voyeurismivoyeurism
she forgot to put the shades down, we can see into her bay windows, with elaborate cornices and elegant venetian blinds. the stucco is peeling,
the coffee table wobbles.
ii
at night, as families leave their lights on, curtains drawn, we are in their homes, window spaces, doorways, stairwells, for just a few moments.
iii
him, with a secret, a hotel key and a second floor room. the smoke-stained blinds are open, adding even more risk to the situation as his
pants slide to his ankles.
iiii
th
Gazelle BoyGazelle Boy has weathered hands forGazelle Boy
shaking trees and giving race to the jeep.
Treeless Savannah, she gave birth to a
feral child. Outran a helicopter, leaping. Mighty feathered hair, aerodynamic toes.
Wild child; too fast even for the bear trap to snap.
Men aren't built for the animal kingdom; we eat with god damn knives and forks.
Civilized and spoken for.
Kissing our children, waiting for
the leopards to lick their bones.
This Poem Was Supposed To BeFor you there are terrible I love you's and this poem was supposed toThis Poem Was Supposed To Be
be epic. For the way your back does not apologize for being a sculpture
instead of a soft baby-skull. This poem was supposed to be epic. For you
I was a fisherman. We are forgetting something, we are leaving out the
punch line and this poem was supposed to be epic. Your kitchen water
eyes. My hand against your shoulder, moving down and watching the
contrast as you transition to sun-stained red-clay. You, a tobacco stick
to lean on, or twist upward. When the water is running, when the dusk
has settled and even the sun h
At the Thailand CafeSunday night I watched a family fall apart at the dinner table. The mother held her hands just-so, and with the tips of her napkin, raised her glasses to touch the softAt the Thailand Cafe
inner place of her eyes. They brought out her Kaeng Phet Pet Yang and her son
walked away. They brought out her Kaeng Phet Pet Yang and she hardly touched
it; a soft and aching place was growing and growing thinner. The father mumbled
something about bad choices, sipping a glass without indiscretion, as his wife put a palm to the child of her face and breathed deeply. Inhale, exhale and bad choices.
All that remainsAll that remains for the rest of your life is keeping skulls and bones above the ground.All that remains
And my eyes hurt from strobe days the sun is all flash and awhirl.
All that remains is to use up your senses so that you can learn and forget.
And my heart beats no sense into me, my visions of the moon always intoxicated.
All that remains for the rest of your life is finding the path to whatever you are the most.
That Makes Scents+That Makes Scents
That's how you found me: face-up on the bed,
smelling of fungus and Toyota. I wonder if you
know how many moments there has been where I almost left, but steering wheels always
smell of maple-lilac and your neck bone. So I haven't driven for years. I live my life like that, scents stopping
me from going or pushing me forward - little girl in the supermarket was all teriyaki and armed men. Cashier was bees and latkes. You move in slowly,
curl your fingers into my hair and I smell birdbath water, but no b
queen of the niletoday is a good day for poetry,queen of the nile
because today the matrons cough, finger snuff, stick bulging elephantine feet into flashdance rivers. children laugh, as children sometimes do. and the sky clear like a bell.
my mind on the thought of the earth aching with twins, bequeathing them in their time; your twin river and the stones in its throat, the stutter of its religious tongue, and you breaking your bones on the chords of its mouth. skinned knees and paisley and pig tails. and you told me to write about it
without mentioning
it doesn't make me cryDrinking upright on a tall stool in my kitchen; the cabinet stays open because nobody wants to get caught when Mom gets home, despite popcorn wrappers on the couch, trash on the floor, this poem on my laptop’s monitor. Crème de cacao tastes like chocolate on fire. With just three more ingredients I could make my first grown-up drink, besides hard lemonade, one of those Mardi Gras Mistakes you hear so much about among the young. I don’t know anyone who feels young anymore. I just know a tall stool ait doesn't make me cry
long time, no see
it means so much.
And great fucking name.
--
I know how the devil sleeps at night
He lights the fire behind my eyes
And he lets it there and I let it lie
I know how the devil sleeps at night
i thought my username was fucking brilliant. lmao.
--
"millions long for immortality who do not know what to do with themselves on a rainy sunday afternoon." -susan ertz
Your writing is beautiful.
Just... damnit, you've left me speechless. But you're purely fantastic.
Hope you don't mind the watch ^_^
it means a lot to hear that.
--
Without you, the today emotions would not be any more than the dead skin than those of yesterday …
Akumu-Kurai
You do not want to know how long I have had a letter written to you and sitting somewhere on my coffee table (well, my mother's, technically, but I still live here and ANYWAY) and UNSENT. It is PATHETIC. I am so sorry. I will send it as soon as I can find the freakin' stamp again, which is somewhere on my kitchen counter and we all know how that kind of thing goes, i.e., it gets eaten by a random drawer and you have to fight off wild cutlery and bits of string and paperclips and loose batteries to get it back. BUT I WILL. Just for you.
I am sorry, again, did I say?
--
ZOMBIES ON THE EVENT HORIZON, M'LORD
Death is coming and we've been making charts, wasting time. I am a batshit genius scientist prophet goddess and I guess this message is to let you know I won't be in tomorrow. (Joey Comeau)
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