south.from my bed the snow dusting itself over plastic belated Christmas strands on the neighbors’ houses is an insult to the injury ofsouth.
goosebumps chasing themselves up my shins and shoulderblades.
from my bed, i’m picturing fourteen hours in a car, asleep: under the impression of a place to lay my head at the end
(where i know there will only be sunshine and strangers)
under tonethe softer sounds of whispers kept still, their sweetness saved behind closed lips and a dry palm, sour in silence over nights of the wrong blankets in the wrong bed on the wrong end of the morning.under tone
sling a waiting gaze, sick and heavy, over two weeks in December and months of blank paper covering empty hands and shoulders hardening in empty evenings. dark as midnight at 5pm casts one deep shadow.
rain-wrapped branches are frozen over, crackling white and wet-glowing in streetlights and Christmas strands of bulbs. they’re sliding pictures o
recentlythey're yours: every night that spends itself on someone else's couchrecently
every day that drinks itself past hills that you're not pacing
and every midnight car ride you're not driving and every morning alarm you didn't set
into months of scarves and longer sleeves.
but you'll miss weekends plotted in advance
you will lose your maps, your keys, your time. the roads will rush with ice and your doors
will freeze shut on december's fingers and you'll tie yourself home.
august 8th - valentine's daymy grandmother still makes everyone breakfast wandering around barefoot alone in the same blue robe— and i still expect my dog at the door.august 8th - valentine's day
i still say goodnight to empty rooms, i use lost words and wear ghosts’ clothes.
this year has been the dictionary of long cool honey-toned wood boxes, dust and varnish and calla lilies exhaling through the doors of churches. stiffness and tissues are so out of place in august;
choking sounds, thrice-annual shoes, the momentum of absentia- oceans cracking out between ribs-
goneness is an epidemi
Devious Journal Entry
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These pretzels are making me thirsty!
yeah im using my deviant art page again. fuck myspace i like this much better. you should put up some more of your wonderful poetry here for everyone to read. bye
bill
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These pretzels are making me thirsty!
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These pretzels are making me thirsty!
from a drunk j.
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Comment, to get comments. Share your kindness, not your hate. Love the art, before yourself.
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lass uns teffen und krach machen
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om mani padme hum
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