someone told me once that poetry was an economy of words and like any,seems i can’t holdworth
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Untitled #183 (2015)
Everyone seems to think of themselves as better than everyone else.‘course I seem to think they’re all better than me.don’t think I’m wrong,mind. don’t mind me.Twin Peaks is runnin’ in the background. she’s got tears in her eyes,they’re pretty obvious,but this guy,head waiter of the joint,is sittin’ impatiently while she pays her tab,mutterin’“I had an …
Untitled #178 (2015)
told someone the other day“truth is nothing but a numberof little liesgiving each other context”,and maybe that’s a lie too,but that’s how I’ve always feltabout words; impish little things. there are so many things I wishI could translatetranscribeparsefrom the raw thread of my thoughtinto these little fictions; all my life I’ve made time for eye …
Untitled #179 (2015)
i met someone the other daywho lets me close my eyesand just listen. dry-leaves-rustle as boughs sway October chills came early still absent is April rain with its peeled thunder and hopeful winds. December cracks on the horizoncrystals creep at fringebut here we areall first stepsand too familiar my mind is miles away.
Untitled #176 (2015)
in the quiet of the nightRoald Dahl told him it was the witching hourwhen nothing movedand those sleepless ageless moved freely he hadn’t tried to stay awakehe promisedbut there the clock blinksand blinksit had stopped showing numberssome time agohe couldn’t tell youon account of the clockhe’d been measuring time in rollshe was on one hundred …
Untitled #177 (2015)
they make maps a’plentyfilled with trails ‘n routesthat’re supposed to lead homeso it’s saidor, leastwise, so I been told. been told, too,home, home is where the heart is,you carry thatwherever you go. meI took a trowel to the dirtsomewhere in Kansas‘n carried thatthen I started followin’ politics‘n dropped it backtwice as quick. maybe,maybe,with the way …
Untitled #171 (2015)
the storm is callingi grew it inside my chestbut now the billowing skygives voice to what i could not. there is nothing i wouldn’t to not feel thisbut until then i’ll worship the lightningchant with the wind.
Untitled #172 (2015)
For all my love of words, i can’t seem to say the rightto shake the shake from your bonesto hold you close despite the distanceand whisper those wordless comforts For all my love of words, i could never show you around myselfa guided tour of my childhood and to the left you’ll see the man …
Untitled #173 (2015)
writing poetryis a little likeloving a godthat doesn’t believe in you. writing anythingis a lot likechanting ata bookof psalms. silence has no ears,but god does it listen.
Untitled #169 (2015)
here i amwriting another shitty poeminstead of sleeping and who could blame mewhen all the bathrooms in my dreamsare irregular mazeswhen the pounding at the doorare the undead children i’ve lostwhen there’s never the right pathwhen even the sex is terrifying. the best dreamwas the sound ofyour breathyour heartbeatin my earas isweat drenchedpanickedheld you closeand …
