Dug these up from 1997 ~ 2000ish. Uh...
fridays
i want to move faster
tie you down
fuck you up
like a fucking disaster #7
Bartering for wisdom and
dinner conversation
It's a contrived state of being
When we look back
Some of us will be glad we
kept our secrets.
so you try living externally and
nothing can get beneath the surface
Keep it in a safe place until
an awkward silence needs to be filled
Throwing out names left and right
Of the removed the displaced
The thoughts that have been misplaced
Like sorting out the details of a car wreck
as it's happening to you.
#8
We look in mirrors and
We try eachother's shoes on.
We walk faster in the dark.
We revel in
Thursdays, sometimes, and a
mediocre saddness like
Christmas lights.
#9
Found: Hemingway
V
Her hair was soaking wet,
her smiles oddly radiant,
"I thought Americans despised tea."
A proper girl, easily
and beautifully straight
in such a pretty dress for a
very rainy day.
The mind too big for the body
I was unworthy of her.
She blushed...trying to cover
whatever she'd ever
exposed.
Said she needed to learn compassion,
that she was terribly terribly cold.
Alas...
Quite sensuous,
with a fresh acuteness,
not so impressed with her own title, but
"Americans are, you know."
VI
It was a statement of faith,
of extreme interest,
and of squalor.
He was moved by their exchange;
It ran through his whole body.
Nothing lead up to it
or away from it...
His lights must all go out.
A sudden sickness,
"can't you ever be sincere?"
Sighed "Christ Almighty."
It meant nothing;
it was the army.
VII
A green package,
a watch with
the crystal face crushed.
The longing so deep
the comfort given
for free.
He'd hardly the courage
to accept it.
It's all he was left with.
She held a certain passion,
it was oddly radiant. Learning to Drive III
the final day he told us
about little babies
and a little
scotch on the rocks
and I thought
allow me a minute,
to gather myself,
my thoughts,
my body...
he said we are deadly weapons
in certain armor like
skin and muscle and pride...
but is seems only some
are weapons,
others are just dead.
and I wondered
what it felt like
to be reckless
what it felt like to be
torn apart
beyond therapy
and a mild sedative...
outside my mind
for a change;
what it felt like to not feel
because you just don't anymore
or because you can't.
and I thought I might
want to change my mind...
he said it was important we pay attention,
we learn to read, we understand
or we will have to do it
all over if ever again...
he showed us the little babies
the little accidents
momentary lapses of judgement
temporary lapses of consciousness or conscience, no one really knows,
but he said no one
is temporarily dead.
and I wondered what it was like
to watch the asphalt bleeding
and I wondered how
you might say
allow me a thousand minutes,
I won't be coming back anymore.
elevator music
you'd never hear me walking down the hallway
if not for the chain of paperclips
from my heart, trailing behind
in a tangled mass across the floor...
as I try to collect them
to hold them out of sight...
to hide them and look away
they come unchained and scatter
and I feel the noise
that garish clatter telling me
it's all coming down now
and with each new distraction
gleaming in the window sill
or propped against the desk
my paperclips fall one by one
through the floorboards
and into oblivion. #034
the words dangle but
never touch
they are shapes to fill
your darkness
why can't i solidify
and fade away
they say you'll die alone
hiding pride
and a broken heart
but all the words that
tried to touch you
and all the times
i tried to love you
you said maybe later
and ran away
too full of yesterday
too full of everything
violently in your head
hanging, staying too long
but something's wrong
you're not talking
and i've never seen you smile
so much as the day you died - Please suspend me in a jar
drugged up and convulsing
because I'm writing miles and miles
and miles and miles
of blank pages
the volumes weight my shelves
and the wall pushes back
I'm wasting this ink
dripping
drips
and drips
and stains my carpet
with the void of unthoughts
and nonexistence.
Please smother me when we meet
so I can't breathe
and your smell will not suspend me
irretrievably
in your jar.
- it's not personal but it is
then you pull some shit
right out of the air and I nearly
implode with hating
how stupid I've been
so i open up the window,
climb over the sill
and right when I'm
up on the ledge ready to
lose my balance you smile
and say hello and
Come over
I crumble again
all my pieces falling like dust
it softens the blow
and I seep into the sidewalk
I will regroup
solidify and begin my hike
back up the stairs.
December
There are reasons we are speechless
when the sun falls behind buildings
and the sky turns black,
yearning for the smell of pillowcases
as the sky turns white again
just in time to remember
why you hated Monday mornings,
no one's making you toast...
and the noise outside tries
and tries and tries
to anger you and frustrate you
and cheapen you
and annihilate you
so you walk three blocks to your fucked up car
with cold hands and earmuffs on.
There are seasons for driving through life
with just your parking lights
no one said it would be pretty
which is why you always arrive
half an hour early,
As those blasted lights flicker overhead
while everyone's drunk on cheer,
and a good stiff drink.
There are reasons you lie and say
you really can't spare any change,
that you'd have to write a check...
And then it's December, again,
cold and hazy and finite
and you love it. You wouldn't catch a movie
come upstairs for some coffee
stay for dinner
join us for a free session with
the martyrs of our misery
for anything in the world.
You'd rather fall through the water,
sink to the bottom
or stick your tongue to a pole
than smash your fingers in the door,
lock yourself out,
and stumble down the stairs
five days a week.
how could you not notice
my eyes crawling up your spine
my mouth craving adoration
one heartbreak at a time
devouring the words as they fall
from your fingers, laughing
touching mine
Triphasic Regimen
he paid one for the girl
two for the set
he builds airplanes
and things that pass for sex
he calls me confused
(and I call him crazy)
he takes four at a time
slept for five days
he woke up on my bathroom floor
and he's still awake
he always leaves a message
says he likes it rough
he calls me baby
(because he doesn't know my name)
county jail
They call you the father
the son the holy spirit
they're calling your name but
you can't hear it
they throw themselves down
in front of trains
they topple buildings with aeroplanes
i tried to call you up in the middle of the night but
i'm sorry this number does not accept
collect calls |
