i am so very small . and everything else so very large.
Post Type Archives: Poems
Untitled #130 (2015)
i promised to make you something,anything. but i’ve been enthralled with the void, how it changes everything. and there’s so much…too much. the bend of the choas, drawing switch-back channels. hardly sure of anything. much less how to make you something,anything,worth your time.
Untitled #13 (2014)
Winter’s in the bridges,frost already fallow in steel and concrete. Smile like baptism,and eyes like fire.quick to wit, when wit were worthy.regal in reach and roar. Winter’s in the bridges,everyone’s pretending to blow smoke-rings with their breath. But then again, there’s all that to talk about,and that is so much effort.Apathy is the frost in …
Untitled #129 (2015)
there is so much between me and you. It’s as beautiful as it is frustrating.
Untitled #127 (2015)
What I’m really trying to say is,I don’t really know what I’m trying to say. last few days I’ve been trying real hard.decided I was gonna figure a few things,I was gonna make a few good choices.gonna try that whole dating thing.got myself tinder from the play store. gonna try that whole focus on the …
Untitled #126 (2015)
andhowisitthatyouexplainthateverythingismeticulous? How do you say PULL<-m e->apart?and isn’t that always the question.
Untitled #125 (2015)
So,this is gonna sound a little conversational,but it’s a poem. swear to qod* (*The ficticious god of poetry Stephen just made up right here and right now : Strain, Dipple, et. al. {ed. you’re not even using real academic notation anymore, hasn’t this bit run its course?[Do you know how …
Untitled #124 (2015)
someone gave me a portrait,and told me to write a poem. I didn’t. it’s not done. don’t look at it.
Untitled #123 (2015)
they say the best art comes from the complete inability to completely describe an idea, that rather than creating a thing itself, all we are allowed to do is to paint tracings around shadows and hope that reminds us of the tide of things. They say that. But I’m sitting here with a blank page, …
Untitled #122 (2015)
you ever sit in the bathroom, smoking, and watch a rainstorm through the window-screen? breeze sliding through your hair. used to be everything felt like that. used to be a lot of things. don’t matter. I’m here now. sitting in the bathroom, smoking, watching the rainstorm through the window screen. it’s beautiful.
