stare

Sunday, November 29th, 2009

it’s that candle that he holds; it
melts part of my thumb onto his lips
that sing of soulful things where i
wonder what went wrong when he wanted all–
my eyes, my face, my hair, my smile; so he says
we’re like toes dancing in a stream of
fishes laughing at everything and
his laugh is like shiney sun slipping through and
the words he used; they break me up, they turn me around
inside and upside, my skin, turns blue;
i’m suffocating this imagination and this dream
is blowing out the ring, that he gave me and he said
he wanted so much more and that so much was there,
on a weekend, lazy stare…

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cut

Tuesday, October 20th, 2009

cut on a finger, i’m having many nights un-falling asleep,
or dreaming sins or dreaming of sweet lints
in the corner of my eye, you dance, you dance.
i cannot write words anymore, drunken dragon at the door
i’m tired, breed moles of alies, cut me open, break my heart,
console my fishery nooze –what am i left for
why can’t we not always choosze

shall

Saturday, September 5th, 2009

every soul shall taste of death
every soul shall taste of death
she uncovers her soul and another seeps right in
like water it embodies her body, her sins
she uncovers the light and another flashes through
like the rain, thundering in between cloud blues

every soul shall taste of death
and it’s beautiful but eating in her breaking flesh
is another hope and wish to ponder which
light of day that he may one day take to run
about in contempt of his lies, but his eyes
do not lie at all and so then.. we shall; just like all..

every soul shall taste of death
every soul shall taste of death everysoul everysoul
everyevery every
soul

todayy i was

Tuesday, June 30th, 2009

todayy i was an idealist
came up with ideas about public
speaking and saying something;
but no one did
until my father stood up

todayy i was an aktivist
did an action and stood up
against politicians and big people
with small, humblememble names;
with my siblings, we did it,
with my sisters and brother, we did it.

todayy i was a friend
said sorry, altho she had to stand away
from these fighting hands
these hungry fangs, gritting at every
every single, piece
of brown brown land

todayy i was myself,
hoping to be my someone else
straying nearer towards my.. ideal self
and i fell back to my
idealistticttone where,

todayy i was all.
todayy i was an idealist.
became an aktivist,.
a friend, to depend.;
myself above myself,
against myself and

and that is all that is ……. left

that is todayy and that was who i was,
not knowing tomorrow

ohhhn

Thursday, June 25th, 2009

i kn ow i should go
ohh heaart of traveling fast
seems so slowww

ohhhn

my mustard sweater

Friday, May 22nd, 2009

wonder
about this mustardness
of a sweater–
it’s beautiful, me-to,
but (like/to) everyone
else
it’s such a bother

featnote

Monday, May 11th, 2009

i hold onto a little scar on my head
scratching at what seems like hours of contemplating
muse that continues to poor pity me
that when i am unaffected by too far out skies

she tells me that i’ve got a beat
one that when i tied my shoes with, i can sing and dance
like that time of the free forgotten days
and where forever is but nothing days and homes

a little boy that runs on wednesday evenings
strides to the mountain that awaits the competitive strong
informing muscles tendons and snakes blue green purple black
that head and beat are too much in sync and tune

i hold my head she tells my beat and boy runs deep
scratching like she tells like he strides
muse that has forgotten much of my tendons and slammed companions
and skies leading to homes tune much beat into

much writting feet. . .

i run

Friday, May 8th, 2009

i run not in the masses where
footsteps thread upon easy glasses, where
heights of mountains deceive me to
count them so, where
tears embedded into, (where
rivers, do they flow

i run not in the sunlight where
those who wont to be liked can be seen, where
sun-baked eyes, hiding in a refuge
seek to run, to sin, where
hopes fly high, and breaths sink
low

i run with my heart, not upon yours,
but mine and my father’s spirit, alone, where
though i am shy to hold you, you leave me,
unspoken desire in a toothy smile, and where
we are all mysteriously unknown
so

i run with my feet, tipping on each grain
that sets you apart from the others,
i run with my feet, catching unto my breath
that lays in-between books and byes
i run and i run like the sun,
and cannot see my reflection’ dimmed,
except when you’re around..

againagain

Sunday, April 26th, 2009

hopeful like checkered dress across
neon green grass grating at eggs on shallow
wise side that slip me over again

change of sorrows i’m begging
your oily hands to stay, hopeful
like honours, i’m sadly moving once again\

when tide sides into slow chances
take these two things away,,;, my heart and
hazy sweets into your sinking brain

again again
again

again

soul sufferings

Tuesday, April 21st, 2009

seriously now
this meaning of life business
is very searching, and mindful of
being and me, my head
and others’ faces and mouths and lips
and their eyes and their heads in the skies,
but

then the pen
is of bringing playing cards together
to mend big myths and moulds
that nothing of this should ever un, unfold

the courtesy of curtsies and daisies
floating inthe heavens of lazies,
the idea of infidels and intelligent beings
hoping to be of one seeing–

this idea is seeing the relative,
like time, like space in between our heavy
sighs and thighs,
the space, like time in between our burgers
and greasy fries-

enough of the bulge and real
the ideal is so fantasytical, it pulls you
into one and only;
it lies to you so slow and steady;
haunting panting slanting shoite

no, enough of the communists and capitalists
the hadharis and the fat chapatis
i want the cake
oil and stuffings–
i want the rice
extra curry and spicings—

and we roll back to that one thing again
that being all serious now
that meaning of life
is of great importance
and the importance of it all
is putting some life into the mediocre meaning

the spice into some sinning?
the lies into big winning?
the cries into soul sufferings..