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life stream
subscribeMonday, August 21
Tiny explosions and red dresses
My soul and my soft hands, saturated with water
Delicate pieces fitting together without glue
Round and somehow sharp, piercing deeply
My soul and my soft hands, saturated with water
Delicate pieces fitting together without glue
Round and somehow sharp, piercing deeply
Tuesday, August 15
sad music from five years before I was born
collecting and burning album covers,
to see red
"the lovers will rise up,
and the mountains touch the ground"
lift it up, over the ground,
listening for her footsteps, they collapse through the snow
short flashes of involuntary muscle movements
extreme fear, the way the stars were placed there to cover the sky, just for you
just then, she is, we are all, just regular size
relaxing, stretching, watching
the clouds and train wheels
hold her close while you kiss her
if you kiss her,
when you kiss her,
hang points of light in the sky, for her, my lonely friend
collecting and burning album covers,
to see red
"the lovers will rise up,
and the mountains touch the ground"
lift it up, over the ground,
listening for her footsteps, they collapse through the snow
short flashes of involuntary muscle movements
extreme fear, the way the stars were placed there to cover the sky, just for you
just then, she is, we are all, just regular size
relaxing, stretching, watching
the clouds and train wheels
hold her close while you kiss her
if you kiss her,
when you kiss her,
hang points of light in the sky, for her, my lonely friend
Tuesday, August 8
Collaborative writing with Mr. Jeff, and without his knowledge:
The sky was an exhalation of my clear mind, mild and cloudless. It was fifty degrees on this first day of February. The crumpled map of Philadelphia next to me, buried under both irreplaceable old tapes and two weeks of trash, looked to me like the city developers designed it in an opium haze. Sobering up, I am sure they had no energy left to revise their mess. "This city can kill you," I mumbled to myself.
