you like falling and being caught - like a roller coaster, like a sling-shot. Loved you in smoky dimensions, barefoot and empty. . loved you - love you.
Oct 9, 2010
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 7, 2010
Others were suppose to meet us at the Gathering Sidewalks
during slow time we
strip billboards
looking for clues
the Welcome Ladies try selling trips
not one human can afford.
once M decided we should explore the L during daylight.
there was a mean bimmer he wanted to steal. I thought he must be talking about a tank but
then he explained
that it was a small vehicle that could fly, could blend into
clouds and hoover.
like a black helicopter? sort of, but more of a flat spin.
what will you give for it? ..a couple of the books.
Books?! - not THE Books!
maybe just the newer ones, they have no power.
even when the reader is pulled in by the sound bites?
don’t worry about it.
but I was..
I closed my eyes
to drown between his lines
greylight, hitting buildings like blood
a blue sky paraphrased by slush, bits of scale
circulating thru patches of black
sinking deeper, the water a throat
of eyelashes, of ink, torn flesh
moonbitter scars that pop and bulge
the taste of salt soundless
words under words trying to touch
pieces of heaven dotted
with sky, soft as toes in the sand
M and I try to sleep
on the, smothering
comicbook type bunk. we wait for rain,
listen to Vangelis.
recite parts from
The Lady of Shalott & so
the days keep running together.
I develop an eye infection -
M says it’s from the neon dust. .
something about how the colors are poison.
Even when i wear layers of clothing
you make the back of my neck tingle..
are your hands warm?
I smile because everything turns into something else..
there is a naked girl in the box above us-
another in the box below.
*
Later
our bodies are hot on a desk in front of a polished mirror > pure to see - white lace > and starched sheets, chiffon and minutes onwards, convolution-spending >
the it vibrating when we of now, despite our partial partly > I expand him in my pupils.
he’s on it and curious, anytime, to float with the shift > his body to me,
it’s real and everything, flesh moving forwards > on a repeated light spin <
the merry go-rounds > walls. I with a cig, go rounds between sheer curtains with him everywhere, he is my bedroom, > in its Merry- > Wonderfall. > even away, naked, in books >
He’s the same>,wombed, sometimes crazy & stray > I save the naked, go-rounds, reflect,consciously. i don’t know what it means. the repeated can box, wear vibrating tints rosy.
> Wonderfall. repeat me, even if jerk i ly, always, day.. even in his days of curtained silence, I keep these pages hidden on the roof with the cool rain and leaves.
strip billboards
looking for clues
the Welcome Ladies try selling trips
not one human can afford.
once M decided we should explore the L during daylight.
there was a mean bimmer he wanted to steal. I thought he must be talking about a tank but
then he explained
that it was a small vehicle that could fly, could blend into
clouds and hoover.
like a black helicopter? sort of, but more of a flat spin.
what will you give for it? ..a couple of the books.
Books?! - not THE Books!
maybe just the newer ones, they have no power.
even when the reader is pulled in by the sound bites?
don’t worry about it.
but I was..
I closed my eyes
to drown between his lines
greylight, hitting buildings like blood
a blue sky paraphrased by slush, bits of scale
circulating thru patches of black
sinking deeper, the water a throat
of eyelashes, of ink, torn flesh
moonbitter scars that pop and bulge
the taste of salt soundless
words under words trying to touch
pieces of heaven dotted
with sky, soft as toes in the sand
M and I try to sleep
on the, smothering
comicbook type bunk. we wait for rain,
listen to Vangelis.
recite parts from
The Lady of Shalott & so
the days keep running together.
I develop an eye infection -
M says it’s from the neon dust. .
something about how the colors are poison.
Even when i wear layers of clothing
you make the back of my neck tingle..
are your hands warm?
I smile because everything turns into something else..
there is a naked girl in the box above us-
another in the box below.
*
Later
our bodies are hot on a desk in front of a polished mirror > pure to see - white lace > and starched sheets, chiffon and minutes onwards, convolution-spending >
the it vibrating when we of now, despite our partial partly > I expand him in my pupils.
he’s on it and curious, anytime, to float with the shift > his body to me,
it’s real and everything, flesh moving forwards > on a repeated light spin <
the merry go-rounds > walls. I with a cig, go rounds between sheer curtains with him everywhere, he is my bedroom, > in its Merry- > Wonderfall. > even away, naked, in books >
He’s the same>,wombed, sometimes crazy & stray > I save the naked, go-rounds, reflect,consciously. i don’t know what it means. the repeated can box, wear vibrating tints rosy.
> Wonderfall. repeat me, even if jerk i ly, always, day.. even in his days of curtained silence, I keep these pages hidden on the roof with the cool rain and leaves.
Aug 29, 2010
Aug 6, 2010
31 Flavours, Day Seven, Harrisham Rhyme
mushroom cap -
moist dew mouth, hand
to your lovely blonde stretch
over my lap,
reaching and
ghosting a sketch.
moist dew mouth, hand
to your lovely blonde stretch
over my lap,
reaching and
ghosting a sketch.
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