Freaky Bourgeois
Junoesque Jealousy.
Wavering,
Stalemate.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Sweat in the Night
We talk. And we talk more. Communication is more than the key, it is the lock and the door, and the room to walk into. We walk, and we walk more,
and the walking leads to more talking
we can walk fast
and fall down.
We can talk fast too
overlapping and excited
sharing the stuff that is important.
Flash back to "why don't we fucking talk like this all the time?"
Shouting and feeling catharsis,
real friends talk without a motive.
Real friends don't have to watch their step.
Real friends are not guarded.
Tell me you hate my apartment.
Tell me you love what I've done with the place, but it's a shitty place, so there's not much more to say.
Tell me that you don't want to love me like that.
We don't have to say dramatic things,
bleeding heart things.
We don't have to say these things because we
fucking show up.
We show up at your doorstep when you are not awake yet
and wait for you to open the door,
because we make ourselves at home wherever we are.
I wasn't supposed to be alive.
I know there are signals, but I have had my eyes closed in the grey
sky, and in the ashtray, and my eyes are on the ground in the parking garage.
I walk past the memories.
I keep walking.
and the walking leads to more talking
we can walk fast
and fall down.
We can talk fast too
overlapping and excited
sharing the stuff that is important.
Flash back to "why don't we fucking talk like this all the time?"
Shouting and feeling catharsis,
real friends talk without a motive.
Real friends don't have to watch their step.
Real friends are not guarded.
Tell me you hate my apartment.
Tell me you love what I've done with the place, but it's a shitty place, so there's not much more to say.
Tell me that you don't want to love me like that.
We don't have to say dramatic things,
bleeding heart things.
We don't have to say these things because we
fucking show up.
We show up at your doorstep when you are not awake yet
and wait for you to open the door,
because we make ourselves at home wherever we are.
I wasn't supposed to be alive.
I know there are signals, but I have had my eyes closed in the grey
sky, and in the ashtray, and my eyes are on the ground in the parking garage.
I walk past the memories.
I keep walking.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
All We Have Is The Post Man On The Porch
Mail the dog. Male dog. Men are dogs? Mailmen are scared of dogs. My grandfather was a mailman.
He had a cat.
I can't find anyone I can trust.
I am in the shadow of one year. A year of devotion, emotion, mislead notions.
My friend says I am going to a very dark place, following, like Persephone, a lovely and sad Persephone. We followed him because he was holding a pomegranate and left a trail of seeds.
I won't believe again.
No one.
I don't believe you, and I don a hoodie and wear sunglasses,
and they only recognize me by my shoes when I walk past,
then disappear.
A long wait in the waiting room, like a prison made out of the living room full of toys.
The cold is coming.
A cold cell,
cells frozen,
a cold spell,
after the dog days of summer.
The cement held the heat like the bathtub held milk.
Cat shampoo all the way to Cat Power.
The twin tells me to go to church, I thought about making an appointment to confess.
The twin told me to get a cat, and I just went catatonic and deflected the light
coming up from the shadows. I did my time.
Hit it and quit it, as a singular mademoiselle. Sleeping on top of the sheets enjoying the heat,
because if I go to hell, it will be just like Florida anyway, where watermelon means love, and the sheets are stained with blood.
Even he says this shit is too much.
It's too much to keep lying,
yeah,
like you did to me? I say.
Then he says Yes.
We never slept. It was an exhaustive haunt through the mountains and the tunnels.
It only gets paid,
'you know, the debt,
when the flowers bloom up by themselves.
The sun comes once a year and melts the hurt until you freeze up again and remember it to the bones.
Remembering a secret, remember being ignored,
remember crying out for help when no one came,
and everyone who cared was more tired than you were-- of hearing about it.
It's the same old story.
Always.
He had a cat.
I can't find anyone I can trust.
I am in the shadow of one year. A year of devotion, emotion, mislead notions.
My friend says I am going to a very dark place, following, like Persephone, a lovely and sad Persephone. We followed him because he was holding a pomegranate and left a trail of seeds.
I won't believe again.
No one.
I don't believe you, and I don a hoodie and wear sunglasses,
and they only recognize me by my shoes when I walk past,
then disappear.
A long wait in the waiting room, like a prison made out of the living room full of toys.
The cold is coming.
A cold cell,
cells frozen,
a cold spell,
after the dog days of summer.
