Think like water. Which is to say not think. Anti-Think. Like flow like froth like like like… Think like running just to run to get there fast but not caring where “there” is because there isn’t here even though the word is based on and encompasses. There is a new here and if you need to be anywhere but here, you may as well be dead. Noise-ing just to fill the silence—innate ripp(l)ing out of. Is a river ever a river ever the same one you stepped in two weeks from Tuesday? Can’t recall, but I guess it wouldn’t matter. My limbic system is in limbo—hence the name I guess. Think like transparent. Like open. Like if I ever see you again I wouldn’t see wouldn’t even be the same river as when you stepped into me two weeks from Tuesday.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Laundry
how you?
i… well—
i get better.
not fully, but getting.
awkwardly clothespinned
and out to dry
scarecrow limbs
stuffed with such breakable material…
(to my core, easily combustible)
as long as i hang here,
my rickets upon rickets upon—
crack.
i make the sound of a giraffe.
or a turtle.
the potentiality of a squawk—
a feeble warble,
attempt at emotion.
i can not what (forceful) speech is.
i'm just a –
with a small rootless flower of love growing
in the far left corner of the circle…
if you were smart, you'd cut and run but
i want you to get so far under my skin you could lick my heart.
and This is the stretching for you, I think.
This is the pulling the tightness out.
it's uncomfortable.
and hurts a little.
but it gets easier
because i relax into it.
once i am used to the ebb and flow, i won't be so… ish.
it's been so long since I sailed on anything
i've almost forgotten how
i… well—
i get better.
not fully, but getting.
awkwardly clothespinned
and out to dry
scarecrow limbs
stuffed with such breakable material…
(to my core, easily combustible)
as long as i hang here,
my rickets upon rickets upon—
crack.
i make the sound of a giraffe.
or a turtle.
the potentiality of a squawk—
a feeble warble,
attempt at emotion.
i can not what (forceful) speech is.
i'm just a –
with a small rootless flower of love growing
in the far left corner of the circle…
if you were smart, you'd cut and run but
i want you to get so far under my skin you could lick my heart.
and This is the stretching for you, I think.
This is the pulling the tightness out.
it's uncomfortable.
and hurts a little.
but it gets easier
because i relax into it.
once i am used to the ebb and flow, i won't be so… ish.
it's been so long since I sailed on anything
i've almost forgotten how
A Study of Time
What is chronology? A
function of memory—
Things appear in order
but only because a
mind accesses the pieces
(fragments) in a certain
Way.
Time is permanent—?
that moment last Tuesday
when we went for coffee
and you told me how
you wished we were just
slivers of Greater(ness)
breaking through the plane
into the 3 dimensions we
know and being actively
part of the creation as its
being created watching the
meaning steam out of the
pressure cooker of your
strung-out mind.
But the touching—
how can we
get from the fingertips
dipped into the paraffin wax
of the 3 dimensions to the
Body that’s bigger (11
dimensions, so to speak.
Because that’s what “makes
the equations work”):
Fingers to shoulder and around
inside and up through veins
—show me into
your body my body out of body together.
Break me til I bleed out light
and stretch so hard I tear.
Know me outside too.
Show me the place
where 2 people come
together outside time.
And love me there:
function of memory—
Things appear in order
but only because a
mind accesses the pieces
(fragments) in a certain
Way.
Time is permanent—?
that moment last Tuesday
when we went for coffee
and you told me how
you wished we were just
slivers of Greater(ness)
breaking through the plane
into the 3 dimensions we
know and being actively
part of the creation as its
being created watching the
meaning steam out of the
pressure cooker of your
strung-out mind.
But the touching—
how can we
get from the fingertips
dipped into the paraffin wax
of the 3 dimensions to the
Body that’s bigger (11
dimensions, so to speak.
Because that’s what “makes
the equations work”):
Fingers to shoulder and around
inside and up through veins
—show me into
your body my body out of body together.
Break me til I bleed out light
and stretch so hard I tear.
Know me outside too.
Show me the place
where 2 people come
together outside time.
And love me there:
Touch here is more intimate when
It’s in a place that’s unknown
It’s in a place that’s unknown
and fragile.
i want to kiss you
even though we both
have morning breath.
i want to wake up
missing a sock,
dried tears from nightmares
in the edges of my eyes,
and still have you
tell me i'm pretty.
i want to fear pretty.
i want to fear pretty.
but i want to
even though we both
have morning breath.
i want to wake up
missing a sock,
dried tears from nightmares
in the edges of my eyes,
and still have you
tell me i'm pretty.
i want to fear pretty.
i want to fear pretty.
I want to drink coffee
A person told me once
that smeared eyeliner
is a sign of a successful night,
even if all you did was
eat ice cream and watch bad television.
A person told me once
that smeared eyeliner
is a sign of a successful night,
even if all you did was
eat ice cream and watch bad television.
but now eyeliner comes in tubes
called 'unstoppable'
and 'waterproof'...
life-proof, essentially.
i will never have
a successful night again, it seems
but i want to
I think holding onto the past
is like holding onto that guy
you met drunk at a bar
but took you home instead
and 'home' symbolically
is the side of an abandoned warehouse
so no one would catch you fucking.
Since, of course, being seen is
The Worst Thing Ever
and being 'together'
only works if no one knows about it
after your sex fogged up the windows
and made the icy January night
warm with new thoughts, like
maybe someone else needs
touch like I do. And matter is
more than just mass and space
when you share it with someone...
is like holding onto that guy
you met drunk at a bar
but took you home instead
and 'home' symbolically
is the side of an abandoned warehouse
so no one would catch you fucking.
Since, of course, being seen is
The Worst Thing Ever
and being 'together'
only works if no one knows about it
after your sex fogged up the windows
and made the icy January night
warm with new thoughts, like
maybe someone else needs
touch like I do. And matter is
more than just mass and space
when you share it with someone...
what if we could stay warm?
What if I didn't have to change?
But then the warmth goes away
and the tendrils of Winter
claw at the windows and doors
and sneak in through the cracks
you thought you sealed
with stray socks and blankets...
then he kicks you out
and tells you
'you're on your own now'
but I know one day
you'll build another fire
somewhere.
What if I didn't have to change?
But then the warmth goes away
and the tendrils of Winter
claw at the windows and doors
and sneak in through the cracks
you thought you sealed
with stray socks and blankets...
then he kicks you out
and tells you
'you're on your own now'
but I know one day
you'll build another fire
somewhere.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)