Fly on fast wings and smile
you are quicker
than the sadness chasing you.
Thank you for all of the positive feedback asdfjfkdlsjfkdsjfdsklafjdsk
sometimesthe rocks speak
to my bones like
long lost friends
and i wonder what
i missed while my eyes
were clamped shut.
leaving me bethere are cobwebs
hanging in my head
but i can't bring myself
to take them down because
someone thought my mind
was good enough a place
to build a home.
Two birds, One ThroneI saw two baby birds
misplaced by overconfidence
in the leaves, beaks opening expectantly
as my shadow eclipsed them.
I searched for a nest
but the trees were empty wombs;
fallen fruit fermenting in the grass
with the bones of those
who had not lived to see the snow.
A transformation ensued:
I became an uncertain god,
sitting upon an icy throne of indecision.
Mother Nature was fertile and unfortunate,
and I was unsure of what type of mercy to give.
A mother bird appeared
and I abdicated the throne.
From her beak spilled the remains
of someone else’s children
into the frantic mouths of her own.
The next day I returned,
my feet amongst bones and fruit.
The little birds had vanished,
their mother sitting in a branch nearby,
singing quietly to herself.
I do not know what it means, or if it matters at all.
I do not know if divinity is acceptance or action;
my ambiguity is a feathered creature afraid to spread its wings.
Perhaps another uncertain god is looking down on me.
A Prayer From Saint FrancisBless the birds
lacing gutters with twigs
in soccer fields
calling to us
from the branches
we left behind.
Glass Half FullWe have a new cat now.
She streaks through the house
and sleeps in your old beds,
watching me from the rocking chair
as I habitually seek you out.
She's sweeter than you--
she sits in my lap
and plays with my fingers,
doll-faced and docile
against your angular independence.
I still search for you
amongst the cracks in my heart
as you slip like sand
deeper into the dark recesses
of my faulty memories.
I am always afraid
that my tears will ruin the circuitry
through which I access
our sunny afternoons and quiet nights,
and you will slip beyond me.
I did not hope for an afterlife
until I ran my fingers through your cold fur,
and understood why people find solace
in broken hymnals and new beginnings;
I miss my pessimism.
You're my only hopeFrom inside a Lucasfilm hologram
I am telling my younger self of incipient calamities.
He sits up in bed,
wrings a small nest of fear
out of the blankets in his lap.
I glow blue onto the walls,
onto my old books and toys
Static bands slip down my form
compensating for the slight movements of my body,
the fallibility of my limbs
as I begin trying to say what I mean.
My younger self goes into a trance of shock,
both from the suddenness of my appearance
and the actual look of me--
he is peering through a strange blue mirror
and seeing a sort of slender blue lumberjack,
telling him his fortune.
I share all I can remember
from that period of my life,
but it is very little
and the shock will result in his remembering
The one thing I can remember from
that night, seeing that blue man:
you can always trust things to be genuine
when you never asked for them in the first place.
My hologram sighs.
Should I even have come,
was I better off not transmitting anything?
I tell my
MokshaThe face and body are mile markers
The weathered patina hard earned
Our lives spent in a time machine, bracing against
The whip-lash of mortality colliding with karma
This perpetual state of samsāric jet-lag
These ironies of Maya lost on some
Take heart and pay no attention to the fabulists
Ignore the critic and the cynic
We were born only a moment ago
A Winter MorningThe morning fires are lit. That weak little strip of light on the horizon strengthened, and pushed up the darkness of night to the other side of the world. This world is clothed in winter white, a sparkling new day, a new beginning. Every day is a new beginning, full of promise. Every night is a tired revelation that another day has passed without keeping that promise. Minstrels sing of the dawn, lovers embrace the night; the tired old holy men try to sleep, hoping that a new day will bring the change they’re looking for. King Day and King Night in an endless fight, one never winning for more than a few hours. Still, the dreamers dream with each new morning. Maybe this day will be profound, maybe this is the day that something great will occur. The morning fires are lit, and for now all is well.
RavenI’ll never forget the night you became a raven
How bright your eyes were
How the tips of your elongated fingers sparked electricity
How your laugh became a caw
The way you wrapped your wings around me
And pulled me down into the darkness
And my fingers became tiny branches
We laughed, soft and low
The way the damned do
Parmi les ruines(English version below)
Cachés parmi les ruines délabrées de leur Terre natale,
Éclairés par le sombre ciel apocalyptique.