The cement held the heat like the bathtub held milk.
Cat shampoo all the way to Cat Power.
The twin tells me to go to church, I thought about making an appointment to confess.
The twin told me to get a cat, and I just went catatonic and deflected the light
coming up from the shadows. I did my time.
Hit it and quit it, as a singular mademoiselle. Sleeping on top of the sheets enjoying the heat,
because if I go to hell, it will be just like Florida anyway, where watermelon means love, and the sheets are stained with blood.
Even he says this shit is too much.
It's too much to keep lying,
yeah,
like you did to me? I say.
Then he says Yes.
We never slept. It was an exhaustive haunt through the mountains and the tunnels.
It only gets paid,
'you know, the debt,
when the flowers bloom up by themselves.
The sun comes once a year and melts the hurt until you freeze up again and remember it to the bones.
Remembering a secret, remember being ignored,
remember crying out for help when no one came,
and everyone who cared was more tired than you were-- of hearing about it.
It's the same old story.
Always.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Here's Some Doilies, Byei.
Four feet to forfeit. An axis of eval and a salt bath.
I sleep all day and bathe in milk and degrees.
I called because I was in the neighborhood Wednesday,
I wonder if you saw me, I wish I brought the shoes. Next time I will,
and I will leave them at the mall.
Adding letters to the end of my name,
BS MS PHD
Supplements to support my weight loss goals,
Matts and Mats to do yoga on.
In a quiet mood,
After the farm and after the city.
After sitting in lawn chairs on the water in Brooklyn with
one of my favorite men.
Best girl, best guy
Wearing down the grass with bare toes and building a town
a tiny Holland,
with real tunnels like we talked about when we
were children before anyone was married
and playing grown up.
There was a tunnel from your room to my room.
Hurt all the time.
Hurt because my Dad came over and brought me doilies,
lace doilies,
and I started crying when he left,
and asked my mom why he buys me this stuff.
And she looked at the doilies and said,
It's just
It's just
how he shows you that he loves you.
And I cried my eyes out because I didn't want the stupid gifts,
I wanted to go for a walk,
and have him NOT LEAVE.
"Here's some doilies, Byei."
I sleep all day and bathe in milk and degrees.
I called because I was in the neighborhood Wednesday,
I wonder if you saw me, I wish I brought the shoes. Next time I will,
and I will leave them at the mall.
Adding letters to the end of my name,
BS MS PHD
Supplements to support my weight loss goals,
Matts and Mats to do yoga on.
In a quiet mood,
After the farm and after the city.
After sitting in lawn chairs on the water in Brooklyn with
one of my favorite men.
Best girl, best guy
Wearing down the grass with bare toes and building a town
a tiny Holland,
with real tunnels like we talked about when we
were children before anyone was married
and playing grown up.
There was a tunnel from your room to my room.
Hurt all the time.
Hurt because my Dad came over and brought me doilies,
lace doilies,
and I started crying when he left,
and asked my mom why he buys me this stuff.
And she looked at the doilies and said,
It's just
It's just
how he shows you that he loves you.
And I cried my eyes out because I didn't want the stupid gifts,
I wanted to go for a walk,
and have him NOT LEAVE.
"Here's some doilies, Byei."
Friday, August 28, 2009
Rubber Band Plans, Hands to the Mirror
Directions:
Reflect
hand up,
palm up,
hand to the mirror,
satellite directing,
give it to me,
give it to you,
stop,
shine,
glow.
It is free.
An instant replay and I feel psychic
So disappointed to be so predicting
of the predictable
mood swing
Using
A person to work out your woes
Using you to work out a person
Out of the system
The vacuum system
Blowing things around
And the flowers are still fresh
Loving more than ever,
The system blew out the dust.
Haunted by the living.
In the computer era
People are dispensable,
Replaceable,
The new Boy Girl right around the corner
( Hey. Love. )
and at the Star Bucks
and the book store
Try a sample
Fall in love
Not choosing love.
Actively single.
Lover in the shower
Left the computer on
While you sit at the desk and open the mail,
Speak revenge.
Speak sugar.
Speak, Honey, why won't you speak?
"you don't want me anymore?"
No. I want the Internet girls and you,
So, shut your mouth when you are talking to me.
Let me pull your hair when you question things.
Let me put you on the wall and leave you hanging.
Honey moon period.
Begin again.
