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Tuesday, December 25, 2012

Idlechild.

There is a blue night outside my window that beckons.
I am typically ignorant of howls of wind or gusts of snow, but tonight I relent.
I press my ear to cold glass, goosebumps gather on my skin.
I hear whispers. indistinguishable, faltering.
Slowly they solidify and echo back in waves:

hear us. here we are. know us as we know you.
you are everywhere but where we choose to be, for that be grateful.
now is your chance. abandon thought, abandon speech. we are here.
this is the harvest; these sacred hours bend for seldom few. 
fluid is the space between two types of beast. 
hear us. we plead for you, your beating heart.

 A four-second stillness inside of my chest.

underneath my skin there is a sudden urge to fight,
Like a battle cry made of shivering bones to which I must respond.
I put on my coat, knowing soon I will have no need for warmth.
My hat, shoes, gloves. Somehow,there is comfort in finality.
For a moment, I think of goodbyes, but to whom? I have no words.
Only some sort of stir, some sort of rift, some sort of guide,
That tells me I am not meant for boundaries of flesh.
Once more I press my ear to glass, then my lips
Whisper to them of my arrival with my soon-begotten tongue:

i hear. i come.



Snow



is never all white is it
always white and or white with or white, but
so I guess thats true
that you 
will be as white as snow after me
flecks of me will mar your pearly scapes 
and I will stain the top layer of you and force you to scrape yourself clean
I'm sorry for that, sorry for you
sorry for hands that guided you curved instead of straight
please
fix yourself without my help 
I'm afraid to touch something so fragile, I've always been sorty clumsy
but I hope you get there, I really do
I hope I see you across highways     and in stores between aisles
 and from few and afar and someday somehow
and you will be as white as snow
and I will see myself in you
and wonder what I've done


Wednesday, December 19, 2012

MARY MAGDALNE WAS A DOWN ASS BITCH

ERRBODY BEEN SAYIN THAT MARY MAGDALENE WUS SOME KINDA HO AND THAT JESUS WAS LIKE 'go forth and be not slutty, O woman' AND SHE WAS LIKE 'nah'
BUT DEN CHANGED HER MIND CUZ HE WUS HAWT SHEEIT ALLUVA SUDDEN

I DONT BELIVE THO CUS ME AN HER USETA KICK IT
AND SHE WASN'T NO MOFKN GOLDDIGGER

Saturday, December 15, 2012

1:48 PSYCHOTIA

so you know what its like to need someone to want you
and your need and their want are oil and water on canvas
on canvas
or concrete
your need and their want spread colors on snowy steps
and tell you they existed
your need
and their want have everything laid out ahead
two paralell paths on paved back roads
two shotgun shells on a shelf from IKEA
plants wihtout seeds
your need and their
want
have nothing to talk about at dinner
have nothing to hook and eye to
have nothing

your need
and their want
are hungry beings left cold cuts to the chest and back
hooked on the phone lines like fleetwood

they are in chairs one seat apart             R e a c h i n g

                   your need and their want
are crowded beings
       in a crowded room
in a silent city
        of
Men
and Gold

Shanticah

it's 7:08 and I smell like pancakes and weed and french fry grease.
No words. I have no tongue to speak them.
It will be a convenient winter, splitting up problems where they lay
and tossing ourselves into a blanket of white.
forever has come sooner than never had thought
and now tis time to pay for our crimes.
high noon we come to you: wrapped in edges of muslin from the curtains
prayers still on our lips, eyebrows drawn
whisper to us, reedeem us
I never thought to wonder where my will to speak had gone
until something rolled me into a corner and let me scream.

Thursday, December 13, 2012

Diari

it's not even christmas break and I already feel hollow. and no
I'm not just saying that because I miss you
I do though
but that isn't just it its more like I'm one half of something
but I don't know what's missing or how to find out
and I know that sometimes i've felt whole and that was good
most of those were you and now I've got this emptiness, this void
and I want to punch myself and hurt myself to snap myself out of something, anything, whatever
but, by definition, i'm scraping the sides which is hurting my knuckles
and classy ladies don't hit things and that's what got me here in the first place
so there
it's done, and it's out and i'm here in my room making peace with the sound of my air conditioner/heater
which is this white noise that I can pretend are people and then I won't be lonely
and its nice because it can keep me cool and make me warm
just like people so it's basically the same as having someone care for you
right
can you just come over
you don't have to talk but I don't want to float away
just tether me so I know I'm not lost




Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Crypt

in response to Three Word Wednesday's latest post

I feel surrounded and suffocated and haunted and worthless
the worst part is I know I am none of those things
I know I can breathe and be free if I just try
but it's more comfortable to stay, here.

for you it's easy: ruddy cheeks and eyelash blinks
and twirls of feminine something that I can never get the hang of
I feel clunky in my skin and wish I could step out of it
wish I could skin myself alive without feeling too abnormal

then I could start over
lavish in new beginnings
trap whats mine in a gilded shell
and say I never faltered

would you want to save me then?
could I teach to look for me if i lose myself in you?
are we resigned to descend if nothing's ever up?

I honestly just wonder
is all I have to do is look dainty and smile
and dangle my heart over boiling saltwater
or can I actually be broken?

maybe I'm doing it wrong.
maybe the hands squeezing my chest belong to me
I've been running from myself so long I've forgotten what I look like
and I'm afraid of what I'll become if i remember



Tuesday, December 11, 2012

en junto

and if our love was fading water
fading  slaughter of spent nerves
and all the hope was scraped from the inside of my chest
would you  try still
is there no end to what we have if all we do is scour
i am not stone
i am mud
made of earth and water blended
so help me if i flock to fire because my knees are weak
stop sounds of misbegotten faith
and waylaid dreams of purity
you saved me from resurrection
cos whats the point of being alive if no one knows you're real
if our love was once and for all
a solid shape unblemished path
if all the corners of our life were rounded
i'd still jump in feet first with you
i'd hold my breath and linger
until we both run out of air