Des immensités de dévastation, à perte de vue.
Les deux âmes se battaient pour survivre, ardemment,
Affrontant l'amère et triste réalité de ce monde déchu.
Les cieux lourds n'osaient les punir d'avantage.
Une lueur d'espoir vint alors à leurs esprits agonisants,
Capable de redonner vigueur et couleurs à la plus affaiblie des roses.
Quand ils le virent, ils comprirent aussitôt, comme une évidence.
Une vie valait le coup de se battre pour elle. Pour ce moment;
Cadeau d'une nature meurtrie par l'avide bêtise des hommes.
Assis sur les décombres d'un banc d'ébène, ils se demandèrent...
Le coucher de soleil avait-il t
Her hand reaches the cloudsDaydream on the grass,
Her arm to the purple sky
Quiet sound of wind -
Rêverie dans l'herbe
Son bras vers le ciel violet
Le bruit calme du vent -
Wash, RinseA storm is already here, and I'm
looking for a stranger
to patch the holes up in my clothes,
put something simple in my head
out there in the heavy blue smoke.
I felt something very human today,
a boom-crash beat, loud and foreign
stumbling in the road like people would
if you beat on them like drums;
if you pushed on them for fun.
We all know that winter is coming
even dogs know winter is coming,
we don't get snow down in the valley
but the storm is here,
a storm is
Wicked TongueI will open my curtains tonight
Before I relinquish my bones to sleep
So I can rise and shine with the sun
At an incline that is not quite as steep
And I will plan my daily routine
So I am not required to interact
With anyone or with anything
Other than my path crossing black cat
I am the ghost of your former love
I am the spirit of your last best friend
Remember when I said I need you
Well I will not be needing you again
Never forget I am someone's brother
Never forget that I am someone's son
Remember this when you throw your stones
And you lash out with your wicked tongue
Beware Of The Bad BoySo he touches you in all of the right places
But with a clenched fist and not a gentle hand
By ‘right places’ I mean those easily hidden
By the latest expensive designer brand
Which he buys you to either keep your silence
Or to beg and to plead for your forgiveness
Is this where the attraction of a bad boy lies?
Please explain where is the excitement in this?
So he kisses you with a so-called passion
His hands round your neck steal a two letter word
It seems that he cannot feel satisfaction
Unless you show him signs that his dominance hurts
Which he tightens each time to keep your silence
Or maybe he just enjoys hearing you moan
Is this the deed of some stalker, some stranger?
No, this is your husband and this is your home
So he lays you out on the living room floor
I wonder what will fall down to the carpet first
The drops of blood from between your legs
Or the tears flowing between his regretful words
Which he whispers in your ear as you lay silent
It’s safe to say
Live Life, Be BraveSo the morning has once again broken
Into shattered pieces of a brand new day
And I’m trying to avoid asking myself
If I’m here and if I’m feeling okay
You see, yesterday I fractured my mind
Now today I am avoiding the cracks
That pave my path towards recovery
But one day I promise I’ll get back
‘You will get back to where exactly?’
With puzzled faces I hear my friends ask
To a point where I feel I am capable
Of completing simple every day tasks
That each one of you will take for granted
But are the fabric of my sanity
That I will weave into a blanket of hope
To shelter my mind from misery
Now the evening has once again arrived
Bright lights ask if I am here or there
So long as I am where I am loved
My reflection and I don’t really care
Because I know I am stronger than this
I am more than the intrusions my mind craves
A 'no entry' sign now greets them at my door
It’s time to just live life and be brave
Stained, my face with sorrow,
wash it clean with a kiss on the morrow.
Embrace me not from afar,
And allow my soul to shine brighter than any star.
I swear to you that we are only stronger,
and hand in hand, we'll last through eternity and longer.
We fear the same occurences do we not my dear?
I dread the end of this blessing, but the future is unclear.
My darling, you need not worry of my intentions...
It is only the expected obstacles that bring tensions.
Wipe the worrisome tears from those beautiful eyes,
for it will never be our devoted passion that dies.
