That stricken boat on the glass sea,
With windows tinted unevenly
As to keep an eye on the suns at dusk
When hands were frozen, mouths fell to dust.
It never gets far, nothing these drinks can’t unwind,
Lips will be loose and your conscience won’t mind.
Unpurposeful slip of the tongue past midnight.
Healing the barrier between disgust and fright.
It wasn’t meant to be taken away from you,
The waves weren’t crashing but the wind blew and blew,
Watching the sun lose its grasp on the deepening sky
Watching the communications cease between you and I.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Outside the Inside
I met a boy who did as he pleased:
Saw a forest ahead and fell to his knees,
Oh soft ground bring comfort away from these lees
In swift scattered pleasures, so fell the trees.
He crawled through the saw dust back to the dirt,
A broken rib crying, refusing to hurt,
Bled him a lullaby straight though his shirt
And on to the ground where death does its work.
Layers of gravel, minerals and dust,
Dark and damaged, the worlds hidden crust
An insect seen in hope, disposing of trust,
Below and forgotten clawing what it must...
Scratching the sands far from a pearl,
Slipping on ice as the heat starts to swirl.
Air burns and creates an omnipotent girl,
Boy: sitting terrified, center of the world.
Saw a forest ahead and fell to his knees,
Oh soft ground bring comfort away from these lees
In swift scattered pleasures, so fell the trees.
He crawled through the saw dust back to the dirt,
A broken rib crying, refusing to hurt,
Bled him a lullaby straight though his shirt
And on to the ground where death does its work.
Layers of gravel, minerals and dust,
Dark and damaged, the worlds hidden crust
An insect seen in hope, disposing of trust,
Below and forgotten clawing what it must...
Scratching the sands far from a pearl,
Slipping on ice as the heat starts to swirl.
Air burns and creates an omnipotent girl,
Boy: sitting terrified, center of the world.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
On The Line
Solace disappeared on a cold kitchen floor
Night throwing colours never seen before.
Objects of regret hanging damp clothes line.
The owl watching us wake in good time
With some apologies arriving from early to late,
Playing witness to what bones could not shake.
Time is immeasurable and heat will fade
Determined through memories of a tar lung facade,
Forgive the fool that was labeled insane,
Let him follow patterns left by the rain.
I heard you're not ready to leave town just yet.
Maybe tomorrow when the sun spits out regret.
Night throwing colours never seen before.
Objects of regret hanging damp clothes line.
The owl watching us wake in good time
With some apologies arriving from early to late,
Playing witness to what bones could not shake.
Time is immeasurable and heat will fade
Determined through memories of a tar lung facade,
Forgive the fool that was labeled insane,
Let him follow patterns left by the rain.
I heard you're not ready to leave town just yet.
Maybe tomorrow when the sun spits out regret.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Won for Seven
There's a gap between the desk and draw
Where the forgets lay resting on the floor.
Only when the scribble clears do I understand the weight,
The subtle hints once too insecure for fate.
It wasn't the mixtape stapled in its prison,
Or the smell of cologne that had once proudly risen,
It was the shivers. Do you remember the shivers?
They started by the pool underneath under the lip quivers
Where secrets were exchanged, words too raw it burned to say.
Significance in question; I still remember that day.
Now my mouth burns remembering it is less than a memory,
Pushed in to a corner so my broken eyes don't have to see.
Motions keep going, sometimes remembering the forgets;
After all the bleached angels I have seen, my home's inside regret.
Put on that dusty mixtape, but the voice sings too slow;
Whoever said yesterday had to come and go?
Where the forgets lay resting on the floor.
Only when the scribble clears do I understand the weight,
The subtle hints once too insecure for fate.
It wasn't the mixtape stapled in its prison,
Or the smell of cologne that had once proudly risen,
It was the shivers. Do you remember the shivers?
They started by the pool underneath under the lip quivers
Where secrets were exchanged, words too raw it burned to say.
Significance in question; I still remember that day.
Now my mouth burns remembering it is less than a memory,
Pushed in to a corner so my broken eyes don't have to see.
Motions keep going, sometimes remembering the forgets;
After all the bleached angels I have seen, my home's inside regret.
Put on that dusty mixtape, but the voice sings too slow;
Whoever said yesterday had to come and go?
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Behind
No, you couldn't tell.
So quiet behind the sheet,
quick to judge, slow to follow
the movement of their feet.
Signs lay trapped on the street,
rounded corners now broken bones;
They aren't looking for the beginning
the end didn't leave them so alone.
Pink clouds hide a half-baked home
when the sun collapses luck is grey.
Dark brings an awkward reckoning,
not the questions exposed by day.
Cover up the wayward prey,
the eyes that have no sleep.
Marks on skin and emptiness
follow me like sheep.
Behind the broken bed they keep,
the flowers that've misplaced bloom
back to when they were born,
leaving all too soon.
Questioning shapes in the moon,
once had lived but left behind,
on the street of lost intention
where no one has time.
So quiet behind the sheet,
quick to judge, slow to follow
the movement of their feet.
Signs lay trapped on the street,
rounded corners now broken bones;
They aren't looking for the beginning
the end didn't leave them so alone.
Pink clouds hide a half-baked home
when the sun collapses luck is grey.
Dark brings an awkward reckoning,
not the questions exposed by day.
Cover up the wayward prey,
the eyes that have no sleep.
Marks on skin and emptiness
follow me like sheep.
Behind the broken bed they keep,
the flowers that've misplaced bloom
back to when they were born,
leaving all too soon.
Questioning shapes in the moon,
once had lived but left behind,
on the street of lost intention
where no one has time.
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