Sunday, October 16, 2011

October Phoems in re: Girls, Anxiety, Autumn.

This fragile little leaf,
eyes like sad almonds,
she floats in flowers
and breathes gentle secrets
that ring of the tragedy of truth.

She scarcely looks further than the ground,
but when she dances and sings forgetting pain
she is often the only thing to punctuate my day
with a semblance of a smile,
with furrows finally carved north
with the volatility of joy.


Here we go falling
insane little autumn rodents
muscles bulging and hungry teeth
restless hands and frightened eyes
jumping from limb to limb hand to mouth.

Winter will be long long
longer than we can stand
so here we go now while we
can still remember our names.

Just don't worry
when I build a nest of your hair
and seal myself in with lead
until the lashes of Easter
massage my eyes
and stir my spine.


Relapse (with Ian)

What a day!
like a little skipping stone
we end it sidewalking
and talking from our assholes
in bright clouds of the wine
and love deep in our guts.
I am going to bed hungry
and yet am already bursting
with the thought of tomorrow morning
being spooned like butter
and golden cigarette butts
upon two no more well-deserving goats.
Sleep long, sleep well,
tomorrow we take Hell.


The day unraveled in its nervous string,
webs of blonde anxiety spun through trees
and exploring my throat,
the last bittersweet guesses of my questions
whispering wind to your sails.

Sitting immobile my heart threatens to explode
like a blossom of sawblades to sever these shining ropes,
we will crash to earth like birds forgetting to fly
and meet eye to eye with broken ribs
and the wheezing justice of my anxious love.


Nothing's good enough for you,
nothing is real enough,
is honest in its permanence,
least of not I.
But I Am and can do no else,
and I am Real and can be no else,
and have Faith enough for nations
in my honest contempt for the ephemeral.
I am good enough for I,
that I am good enough for me.


Desert nights I'm glued to the surface of the lonely fucking moon. Knowing you and I are sleeping alone, no matter who breathes by our side, stealing air from our parted lips. It seems too easy, we two wrapped in pages and doom, and some nights, these lonely fucking nights I'm terrified at how little sense it all makes, at the injustice carving chasms through the mettle of a heart. I've surrendered to my eyes a sadness that will shape me beyond the veil of death, and until then I will walk breathe sleep with a patient vengeance.


Staring at Kandinsky (Morphine)

Staring at Kandinsky,
wondering where the water goes,
wearing a disguise of my own skin.

Last night shudders rubber through my veins
like a thousand needles of sex,
thirty hours of dreaming
I'm made of air and laughter.

Morning all great erections aimed at no one,
day all eyelids and drag,
afternoon all coffee and stuttering,
night all pain wrapped in moth wings.

The walk home is as all walks home,
indifferent to the sky's indifference,
praying for exciting stab wounds
and an end to your boring bullshit.


I am reminded of you in moonlight and pyrite,
worthless shines but honest stone.
My saviors will always lose.
My saints have always eaten the dragon.
Better to keep you with rubber bands
and photographs of burns.
I remember your skeleton hands
hiking across pillows and meat
to steal the crown from my temple,
not a second thought to the smile you've glazed
across my hopeful sleeping face.


Autumn is bleeding,
listen to dripping colors
and the sound of smokey wind
wrap itself around melancholic afternoons,
this bittersweet purgatory
an excuse to bind ourselves
in veined leaves
and assume a nature
not dissimilar
to the ground
we tread.


Count your blessings in the wound
hidden behind your snake mirror
that we judge you only for who you could be with us
and not for what you actually are without.
Lord give me strength to find no schism between your two
and finally be rid of this gross malfeasance.

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