an emergency emerged
surfacing pluralled by single malt
whisked out like a cat on its cushions
nothing ever turned out exactly as we planned it
when we decided not to plan it
as it got too late, we were reconciled
with ideas of impedance and hindrance.
what a soil: fertile and arid at the same time.
the limitless scared us
creeping from behind
beating down in frothier fourths
and the years on our hands.
Friday, 16 April 2010
Sunday, 11 April 2010
my night with the letter a
the first bit that touches my mouth is jam on bread
no wait no bread
cold and fridgey against a corner-eyed white smoothie chocolate sky
on my left accountants go astray to come back and talk of listings
life is a balloon losing water from its holes and patches are actions
i'm putting the last short clocked hand into making my figure work on stage, the cracks through the boards reveal lights,
unused threes and one-time breaths.
a night with bar wit and chord fences. it's hard to get over those eyes
–and up there from the angles bounce curves and niche lips like every other day in summer
or the first cry of timelines that you've had, that everyone had.
the question is what have you been wasting.
how you've been doing is much more interesting, i say
looking for splits to pull and wedge, like a mole into pirate wood
saltwater inside to display its knowledge of death
it's the only subject we didn't get to for episode two or special zones and ways out inside a tarmac filled, frilly washout from last nights drink.
trains ride diameters with remainders, cameras upside down under the river. deep where silence sleeps unattended, spliced and boneless ready to ingest bearing the fruits of cradled revenge. the songs have been sung, the flowers have passed their heyday like a belt of mirror beads. remembering rum from a bottle cap in the portuguese tent, where i felt alone for the first time.
there are hints of overwhelming blue helmets to the rescue
but i'd need an i.v. of shhhhhhh in my veins to recover if you only but dared to put a foot on the battle ground.
1, 2, and seventeen counting listless on an excuse mission
to get close or closer to the steps never knowing
if the first one is up or down
pre-intro-chapter: all easy, all flowing, all done
but not done all innate all again
you have a word for unintentional grace but no description is needed, it's braille for the blind and knocks ahead or behind.
when you are you're not but still effortlessly anyways
this was the only uncontemplated option
a final hidden crease on the canvas finale
shown rounded cut and folded. flooding again with the flare of tomorrow's coffee and today's regrets
math plus listening what else i've gained in your eyes if not three and twenty and one and thirty?
again i sidetrack a sideshow and i can't help reciting my own verselets with a savor for bible stories and sexy half smiles. exclamation marks stare at your mixing straight hops
or potato skin with photograph paper.
some (more) questions lay on my chest like military medals. a play and loose pages at the park on a not-so-very sunny day with earthworms, northern lights street fights
and blurry kindergarten summer vacation stories
all about the story, all behind the curtain, all physical, sophistical, more stoic than broken wood, more highlighted than police cars. rgb's and garden trees–we count on our fingers up until twenty then we move on to someone else. with more hands than two you make it possible, and i follow like a water trickle reversing mountain and valley.
an easy finding for basslines and failures alike; translating into fridge letters and black on black. spinning speaking for momentum angular and still in its own way.
longing freezes either north or southwest. no interest.
long walk home alone recollecting floats and chinese dragons yellow and tinged red gold, curled up like waves towards shore. i'm still unpacking boxes taken with me open on freight bay closed off by mainstay bar lights and corrugated cardboard. what speaks after the sound has diffused to you, to me and back to you?
does this end with the jam in my mouth, does the alphabet start and end tonight with the letter a.
no wait no bread
cold and fridgey against a corner-eyed white smoothie chocolate sky
on my left accountants go astray to come back and talk of listings
life is a balloon losing water from its holes and patches are actions
i'm putting the last short clocked hand into making my figure work on stage, the cracks through the boards reveal lights,
unused threes and one-time breaths.
a night with bar wit and chord fences. it's hard to get over those eyes
–and up there from the angles bounce curves and niche lips like every other day in summer
or the first cry of timelines that you've had, that everyone had.
the question is what have you been wasting.
how you've been doing is much more interesting, i say
looking for splits to pull and wedge, like a mole into pirate wood
saltwater inside to display its knowledge of death
it's the only subject we didn't get to for episode two or special zones and ways out inside a tarmac filled, frilly washout from last nights drink.
trains ride diameters with remainders, cameras upside down under the river. deep where silence sleeps unattended, spliced and boneless ready to ingest bearing the fruits of cradled revenge. the songs have been sung, the flowers have passed their heyday like a belt of mirror beads. remembering rum from a bottle cap in the portuguese tent, where i felt alone for the first time.
there are hints of overwhelming blue helmets to the rescue
but i'd need an i.v. of shhhhhhh in my veins to recover if you only but dared to put a foot on the battle ground.
1, 2, and seventeen counting listless on an excuse mission
to get close or closer to the steps never knowing
if the first one is up or down
pre-intro-chapter: all easy, all flowing, all done
but not done all innate all again
you have a word for unintentional grace but no description is needed, it's braille for the blind and knocks ahead or behind.
when you are you're not but still effortlessly anyways
this was the only uncontemplated option
a final hidden crease on the canvas finale
shown rounded cut and folded. flooding again with the flare of tomorrow's coffee and today's regrets
math plus listening what else i've gained in your eyes if not three and twenty and one and thirty?
again i sidetrack a sideshow and i can't help reciting my own verselets with a savor for bible stories and sexy half smiles. exclamation marks stare at your mixing straight hops
or potato skin with photograph paper.
some (more) questions lay on my chest like military medals. a play and loose pages at the park on a not-so-very sunny day with earthworms, northern lights street fights
and blurry kindergarten summer vacation stories
all about the story, all behind the curtain, all physical, sophistical, more stoic than broken wood, more highlighted than police cars. rgb's and garden trees–we count on our fingers up until twenty then we move on to someone else. with more hands than two you make it possible, and i follow like a water trickle reversing mountain and valley.
an easy finding for basslines and failures alike; translating into fridge letters and black on black. spinning speaking for momentum angular and still in its own way.
longing freezes either north or southwest. no interest.
long walk home alone recollecting floats and chinese dragons yellow and tinged red gold, curled up like waves towards shore. i'm still unpacking boxes taken with me open on freight bay closed off by mainstay bar lights and corrugated cardboard. what speaks after the sound has diffused to you, to me and back to you?
does this end with the jam in my mouth, does the alphabet start and end tonight with the letter a.
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