Calm your caring heart, as I am here to stay.
And away from my vows to you, I shall never stray.
Whatever Is To DoWe were ever so worried
When we found the knotted noose
And scribbled diary entries
With tales of self abuse
Teenage tears and tantrums
Can easily be explained
But what on earth would cause these
Freshly dripped blood stains
We were ever so worried
When you locked yourself in your room
Painted the walls pitch black
And ignorantly we assumed
That this was just a phase
That it would soon come to pass
And pass it indeed did do
Far too soon and far too fast
We were ever so worried
When you dyed black your hair
No longer did we recognise
The child that was once here
Our precious little angel
Where did your shaken bones go
And why did you leave us here
With no reason and no note
We were ever so worried
To find an empty bed
No more teenage tantrums
Just endless silence instead
If we could bring you home
Take care and start a new
We'd sit our precious girl down
And ask 'whatever is to do?''
space hungeri took the moon hostage
i took the moon home
sundered in lungsent young debts, sunsets
pale heart, failed start, stale art, endless
that strange sanctity in self-destruction
a holiness, a southbound train
in cracking, vasodilated veins.
this moon says my pixel resolution
is dimming, i strain so vast to see you.
this moon says these mountains are
more effort than it is worth to be you.
this moon says i want so badly
to be young again, muscled and vivid.
a trace, a space for a dead bird pallid
in a dead box. heartwood, not breathing.
i used to know a boy. that's
the end of the story. or: i used to know
a moon, and now she is
a girl. i told her it was safe here, and
she believed me right up until
they sliced her up for moondust
and factory (reset).
let's start again, let's try these new tides.
let's not keep these tired eyes.
let's embrace our fumbled sides,
stop slipping out of our skins
when we go to sleep. let's up
that pixel resolution, love. let's
leave this ritual burning, love. let
gardening tips for the mentally unstable1.
i got drunk last night, eight beers too deep,
preaching streetlight gospels about the benefits & drawbacks
of rocky mountain air,
we stayed up past the stars & showed off scars, told scary stories
that we really wish we had just made up in the first place,
killed apathy with a flyswatter, splattered its guts all over
the coffee table outside
and come to think of it, we didn't even end up saying much anyway.
my mother used to tell me secrets, secrets of science, secrets diagnosed
by doctors from ikea furniture catalogues,
secret bits of diluted reality with my toast for breakfast, genial omens
in my aluminum lunch box--
it wasn't until tenth grade that i learned that some secrets are just sickness,
and psychology textbooks seem a lot less appealing
when they start to sound real.
it's hard to remember if death threats were dramatic ironies
or just empty promises,
but i'll tell you that nowadays i nurse the idea over a cup of tea at noon
i'd like to think i can at l
Tragic AuthorI’m looking forward to being a tragic author
I’ll sit on a cloud with no silver lining
And become the male equivalent of a spinster
With words as my spouse and books as my offspring
At least then it is I who will control the outcome
For the lives of my heroes and heroines
And since I’ll not be afforded a happy ending
The least I can do is to give one to them
The Lord said ‘no’ to my happily ever after
Perhaps to inspire my imagination
A hollowed out heart is an ideal home after all
For my mind’s perpetual inspiration
I’m looking forward to being a tragic author
I’m such a devoted, hopeless romantic
Devoted in the sense I should have been committed
And hopeless as I took our love for granted
I dare you to keep the anguish and torment coming
As it will serve to inspire my greatest work
Assuming my heart pumps love more efficiently than pain
And my mind can refrain from going berserk
Now I sit in frustration with my parchment paper
The ink o
The Unread BookYou only see the outline
Please take a closer look
I am the silhouette
I am the unread book
Letters and words within me
Arranged in such a way
This narrative keeps the readers eyes fixed
To the words that I say
Evoking an array of emotions
From the first page to the last
Keep you from putting me down
Chapter to paragraph
Heroes and heroines
Acting out in fictional arenas
Facts and figures educate
And quench lifes thinkers and dreamers
The feel of my page on your fingers
The scent that lies within
They judge me on my appearance
Before the first chapter even begins
So I remain on the shelf
Slowly gathering dust
Nowadays they rarely look beyond my cover
I am the unread book