she turned very slightly; smiled. she said I know you know we know we all know That we are just matter. she bit her lip, she brushed her hair behind the pixeled part of her ear coming sharply in and out of focus. A bad movie; the director is inebriated. reset the lenses and and… Continue reading poem: stock character, female
Tag: orginal poetry
poem: the third boy is just myth
along the lighted corridors he turned and smiled slightly: that odd thing girls do when they manufacture a crush for a boy that they don't really like, or care about. along the pagan corridors of the forest, and among the thyme and sticky ryegrass he takes her hand he presses her fingers carefully to his… Continue reading poem: the third boy is just myth
poem: self-delusion, always in style
there is a dream: right now, he is far away, in London and Japan, and he is not remembering her: he is all symbol, not enough boy. There's no sex when it's only literary, didn't the blood on your lips teach you that, or the blood inside that cute boy in the journalism class, the… Continue reading poem: self-delusion, always in style
poem: teenagers aren’t humanity, but the horror comes close
he cut her up inside the grand blue gray there is amourous floating of livers and other passions, there is repression. he cut himself up and she cried out she was his hand, his wrist, his perfect dead face after the school imploded. we are living too quickly to catch the blood there are insides… Continue reading poem: teenagers aren’t humanity, but the horror comes close
poem: and your eyes like marmalade and stretched blue skys
and your eyes like marmalade and stretched blue skys: it was only a whisper, forget it. like old cd's on repeat and her hand shaking, 2005 in blacker sharpie on her nails. that's time: tipping back your head for the thickening music that scratches across the widening sky and she buries her head into your… Continue reading poem: and your eyes like marmalade and stretched blue skys
poem: unexpected afters
people do not tell you that heartbreak physically hurts that I can put my thumbs to my chest, and, coughing, tell you linear stories of blue demon veins, the sticky fingers of the unseen cut in my blood-caverns the spot between my breasts sore, a waking pain and your memory like pine-acid. little ghosts lick… Continue reading poem: unexpected afters
poem: the artists
lying across icecream sheets and smoking cigarettes, with the glowing nubs held ladylike between fingers like it's the 1920's. he was so perfectly confident among the freaks and they rejected her. anything utopian and egalitarian is a lie. turning on her back with her hair curling onto the mattress and nicotine hissed up under her… Continue reading poem: the artists
poem: cabin out in Nowhere
wouldn't it be nice if someone was secretly in love with me--- loner, an under-used word in the poet's dictionary, but it tattoos nicely into her softer eyelids fraying, against her cheeks. against her intellect. wouldn't it be nice if someone found my answering all the univere's questions-- adorable--and not awkward-- the shifting impatient eyes… Continue reading poem: cabin out in Nowhere
poem: again
it started again in her later years, when she had only just declared independence. she sat alone (again) and bit her thumb with the intention of blood. at first it was art class with the good conversations spinning away from her like spanish gold and she was too shy to walk from ceramics to drawing… Continue reading poem: again
poem: highschool is over (cheers to this)
i am spinning in a blue dress and to first follow him i must be all of myself, not for the matriarchy but for my small ascendence into what He envisioned. this is not high school: strangers will smile at you, later, i promise. Also, listen: the depression and the choas will not go away… Continue reading poem: highschool is over (cheers to this)
the last pavilion 