velozmachine
I've been looking around too much,
trying to roll my eyes.
Suspense dispenses from the gaze of peripheral spies.
I've been taking my time a lot,
crossing streets of infinite size.
Running down the seconds, the end comes as no surprise.
I've been breaking my teeth off,
trying to bite my tongue.
I've been wringing exhalations
from a tired, worn-out lung,
stringing together sentences
better left unstrung...
Come and play your saddest tune,
as this is how my life
can be soothingly tuned.
I am sunk in deep silence,
yet I wonder who is in me
so bitterly crying and clamouring!
Sleep is driven away from my eyes
by the desirable dreams
my soul has been weaving;
I am suffering from
a heavy hangover of a hundred nights,
where is the tavern?
But a nun of these mistakes I've made,
yet my forgiveness, a small cavern...
All I am
on damp grass in June; and I do not belong,
there are stars
drifting to slumber, the fear
that they disappear
like everything else,
the day was twin sparrows over thick grass
and the word on their wings was "papa",
blistered against fevered sky, branded as ants
upon concrete. everything gauzed with sweat,
i wrenched the lawn ornaments from the earth
and clawed them to lace, a decorated face...
without origin and intimately grounded, a myth
painting feathers gold can live for days, she feels enough
stripped of reason, uniquely naked with apologies, raw
with things she was never taught to feel, beyond the fable
is a lack of sky, father to an empty string clutching at
her feather-duster, an illusion unapparent of people who remain
absent, before essence there is wanton sorrow...
buried deep
into the center,
a clenching fist
of acrimony,
years of waste
strung about,
caked layer by layer
in my skin,
so tight,
our hearts explode,
a black mist wanes,
night after night
we die...
and we held fast to
the ocean, underneath our arms
waves passed without motion,
but not without their charms,
which sprayed forth a sudden sound,
and though beneath the undertow
we spoke, we never drowned...
I stood astir in dusky morn,
by tell of dark and moonlit shore,
and speak I did to wishes born,
when left with ink, I fell to floor;
yet with gift in hand and faith my plane,
I held on to a touch of rain,
a present tense to the future's score...
I stood astir in dusky morn,
by tell of dark and moonlit shore,
and speak I did to wishes born,
when left with ink, I fell to floor;
yet with gift in hand and faith to reign,
I held on to a touch of rain...
eagle's wing, lift up our last keen dream, and arpeggiate each memory's rhyme, let harmonies ring in three-quarter time, like a velvet eye, glancing slow and sedate...
smear your lipstick on my cheek, form words with fingertips, to speak would break this silent bliss, I've been held captive by your kiss, innocent flowers and incense repeat, "was there a word I can borrow for love?" but instead they left, wordless in a world of moving tongues and teeth, swimming for something beyond the beach, just beyond their reach...
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writing since 2010 · 24 entries · 23 days shown up
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the words Rick reaches for
heldtryingnightskyhandbeyondtouchstarsdreamsuntoeyesfacespeaklackcrossedlovers