Saturday, February 20, 2010

dinosaurs roaming the earth

Ravens dancing in the sky,
I'm the one dancing alone

Dim the lights all around
thinking it'll bring you home

Suffer,sun,suffer but shine
I'll just yawn in your light

'We' as you and me,
'we' as we.

Design the letters
on your page

so they look nothing like
they're supposed to

Double-edged swords,
my compulsive little liar

But love, you're debonair
your love is so debonair

Musicians and their Women

There are a lot of things that happen in magical rooms that will soon be forgotten and eventually lost in the every day hubbub of real life. They involve watching half-naked men turning into pregnant angels then back again. They involve food in dungeons and suspending time for the sake of temporary but much-needed hedonism. They involve half-almost-awake musicians in the night, their rhythms forbidding them the sweet taste of slumber. Tunes must be played, the devil may care. There is the occasional memory of people believing in each other, their hands doing the rest. There is the rushing and interjecting noise of early morning traffic. There is the sun.

But like I said, there are things that happen in magical rooms that will soon be forgotten and eventually lost in the every day hubbub of real life.

Friday, February 19, 2010

i write to your strings

We are naked but happy. I watch notes rise and fall in his eyes. My heart soars. He knows when I am watching him. He plays my song over and over again ( I do not know what it is called, still). Us two lost souls, swimming in a fish bowl. Him a piranha, I forever the goldfish. The music resonates in this tiny room. He sniffles. I die inside. I vow never to tire of this tune, my dreams can lay forgotten, I don't care. The mirror witnesses our ease, mirrors it for me to see. It sends a shiver through my skin. We can hold hands as we hear fireworks create explosions in the sky that are actually in our hearts.

I would very much like to kiss him right now, but I...alas.
Heh. He kisses me instead.

(for mb; i found the paper)

Monday, February 15, 2010

for hub V/ the city

I can see God beating in his jugular.


You never get used to the cold, you know. Or the change. You convince yourself that you've done fantastically, that you've learned a life lesson because you've walked so and so miles and now your socks in your boots are wet. Wet socks mean achievement, you tell yourself. You eat your cigarettes when you're drunk and stumbling on modern cobblestone. You hate sleeping alone on the mattress with the springs poking out in odd places, so you instead listen to shadows shifting their noisy feet on your dead carpet. You wonder how this city is still capable of holding oxygen, whether it's even there or not. You promise yourself you'll go to the park on Albert Terrace every time you pass by on the bus. 'Next time'. 'When the weather's better'.'With someone'. You try to come up with reasons why everything stopped all at once. Is it because you have nothing to say? Is it because you have too much to say? Do you not see the beauty that surrounds you? Don't you want to keep it forever? Well, then, why don't you say something?

Monday, February 08, 2010