we crack, we break, into dawn, she’s asleep, painful and dread, the slippage yawns before our feet, slippery, she slips, i fall, ahead and tumbling, there would be scars and i would welcome them, i would tend to them, a garden of retribution, all at her heel, gentle, gentle, stained glass ground deep into the palms of my hands.
Category Archives: words
obama: the real deal?
So the prez is fielding questions from this audience in fort meyers florida and he’s going “boy girl boy girl” (his words) and after answering issues like energy and finance he picks out this woman who says “we need help right now, the waiting list is too long, we need a place to stay, please help us…” And obama, obama steps down and goes right to her, asks her name, hugs her, calls one of his staff over, and tells her, “me and my staff will see what we can do.”
Holy shit, is he the real deal?
selling the rafters
‘We are selling the rafters!’
This boar of an idea
Flash of anger but dry of spittle
Restless nights that give way
To cracked iced days.
‘We’ll have none of it!’ she said
Crimson mouthed and tawdry
Scarred elbows on her knees,
‘Or we’ll steal it all!’
And I dreamt and I wept
And found myself sticky in her gaze
The way the spider looks at a fly.
it feels like it's over
It feels like it’s over, the harhness, the darkness, the bitter cold of a particularly brutal winter. I sit outside and catch the faint smell of spring, of renewal. She has renewed us, and yet I find myself asking, have you truly forgiven yourself? Are you ready to say goodbye to these ghosts of your failures? He says to me, does it ever occur to you to say, this is good enough? That you have are enough?
snow fuck
Snow brilliance, eyes blind, like her smile in the middle of the night when I fuck her, that kind of abandonment and glee, that freedom to surpass everything, to be everything, to be all-at-once, to be present and never-near, the expulsion of desire, that settling of place: the branches grow heavy, not a burden exactly, but the bending of will, a stretching of the soul.
samuel beckett, fuck christ, not i
it seems to me (from baudelaire’s Flowers of Evil)
Il me semble que je serais toujours bien là où je ne suis pas…
Not the first time it’s been said but no longer true: I am here, will always be here until the final decay, the final disintegration. My nightmares have ended, a certain kind of peace, the restlessness ebbs and flows as it should: an equilibrium of desire and contentment. I am not all I once was, the figment of an idealized self. I still struggle but not with how to end the demons within me, rather how to put them to use.
it seems to me (from baudelaire's Flowers of Evil)
Il me semble que je serais toujours bien là où je ne suis pas…
Not the first time it’s been said but no longer true: I am here, will always be here until the final decay, the final disintegration. My nightmares have ended, a certain kind of peace, the restlessness ebbs and flows as it should: an equilibrium of desire and contentment. I am not all I once was, the figment of an idealized self. I still struggle but not with how to end the demons within me, rather how to put them to use.
icy (sub)mission
surrounded by icy flood, we float, haggard in the snow, drenched in a certain kind of nostalgia. i like the greek version better, the bend of the tongue, nohstahlllgeia. we have always been like this, on the bend of the tongue while icicles swam up our sleeves and my mouth found your breast. have you been bad? she smiles, slides an arm around me, pulls me near, i have been very naughty. and we dance, we dance, while winter drowns the rest of this little town into submission
cityscapeless
you have to wonder if this possible has been exhausted, a tire blown and remnants of torn rubber strewn across the highway. i had driven many miles and the sun used to be blaring, an angry god for my lack of sleep. but the city was straight lines and although cold, the night was appealing. she marked her territory well.