Restless
In the unquiet silence they sit
restlessly with a sudden slowing
lurch of spirit that says
they can no longer live
inside their skins
with this pulsing life ripping their seams
so ungently like the wind
its grotesque smirking liberty
that whisks them away into the night
filled with celestial beings that sit unquietly
in the sounding forever
2010-05-13
2010-05-05
"I want to be a seagull so I can poop on your head"
Today, my world is about the moon and milk. I don't know why, but that is the image I see.
Fly me to the moon
and let me land among the skies
of heaven's past celestial bodies
except with an escape door
and hinges
that fall back into the bowl
of milky way cereal
and rice crispies crackling
with electric voltage of life
in a storm
that is passing
and shock make me jump
heavenward again
rinse and repeat
Fly me to the moon
and let me land among the skies
of heaven's past celestial bodies
except with an escape door
and hinges
that fall back into the bowl
of milky way cereal
and rice crispies crackling
with electric voltage of life
in a storm
that is passing
and shock make me jump
heavenward again
rinse and repeat
2010-05-02
First Words
Silence builds. Silence breaks. It crouches in my soul where it should not be.
I wish to give up my silence, to surrender it to the hands of an unforgiving Internet audience. I do not know if I can hold an audience and this frightens me. Not because I need approval, but because I am trading in my silence without a guarantee and I could be left all alone and empty.
What to say? I have stumbled into this blindly. I have no great plan or story. This is my life. It is average on the outside and weird on the inside. It is a scoop of rainbow ice cream (not sherbet because I despise sherbet) that threatens to melt away into the heartless concrete of suburban sidewalks like so many around me.
I am a poet. I am a writer. I am young and bored and have words floating around in my body. They have asked me for escape and I have granted it.
I think my opinions are unique. This is probably because I actually think about my opinions.
I do not know if I will find anything great to say here. My silence is not the result of some great tragedy that I can use to wow you. My silence is the result of fear and lack of time.
I release my silence here. I give it away to the universe. Perhaps something good will come of this.
I am aware that you still don't know who I am. I cannot decide whether or not I like it that way.
I wish to give up my silence, to surrender it to the hands of an unforgiving Internet audience. I do not know if I can hold an audience and this frightens me. Not because I need approval, but because I am trading in my silence without a guarantee and I could be left all alone and empty.
What to say? I have stumbled into this blindly. I have no great plan or story. This is my life. It is average on the outside and weird on the inside. It is a scoop of rainbow ice cream (not sherbet because I despise sherbet) that threatens to melt away into the heartless concrete of suburban sidewalks like so many around me.
I am a poet. I am a writer. I am young and bored and have words floating around in my body. They have asked me for escape and I have granted it.
I think my opinions are unique. This is probably because I actually think about my opinions.
I do not know if I will find anything great to say here. My silence is not the result of some great tragedy that I can use to wow you. My silence is the result of fear and lack of time.
I release my silence here. I give it away to the universe. Perhaps something good will come of this.
I am aware that you still don't know who I am. I cannot decide whether or not I like it that way.
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