Saturday, January 22, 2011
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Sighing
Motionless, standing
Life, it sometimes feels like an airport terminal
Indecision, what ifs knotting the aorta
She on her way out. He realizing he wanted in.
But oh, a future of skyscrapers and martini kisses
Of smoke in the wake of departure, this
Wasn't promised for two. So leave now
The lipstick imprint on his neck
Forget morning sweetness, a rose
Your secrets, tangled limbs
On the apartment roof
This wasn't promised for two.
When he leaves for a tequila sunrise
She'll stay up too until the sky bleeds red
Ticket in her hand thinking, "Wish I didn't hand it in."
But tonight, love, will just be a lifetime wrinkle
This wasn't promised for two.
Life, it sometimes feels like an airport terminal
Indecision, what ifs knotting the aorta
She on her way out. He realizing he wanted in.
But oh, a future of skyscrapers and martini kisses
Of smoke in the wake of departure, this
Wasn't promised for two. So leave now
The lipstick imprint on his neck
Forget morning sweetness, a rose
Your secrets, tangled limbs
On the apartment roof
This wasn't promised for two.
When he leaves for a tequila sunrise
She'll stay up too until the sky bleeds red
Ticket in her hand thinking, "Wish I didn't hand it in."
But tonight, love, will just be a lifetime wrinkle
This wasn't promised for two.
Friday, January 14, 2011
The Severed Garden
Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as ravens' claws.
"I Write Like My Life Depends On It"
Spring in the village
Amber sunset laughs bellow
Winter sleeps soundly
Her fragile twig shape
An untended garden lost
Seeks shelter
Amber sunset laughs bellow
Winter sleeps soundly
Her fragile twig shape
An untended garden lost
Seeks shelter
This Time Is Ours
Stomach aches, potential vomiting, cold sweats (pt.2).
My salvation: Russian poets, Netflix, the internet
My salvation: Russian poets, Netflix, the internet
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Parthenon, Ferns, Sleepy Foxes.
Whimsy particles covering the skyline
Shifts in the purple waters, spring
forward, the forests
zip past as you drive too quick,
chasing after the wind
Or so you said, we're
moving somewhere but
going nowhere
fast.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
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