I can't postSincerely,
moi
Newest
untitled2On the weekend the 9 to 5'ers are set loose into town, allowed to stretch their legs under a sun, see and be seen so that Monday and so forthuntitled2
they may dream in substance while they forget and are forgotten.
For the lucky ones, Saturday is a trip to the candy store, a sweltering July morning at the Zoo before the impressionable body is convinced of its frailty, learns to grow onions from the armpits, fall asleep under perfectly good sunshine.
Sunday is the Sundays of their highschool years.
In the Morning it might as well be Saturday,
and at night it
by ~stopdropandroll
MagicThe Bells splash and whistle.Magic
The Piano saws itself in half, implodes into a butterfly and lands on my shoulder and my heart is still beating.
Tell me this is OK.
This is OK.
The Bells splash and whistle, tangerine sunshine bursts through the blinds naked, licks my face up and down and my heart is still beating
I don't even have to try.
You don't even have to try.
The bells splash and whistle, a black hole swallows another galaxy as a dog barks outside and my heart is still beating.
by ~stopdropandroll
Him and HerThey walk ahead of me almost holding hands, a puffy red heart almost suspendedHim and Her
above them in a conjoined dream cloud, and I almost stab it with my cigarette, send it sputtering and whining into the night.
Tomorrow while I'm taking out the trash I imagine each of them will be dictating
love letters to a friend, each planning their ascent
and subsequent colonization of the other:
she'll teach him to wear deodorant more often, take off his socks before they go to bed, while he'll convince her Hemingway is a saint and Emily Dickinson is Martha Stewart.
by ~stopdropandroll
Your LoveIn the beginningYour Love
I stood no chance against your love,
It grabbed me by the throat, tickled my sides till I lost my stomach.
Your love was well muscled and fearless like a tiger or a boxer.
It didn't smoke cigarettes or eat red meat or take drugs.
Your love played marbles with the stars, turned oceans into deserts, used men as toothpicks or worse.
Eventually though it began slipping.
It was the little things at first: cold showers to warm showers steroids to protein powder cut-offs to turtle necks. &n
by ~stopdropandroll
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- Current Residence: can i live with you?
- Favourite movie: you haven't heard of it
- Favourite band or musician: War Tapes--WHY?--Interpol--Me without you--
- Favourite genre of music: Kurt Vonnegut.
- Favourite artist: does finger painting count?
- Favourite poet or writer: Lostandloveless... Bukowski.William Carlos Williams. NERUDA!bukowski
- Favourite photographer: damon and pj
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- Favourite game: pin the tail on the donkey ( the real one!)
- Favourite gaming platform: I love sushi
- Personal Quote: just pee yourself
- Tools of the Trade: Wishful Thinking.pens and cigarettes
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I read.
I liked.
i plan on checking out your work as soon as i can.
and if i don't soon, feel free to totally hate mail me.
--
No one I think is in my tree
--
there'll always be money and whores and drunkards
down to the last bomb,
but as God said,
crossing his legs,
I see where I have made plenty of poets
but not so very much
poetry.
--
[insert witty signature here]
--
[insert clever signature here]
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