a few lines before I sleep
EG114805
Posts: 13
sweep the town poet, excommunicate each word for it's line
each period from it's holding cell. our beginnings have to shake off rust
our sexual outcries are from books of the 16th century
and every flower that grows out of my arm stinks of some yellow poison.
position transfer so blood flows to the other half, now im posited in quite the quiet
predicament of self infusion. Are these words meant to be here or are they some imaginations
from the flicks of wrists and bounce of fingers. I bang this like a piano. These are my notes
this page my concerto.
Catalog these inexplorable fingertaps. chant my sleepslong aloud, bluegold eyes miles of dreamyears to wonder.
each period from it's holding cell. our beginnings have to shake off rust
our sexual outcries are from books of the 16th century
and every flower that grows out of my arm stinks of some yellow poison.
position transfer so blood flows to the other half, now im posited in quite the quiet
predicament of self infusion. Are these words meant to be here or are they some imaginations
from the flicks of wrists and bounce of fingers. I bang this like a piano. These are my notes
this page my concerto.
Catalog these inexplorable fingertaps. chant my sleepslong aloud, bluegold eyes miles of dreamyears to wonder.
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though my heads been caught in lightbulb catastrophe
daydreams in some rough reasoned morning. I am always announcing
my return before I have left. Rubies, swift jealousy and mine are small and marvelous.
In rain or in snow or in immaculate yellow screaming sun, with rusted
canopies draped over me like capes, tongues hanging off of mine
I wrap your face up in my hands, your hair yellow like a mirror of above
falling one by one, a vow of pedestal potential.They wrote this warning like a patent. I am unable
at once to fully contain my loveflow my confusion of the alltogether difference
of sundays to mondays or leaps to bounds, I hold my brain letting its mush creep down my wrist. There are terrible
winds today, it feels like the storm like a funny new york sitcom left us all laughing. Yet
I trust you like you'd trust roman excess or a book's sturdy word. and if we find the world's falsities
exposed like foibles, folds undone accordian rhythm readiness then I guess we had it coming.
I turn another corner and kiss your forehead with my moon-smacked lips.
the wind circling domes would be so cold and unarmed
unadorned in a winter forgotten. It is warm enough here to cry
and cold enough to look for love in the wrong places. This is Rome.
Ancient tricks and sickness, coffee and the sweets. The city has lived
because it never died. We are fishtail wonderers, daydreamers
in antiquity, hoping a sky may rain down answers, wash rust off
buildings pulled from the ground like roots and underneath
every history laid flat.
It's a cocktail world, almost spinning straws in what has already settled. It is bitter on the first draw
and smooth by the end, we keep keychains to remind us to be kind. We would forget without. A man walks his dog through the rain they both shake side to side on the same step and the city hasn't moved an inch. You'd think it would need some more action to be perfect but it is harmony, holy beauty here my window my eyes my smothered plans for miles and miles and miles around.
silver spooned and rivaled
there's an worried gasp of air somewhere over the river
and your name scribbled over the map ancient and torn
several years ripped from a book so to explain everything that we couldn't before.
now is the typecasted year of the dragon, fear not the fall but only the whisper
there may be messages that would work for something
but don't forget the spoon, it's silver and it shines in the moonlight
let's find discontent, let's get drunk and find political nonsense.
The old world forgot how to dance, a modern trinket spills out histories to the beat of my waltz.
a hero was born in the minute between dawn and dusk and we fell
to our knees like every history book tells us we should. Question
the master even if he smiles uncruelly and tells you about gold,
be swift in protest and even faster with love. There are times to be wasted
and times to be enlivened. There is enlightenment bent to fit every cloud.
The sky looks like a yellow tulip. It's pedals are rays and seeds are eyes.
We are the delicate patches of color pasted around a sacramonious plant. It all
wouldn't look like this had we not been born on a hill. Paste my face against
the light and call me something beautiful. Use my body as a metaphor
for the sanctity of holy traffic. Ride the sunlight through my forearm.
where more lay. so much hangs on our indiscretions that it may collapse from sheer weight
a habit forming clam-chowder white magical addiction
I am no dictator
Adhere here. Add a here to here. Create what is here and what went there
and something foreign about yesterday. If the past is a foreign country then the future
must be a planet without shape, something we haven't even named yet
a fig leaf dilemma that won't be solved with mathematics no matter
how sloppy drunk it gets
talk about boundaries
teach your peers
about the all these here's and tea room chatterboxes. There are no more rules to life
besides one single equation said the scientist, clad dressed in salad dressing.
Tumbleweed
cemetery, nothing blows across.
I promise to sit in this chair tomorrow
no matter what planet it's on, and call it chair and make it love me
things were oneword not two words so I could tie it together like abelt
around my waist but my pen and space would be saved, trees not assassinated
because of some simple grammatical twistandshout.
Save your rhymescheme for the next computerage.
may just explode out like a red-dawned firecracker and get caught up
in my ribcage, hanging each sinew and thread around bone and nothing
would beat inside of me. I'll wonder after if I am a god
that I sometimes ask about. My objections aren't as soft
as my heart and sometime after this explosion it may just melt down like dripping golden teardrops. Our
latitudes have foresaken us before our philosophies my dear, when will be the moment
we meet minds and pen a story of love notlost and straddled over our shoulders. I'm not sure
how I feel anymore, maybe my heart is going to explode, maybe I'll fall in love
with an old church or you or the way that y hangs down not unlike one teardrop
before that they roll around the roof of my mouth, they are not stuck
but willing to leave like you were. Somewhere in this land
they'll replace those letters, rewind your name into rusted steel or
a graffiti portrait of you the face of Marx or Derrida
or someone that wouldn't appreciate it like I would. Half-annoint
our plans holy, illuminate the sky because the sun is tired like you were
and never wants to go to bed like you never did but really it's just some dark ploy
to ruin what we built today. Our lives are not buckets to be filled but
ruins to be excavated you once said and then you started to fill me. I hope you'll know
tomorrow that all this means I'd love to love you, and if not
there's always Tuesday, and all the ones after that.
ending filled the scene. we are cavaliers, conquistadors of lovestamped time. generation us
derived its meaning from a one two second we shared, the distance between our lips
a kiss dropped before thunder rings. circle your name through a hoop and paint it to my face
drought-like fever, love's name chides without raising its arm first. talking out of turn
thats the name of this relationship, some free-for-all desire-trucked behavior, something unexplained
that someone tried to and made plans to publish but forget punctuation and then realized they were wrong
because, this, and this, and this all over again, is as indescribable as it is whirling, unused and fortunate.
animal endeavored. if a string of words made as much sense as this we'd abandon language all together
but we'd still want one another. four eyes crossed parallel. staring into nature's beautification and an action coming together perfectly. oh god its wonderful to stay in bed (all day) and sing too many songs (too loud) and kiss too much (until our mouths dry) and love you so much.
my pocket jiggles with my heart stuck in it.