Category: non-prose

I don’t call this stuff poetry or anything like that, it just is what it isn’t, and it isn’t prose.

To Those Girls

To that girl over there

I don’t think you notice me.

If you do, then you notice me

hiding away behind the whites of my eyes.

So I won’t get to tell you, but if I could, I would.

You’re annoying me,

because you’re so pretty that I can’t help but stare

And when I turn away and look at a wall

It just makes my eyes dry up

Thirsting for just another glance.

To that girl I know

But I can’t tell you

Because you’re my friend

And I fear I’ll only run you off

Your legs are a rumor.

Starting from the end

Crawling up from your feet

Each inch a varying story

Obsessively, I’m just looking for the truth

But rumors are endless

And we can’t find the beginning

Yet there they are

One long rumor

I’ll never find the truth.

To that girl I just met

Did I ever tell you

That the most beautiful thing on a woman

Is her smile?

Of course I didn’t

But now I am

Maybe because it reflects everything

I never will be.

Maybe because if I see it

I think I did well.

Maybe a lot of things

I will never know.

But your smile in particular

Makes me forget everything around me

Except how lovely, that face

The person behind it

And how much I’d love to, in the future,

Keep you smiling.

To that girl I’ve known

Since before you were a woman

Remember that summer

Lou and I went on a road trip

The story of getting lost at cliff side

And the winding yellow brick road

Looking for Oz, we said

These days

I’m unsure that story actually happened

Or if that is just what is happening to my eyes

When I watch you

Floating, sifting, each step taken

As if all those perfectly placed curves

Were rewriting history

And I’m sorry that you’ve turned me into a lecher

But if only you know what you do to me

But even in my head

I try to stay on my best behavior

You corrupt me.

Please continue.

To the lady on the street

With the long brown hair

Layers of bristles arranged like a wildfire

For a second I gaped

A few hours from now, I’d have forgotten your face

But for a strong moment I thought

Of a world with you and me

And no one else.

Everything I’d do to make your happy

Just like those long locks

Bringing out something deep

Majestic from your eyes.

To those girls

Intoxicating women

And the thoughts I’ve had

Words I’ve kept

Have a few

May 14, 2012
Molting

Molting, molting, molting.

When I finally realized it was a reflection my own, I was staring at
A hideous, unpleasant monstrosity stood before me
A layer of glistening new skin obscured by
Leaflets of dried up, decrepit death dangling on my body

At any moment it could go
Like the last autumn leaf on a tree
The wind pushing and kicking it, commanding the deceased plant
Fall off! Fall off!
Yet the final strand remains attached

Or that loose tooth; birth’s remnants
Wedged into your gums, yet connected to nothing
Patches of raw, damaged flesh bleeding through
Exposed to the world and her extremities too soon

That reflection I see, my own
Known nothing can be done until the molting is complete
And that the days between we will be witnessing
This awkward, uncomfortable creature.
Molting

(sometimes I don’t understand my drafts. This was originally sitting around titled: Dreams – February 12, 2011. It certainly was no dream?)

April 24, 2012
Varicose

Out of place like varicose veins

Trying to stop blood flow

The pressure only rises

Swept away, Sun, Tsunami

Only seeing red

Varix, varix.

February 12, 2012
worth

If I am told I am worth something
By those who are worth to me
But they don’t show it
What am I really worth

And if I am worth very little
To those who are worth to me
Then am I really just worth
Nothing at all?

I say it but I don’t mean it
I say it but I don’t mean it
The story of my life
I’m sorry God

I’ve been through this
With you for the entirety
Of my existence given, yet
You hold worth in me.

January 28, 2012
delirium strikes

For years, they tried to fool proof myself
Scientists in a lab

The coats
The computers
The spectacles

I, The Spectacle

When I wasn’t blinded by
The pervasive light overhead
Softly spoken schematics
and directives overheard

A dark room and haze
Filled in around me
I could feel it
Compressing the air surrounding

It whispered

I murmured

As my skin boiled
my brain prodded
my lungs inflated
my eyes twitched
my teeth rattled
my tongue flapped
my bones fractured
my spine curled
my glands secreted
my nostrils retreated
my hair wilted
my voice dried
my lips desaturated
my nerves faded

Coarse leather straps and a metallic buckle,
The coldest thing in the room,
Slid across a molting layer of skin

“It is complete.”
Were the only words spoken

Later, I stood.

First step
Engineered
Bullet proof, air tight and
The miracle of science

Second step
“Plit, plit”
Red splatters visible
In front of my feet

Third step
My perfect hand
To my chest
Evident, indeed.
The scientists forgot to patch
A single leak.

Fourth step
Non-existent
The miracle of neglect

January 27, 2012
Plato

I once had a conversation with Plato

The Philosopher.

By the time I finished speaking,

He had bled to death.

January 27, 2012
no effort – Facebook Pasting I

I wanted to post something, but I didn’t want to take the time to finish writing anything. So I copy and paste delirious facebook ramblings and call it blog! Italicizing myself for dramatic, confucian/bozoean effect

I’ve finally won

for real?

Via choosing different races

handicapped ones

I have won

what are you talking about?

I will no longer not not be respected

I am talking about the punk movemet

movement

meowvement

no you aren’t

and if you are, you haven’t won

unless in the punk movement winning means losing

I have won

Quitting = winning

well

not quitting

transcending

transcendance is achieving victory

and fulfillment is baking your heart until the bread is warm

i’ll take that.

holding on is breaking your heart until it is stale bread

and crumbs that lead to a person who is no longer there

is all you will be

And they overestimate a beating heart

because sometimes it is only beating itself

are you writing me poetry?

I don’t write poetry

and I don’t write it to you, either

wrong on both accounts

Someone is wrong

and it is usually everyone in the room

When the room empties

the only thing left is the prosperity of incorrection

breeding like bacteria underneath the pit of the earth

poetry

If I could choose

I would never become a poet

but I would gladly become a bard

i would love to see you a bard

travelling from town to town

regailing the peasants with tales from the kingdom

It is hard to continue my incoherent chickerings with you interjecting every 80 pixels

hahaha

i don’t want you to chicker me

nor do i want you to chicker me out

It is not you who I am chickering

It is the wind I chicker to

you just stand in the way

please move

please move

but the wind blows me still

in your direction

please move

please move

I am not a sail boat

I’M A FAIL BOAT

1:05am

stop your bardetry! it makes me regret my lack of inspiration recently

CHIPS AHOY

oh snap

January 27, 2012