paths to siberia where we'll die
date: 11/21/08 05:20:42 - Subscribe
in russia,
snowshoeing
endless plains in february,
coats keep us warm.
the onion domes in moscow
are so far away now,
you remind me, and
my heart sinks.
but what the fuck does it matter what is in my heart,
i'm thinking. because i'm an old man, and everyone else,
young, beautiful, educated,
they are not running.
you are not technically running, either.
i want
to tell you to leave me, but i can't.
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New poem
date: 11/09/08 19:02:36 - Subscribe
a.
There will be seven cold months before the day
i see your face. even
that is blind faith, spoken aloud.
but you say you hope. and i'm hoping.
b.
hope fortifies itself and decays into our hearts. you're
wrapped around my neck, close to me.
spinning silk over my hair and eyes.
i am afraid, but you're smiling and my fingers
are wrapped in your fingers.
the television is off, we're at the
top of a mountain, we're freezing, hard like
ice, but warm together.
when it's
the middle of the night,
we are speaking in tongues
that are tired and mistaken.
we are stupid and under blankets
shivering with bloodshot eyes
speaking in tongues we don't know
but understand completely.
there is nothing like it.
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resolution
date: 11/04/08 04:12:36 - Subscribe
you are alone
carving a passage through
floors that will lead to lower
cells. you are carving your way
with rocks, spoons, your teeth,
your fingers, a bible.
and you tell yourself
your god will help you
because you are praying.
your god is behind you.
there is blood
upon your hands and pumping
through your heart, like
a normal girl.
if you are a normal girl i am surprised,
i told you once. i said,
some girls aren't digging
in crypts for the blood.
they aren't digging in blood
for blood
for life.
and you're brave.
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In the meantime
date: 10/28/08 05:47:40 - Subscribe
she is on the chesterfield wearing
my brown socks with the hole
in the toe. legs crossed,
she is the
proverbial
hole in my heart.
there are bright lights, and her voice
is deafening. both these things are
complimenting the shape
and colours of the room
while i am on the carpet
practicing on guitar looking into
her busy eyes reading.
there are all sorts of questions
i haven't thought to ask, and
there are all sorts of questions that i have.
there are all sorts of ways
our lips could be moving.
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it's dark outside and i'm dreaming
date: 10/27/08 06:20:34 - Subscribe
i bet that your hand would
look really really good in my hand
yeah
i want to be stranded with you
i would like to be stranded with you
i want to be stranded with you
i would like to be stranded with you
come in at the back door
there is snow on the ground
we'll have to wait for the weather to clear
watching films on your t.v.
i'd close my eyes on your floor.
come out of the basement
on a weeknight i'd sleep
in the cold dead seat of your car
i could tell you you're pretty
i could tell you you're godsent.
i could tell you you're pretty
i could tell you you're godsent.
i could tell you you're pretty
i could tell you you're godsent. and it'd all be true.
and i bet that your hand would
look really really really good in my hand.
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tell me
date: 10/24/08 23:22:21 - Subscribe
tell me,
have you ever bled?
tell me, are you bleeding right now? have you ever bled?
she was at the bank
with her bankbook, screaming
at the top of her lungs on the inside.
she was stabbing through waivers
and papers and cheques with the pens.
she is in the public washrooms.
automatic toilets
flushing every fifteen minutes,
you can never be alone.
tell me,
she is whispering.
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solo / haiku 003
date: 10/23/08 05:41:49 - Subscribe
sensory register:
blue eyes, brown hair,
beautiful. there was no doubt about it,
he was remembering:
inhaling smoke, oxygen,
winter;
breaking forth into the dense
city crowds, with fresh cold smells;
department stores,
little men with mothers
or big women with children.
there are car accidents,
blocking crosswalks,
upsetting pocketbooks with businessmen,
killing families, killing
japanese rock and roll superstars,
do not give a damn,
he is asking her. and he
does not give a damn.
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Light of my life
date: 10/21/08 04:46:52 - Subscribe
consequently, there were both
angry and political people in the
kitchen as they whispered
to each other in the hall. one had
told the other. and
the other, not entirely surprised,
wandered toward his bedroom.
while it was completely reasonable
for jack to begin snorting cocaine
at this moment,
it was simultaneously ignorant,
and unwanted drama in an
already troubled household.
not only because jack had his hit
earlier,
george said,
jack, you are unsophisticated.
but because the feds
were coming for the kitcheneers.
snorting cocaine is not an option
when the feds are near, jack.
but jack is in his bedroom
anyway, as the feds arrive. and
on his bed, eyes open, on his back
hands climbing,
lolita!
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He is looking in the mirror
date: 10/18/08 00:36:48 - Subscribe
dirt covers his feet
soot covers his complexion
blood circles his veins
sits man with fingers
crooked clasped upon his neck
gasping for one breath
that doesn't come out black
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Another morning, another voyage into outer space
date: 10/16/08 04:05:36 - Subscribe
no gravity, they are swimming oxygen
dressed as astronauts in the dark,
rocketing toward the moon in their
spaceshit. eating macaroni from a tube,
drinking coca-cola from a bag
mixed with vodka they sneaked onboard
via their digestive system.
they shat out
little capsules of vodka
and put them in their bags of coca-cola.
those pieces of shit.
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