In the GrassShe paints her lips like the roses, Heart like thorns. A breeze blows cigarette smoke towards the sun, Haze-haloed, Burning cold, Vanishing like breath And the hot gloss petal kisses You never could send.In the Grass
In a breathless breath she wishes What she knew couldn’t hurt like this. In desperation listens to every music, Trying to forget. (suppress, suppress) Suppress suppress her logic said. Forget forget the music said.
Sudden bones fall from the gutters, Startling the tiny bird Enticed by red-rose perfume in the crumbling wall
Spiders and the FlyYour small white cluster nestles Rooted by a thousand tiny anchors In the corner of this painfully man-made Dusty outdoor window. The fly, Confident as first successes made her, Scrambles, tramping on your precious eggs, Sure there is no lethal glue here. You are long gone, The tiny eggs are lifeless shells, Not one vunerable young will cast its shining web, Trembling, into the passing breeze. Hitching to a better life than here. And the fly Scrambles, for no good reason. But for the thrill of victory and defiance That comes with treading a spider&Spiders and the Fly
StrobingWe are chaos And screaming interminglings; Tumultuous veins of calm and words And flowing strings and rhythm Tangling together-apart, And all is one And one for all, harmonizing The smoke-filled air Dreaming despair and all of vibrant colour-saturated life, Cracking bones and filling your mouth and my throat and the page and the hot of the songStrobing
and no pencil ever feels this -pencils too feather-light to catch the light. And all we know is: What do you want? Everything. And When do I want it? Now.
PoemOh! Don’t crescendo those tragic notes in my eyes. Smooth out the sickly, tripping semitones That hystericize the air, The evidence your tears were there. So self-indulgent. Soliloquyed melodramas of the unrefined mind With line-breaks For Effect. You ink-blot the page with maelstroms. But see how, feather-light, you fall When all the lofty words are spent, And nothing’s left but life.Poem
But life’s too small a word For a Poem.
She Spells Dyslexic With a SixThe worst example of a golden heart: Is sound asleep tonight This time, only bed-sheets between her legs.She Spells Dyslexic With a Six
Pummel her spirit into the ground Give her something to talk about She’ll make a hero out of anyone.
She made a Hero out of me Yet, here I stand with no virtue She loves the feel of the same hand that’s trying to tear her down.
There is no Karma anymore There is no weakening images It’s just me, alone at last.
A brief trip into the unknown And now I want to leave this planet forever Blow-out the blast off with you
Congrats again!
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I saw our sad Messiah. He was bored and tired of my laments. He said, "I died for you one time, but never again".
-Brand New (Limousine)
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I saw our sad Messiah. He was bored and tired of my laments. He said, "I died for you one time, but never again".
-Brand New (Limousine)
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