this morning as i was taking a shower i was almost certain my appendix was to burst.
i stared into the tile wall and imagined the initial pain and how it would intensify. and how i would look outside of my body. and for one second, i sincerely asked my appendix, "please don't," because it was then that i felt my dreams physically more than i had felt reality. the sharpness was unbelievably vivid, yet all at once it had completely disappeared.
25.2.09
stunted
my body is angry with itself, i can tell
the vains in my temples, pulsating
my nerves are restless
i feel like i want to scrape them across concrete as sardines
teeth grind together
scrape to powder
fall out
the one part that considers development of nerves and other things is on an indefinite hiatus
the last thing to arise
is screams
it just knows what it is and knows not to react.
the vains in my temples, pulsating
my nerves are restless
i feel like i want to scrape them across concrete as sardines
teeth grind together
scrape to powder
fall out
the one part that considers development of nerves and other things is on an indefinite hiatus
the last thing to arise
is screams
it just knows what it is and knows not to react.
20.2.09
I just kind of wasted time
It stands in the way
which is to say, I stand in my own way
because in situations like these the stakes are
placed too high
laid too low and too lawful
and we must withdraw; rise up and kick out fores
just hoping we'll push enough away
to save ourselves.
which is to say, I stand in my own way
because in situations like these the stakes are
placed too high
laid too low and too lawful
and we must withdraw; rise up and kick out fores
just hoping we'll push enough away
to save ourselves.
18.2.09
Tuesday Scavenger Hunt
My kitchen is my favorite place to stand. Cramped yellow walls push your attention outward through the window, past their molded frames, and into the shit stained alley. I grew up in poetry thinking of snow in pristine shades of blues and pinks. Or it was white, encompassing, controlled, and sterile. A cover up. For when winter melts, we can smell what it had been hiding from us all this time.
Past the alley there are people , most of which are like myself, going to greasy diners and upping property value like gut ache. And nobody can stay stagnant. Notre Dame becomes less like a road and more like the canal everytime I walk down it, the ebb and flow taking me where I need to be, and the people are always growing and shifting like sand or silt or something that can be broken down and built back up. Yesterday I drifted back into the laundromat, stuffed my clothes ino the machine, sat down, and witnessed similar cycles. People rinsed their hands along their hairlines, smoothed creases in the street with their footsteps, and I almost felt washed of you when I saw her walk by and head toward the lofts.
"Had she stopped by my house as promised?" I will go to hers.
And so I went, but not on purpose. It was 3 AM and I had spent the evening drenched at the pool, swimming laps, and laughing with the other manatees. The YMCA made us wear shower caps and I'm certain my did more than contain my mess of hair, but it strained my thoughts together tightly until I could feel why I've been so drawn to you.
You got naked like you always talk about doing and I felt relieved to know some people don't feel like they have to cover up anything.
I felt the same way at the diner, but better. I felt like a rat. I, drunk,braless, broke, with ripped pants, and you, cheery, thinking of romance, in love with the city and the dirt so much that I don't even think you could see it. We wriggled our tails, squeeked at the night, ate our scraps, and scampered off into the cold air to scavenge.
When we made it to the lofts she was not there, or maybe sleeping, and my bruxing ceased into sneezing fits and the feeling of a slow respiratory death. Maybe she had never been to my house that afternoon anyway. I decided to end the hunt. You said you wanted to watch the sunrise, and it's possible I took home the ugliest pants in the world.
Two weeks that I've known you, and in two weeks you'll be gone. I'm unsure as to whether you've been a friend or some sort of healthy reminder that the people in our lives aren't ever actually in them , just like they can never actually be out of them. But before you leave, I'll be topless, and with a little effort we'll expose this hidden skin with inked hands and intentionally fleeting pricks past the surface.
I'd say goodbye too, but it would be more like 'thanks' interpreted through a wave out my kitchen window.
Past the alley there are people , most of which are like myself, going to greasy diners and upping property value like gut ache. And nobody can stay stagnant. Notre Dame becomes less like a road and more like the canal everytime I walk down it, the ebb and flow taking me where I need to be, and the people are always growing and shifting like sand or silt or something that can be broken down and built back up. Yesterday I drifted back into the laundromat, stuffed my clothes ino the machine, sat down, and witnessed similar cycles. People rinsed their hands along their hairlines, smoothed creases in the street with their footsteps, and I almost felt washed of you when I saw her walk by and head toward the lofts.
"Had she stopped by my house as promised?" I will go to hers.
And so I went, but not on purpose. It was 3 AM and I had spent the evening drenched at the pool, swimming laps, and laughing with the other manatees. The YMCA made us wear shower caps and I'm certain my did more than contain my mess of hair, but it strained my thoughts together tightly until I could feel why I've been so drawn to you.
You got naked like you always talk about doing and I felt relieved to know some people don't feel like they have to cover up anything.
I felt the same way at the diner, but better. I felt like a rat. I, drunk,braless, broke, with ripped pants, and you, cheery, thinking of romance, in love with the city and the dirt so much that I don't even think you could see it. We wriggled our tails, squeeked at the night, ate our scraps, and scampered off into the cold air to scavenge.
When we made it to the lofts she was not there, or maybe sleeping, and my bruxing ceased into sneezing fits and the feeling of a slow respiratory death. Maybe she had never been to my house that afternoon anyway. I decided to end the hunt. You said you wanted to watch the sunrise, and it's possible I took home the ugliest pants in the world.
Two weeks that I've known you, and in two weeks you'll be gone. I'm unsure as to whether you've been a friend or some sort of healthy reminder that the people in our lives aren't ever actually in them , just like they can never actually be out of them. But before you leave, I'll be topless, and with a little effort we'll expose this hidden skin with inked hands and intentionally fleeting pricks past the surface.
I'd say goodbye too, but it would be more like 'thanks' interpreted through a wave out my kitchen window.
14.2.09
4.2.09
She Tends
I'm going to carve into your chest
a schematic of the simple human being
you'll see its beating heart
small fist thumping
between your collars all aheave
little fairy lungs
mincing right around as it swats
pompous gift giver swollen
spleen all caught afire
From your chest I'll coo nothing
busy hands too busy
with my only noble art
shake dirt around your shoulders
pray for demercy
can't you understand?
a schematic of the simple human being
you'll see its beating heart
small fist thumping
between your collars all aheave
little fairy lungs
mincing right around as it swats
pompous gift giver swollen
spleen all caught afire
From your chest I'll coo nothing
busy hands too busy
with my only noble art
shake dirt around your shoulders
pray for demercy
can't you understand?
2.2.09
Everything Gets Crossed Out
Think back to when you played your pathos like a joke
When you were the hammer and melon
shocked monkey star wipes
it doesn’t translate anymore
at least not as a joke
a problem laying not with revision
but with the fear of it
When you were the hammer and melon
shocked monkey star wipes
it doesn’t translate anymore
at least not as a joke
a problem laying not with revision
but with the fear of it
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