I reflect and see the past in my future,
Watermelon, honey?
You chase me down and break my phone.
I threw a cup of my-made-lemonade on your car
and you went to the all night car wash
because it was not lemonade,
really it was piss.
Reduced to animal behavior.
Compose a letter and sit waiting,
watching documentaries.
You actually like documentaries.
He misread your tone on the phone with a girlfriend
The tone was because she wanted to be alone with you and not
be on the phone so everything came out sideways.
Distorted in the cold of winter.
And that leaves one wondering in a winter wonderland,
Bird in hand,
Thousands in the bush.
It is a choice, being single.
A choice to not be left wondering what could have been.
The world blows open to deny, to say no, to yield to the whispers.
To yield at the merge
And just stop the car and GET OUT.
A silence instead of yelling.
A walk on the pavement alone in the quiet,
remembering a time when a man told you to get back
in the car.
Get back in the car.
And he chased you and took the shoes off your feet
because he gave them to you.
He yelled as he put your shoes in the trunk of his car
and you had to call your friends to come and get you
and they had to use google maps to find the Kmart you saw across the street
and you figured out how to get there barefoot without stepping on any glass.
Call back for more? Busted. Break out. Jail.
The girl sits in prison for two years and works on a craft class and a computer class
and she is happier than ever. She inspires endlessly because she has survived
an attack on her heart,
haven't we all?
Reflect
hand up,
palm up,
hand to the mirror,
satellite directing,
give it to me,
give it to you,
stop,
shine,
glow.
It is free.
An instant replay and I feel psychic
So disappointed to be so predicting
of the predictable
mood swing
Using
A person to work out your woes
Using you to work out a person
Out of the system
The vacuum system
Blowing things around
And the flowers are still fresh
Loving more than ever,
The system blew out the dust.
Haunted by the living.
In the computer era
People are dispensable,
Replaceable,
The new Boy Girl right around the corner
( Hey. Love. )
and at the Star Bucks
and the book store
Try a sample
Fall in love
Not choosing love.
Actively single.
Lover in the shower
Left the computer on
While you sit at the desk and open the mail,
Speak revenge.
Speak sugar.
Speak, Honey, why won't you speak?
"you don't want me anymore?"
No. I want the Internet girls and you,
So, shut your mouth when you are talking to me.
Let me pull your hair when you question things.
Let me put you on the wall and leave you hanging.
Honey moon period.
Begin again.
I reflect and see the past in my future,
Watermelon, honey?
You chase me down and break my phone.
I threw a cup of my-made-lemonade on your car
and you went to the all night car wash
because it was not lemonade,
really it was piss.
Reduced to animal behavior.
Compose a letter and sit waiting,
watching documentaries.
You actually like documentaries.
He misread your tone on the phone with a girlfriend
The tone was because she wanted to be alone with you and not
be on the phone so everything came out sideways.
Distorted in the cold of winter.
And that leaves one wondering in a winter wonderland,
Bird in hand,
Thousands in the bush.
It is a choice, being single.
A choice to not be left wondering what could have been.
The world blows open to deny, to say no, to yield to the whispers.
To yield at the merge
And just stop the car and GET OUT.
A silence instead of yelling.
A walk on the pavement alone in the quiet,
remembering a time when a man told you to get back
in the car.
Get back in the car.
And he chased you and took the shoes off your feet
because he gave them to you.
He yelled as he put your shoes in the trunk of his car
and you had to call your friends to come and get you
and they had to use google maps to find the Kmart you saw across the street
and you figured out how to get there barefoot without stepping on any glass.
Call back for more? Busted. Break out. Jail.
The girl sits in prison for two years and works on a craft class and a computer class
and she is happier than ever. She inspires endlessly because she has survived
an attack on her heart,
haven't we all?
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Orange is for Peaches and Feet
Needs Kreek Krek and Suntan Lotion
She builds a mystery
She sees everything and remembers everything
And then there are 'borderline' disorders, but she is too passionate to write
little lists.
She burns.
Her brain knows everything by heart.
She dances Stevie Wonder
and wonders about the future and which country her little
house will be in.
She builds a mystery
She sees everything and remembers everything
And then there are 'borderline' disorders, but she is too passionate to write
little lists.
She burns.
Her brain knows everything by heart.
She dances Stevie Wonder
and wonders about the future and which country her little
house will be in.
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