fall is for fallingtiny dark shapes dive and twist in the sky always falling downwards taking whatever path they choose or whichever path the wind chooses for them mesmerizing floating rushes of shapes lean towards the ground. I try to think about what it means- leaves falling silently and quietly. and would it mean something different if they fell up?fall is for falling
Change of Plans, but I'm tangled between a world full of reality,Change of Plans
and a reality full of illusion. no exit strategy this time- like soldier like father I march forward only to fall behind the rest of the leaves still left on the trees in the middle of January. I'm churning words, and hoping paper and pen will suffice this time although we all know it won't. the spaceships sitting on my floor play music
only loud enough for the chair legs to hear. I beg for forgiveness, knowing I've done nothing wrong and I wonder about hadron colliders, how they speak to t
According to PlanIt all happened according to plan. At first glance there were no glitches, no catches in the system. By the second, we could tell where the breaks were, but not why how come or by whom Glass breaks, teacups crack, feathers fall, and heart aches. Paths cross, but never meet. Roads intersect, but never end in the right places. I’ve given up something thought to be valuable. Is it? I ask myself the same questions every hour of every day, waiting for answers I wish could come by way of a telephone call.According to Plan
Selfish+DizzyspellsI petitioned the empty sky waiting patiently for withering clouds to disappear. That night the smokestacks choked and the billboards fell from their brightly lit glory. I suddenly remembered that it had rained for days, and the mud was soaking through my shoes.Selfish+Dizzyspells
I determined you are simple in the sunlight, and that a voltage was running through your skin. You talk so loud it calms me down and I wonder what would happen if a rainbow appeared.
November Takes the Stage.Set fire to abandonment. Cut the heart out of everything. Savour the mess, how delicate the tornado can be. Don't ever let Saturn get in the way. How careful he can be as he places you in chains, as he forces you to empty yourself of everything that made you real. The actor never reveals the plot. You find the ending all on your own. And when you reach it, he'll smile and say "It was there all along." But you didn't know, you didn't know.November Takes the Stage.
The rabbit girls can dig their way out of anything, we've still got the dirt from the past stuck in our lungs. The heart engulfed is a national monument. Send Venus a postcard, tell her you for
Tales of the City.The basement skeletons and their tragic waitresses drag their harpsichord lungs and jukebox telepathy to porcelain oblivion. Delighting in taxicab obscenity and craving nightmares, or any excuse to see only cloudy days. Battered midnight fastens lonely windowsills and starving firetrucks. The pavement detectives observe every click. Money shines brighter than the sun, and there’s a psychotherapist stationed in every bedroom. Evenings bring static amnesia, a hungry womb. The rooftop concubine charges for electricity. Vocabularies ooze through the soil of every landfill. The cemeteries are vibrating mythology, immortal and all that’sTales of the City.
Sylvia, The Cave Was Never...The swirl of the hurricane fills the windows with longing, transmitsSylvia, The Cave Was Never...
glass messages, an oceanic SOS
clinging to shingles, claiming the world.
We will not seek out the tapeworms in the stars, the fish bone meteors. We cannot bear the weight of Nut's womb, her stomach lined with carbon.
With crystals exploding from the skull tongues flick into the arms of Jupiter. Chasm for the century, you mustn't rush
annihilation, the Sunday treat.
Evaporationi write poetry on the steamy walls of shower stalls because paper seems too permanentEvaporation
now that you're gone.
the words melt away with the foam of my shampoo and rinse down the drain with no reminders left behind like dried rose petals in the corner or your sweatshirt at the foot of my bed
i watch the stanzas dribble away (forgotten already) and i wish that memories could do the same.
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"Get out of the way, pedestrians, or I'll run over you. I'm an L plater, so I'm allowed."
--"Doesn't straightening damage your hair?"
"Yes. Yes it does. The hair is unruly and it must be punished."
--Hardship: Reminds us we're alive!
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Black rose your thorns are cutting into me
Every time I held you I knew that it would hurt
Black rose your thorns are cutting into me for the last time
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"You will find as you look back upon your life that the moments when you have really lived are the moments when you have done things in the spirit of love."
-Henry Drummond
Love Yourself for Art Contest: [link]
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The Runner
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Live the Life of Love
We are meant to be.
I am not "most people"
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