-
untitled
my fat
sitting on husk
one lump or two
hair sharing in shapes
of masculine
play-time rug burns
veins of iridescent violet concealing violence
and years of manipulation
shouting through clear skin the layers of traveling
and living through the decades of care
the warm temperate sweat
sliding down a protruding bone
he is careful not to hear
slide eye sidings
fingering the cramps and
the vibrating sound waves
the chills
the kinks in the bed
heaving the flow
big breath in and exhale
explode
dance around the seams
destroy and re-set
burn through the paper
joy through the glaze
sweep the disaster and film
through the time
post punk post op
post delicious settlements
section-ing succinct in supple
ways to return to skin graphs
awaiting your
pulse.dare winter 2012
-
untitled
I want the numbskull rage-a-phonic
stink swell
hipster beat
hand me down friends
soaking up the ether of
noon
a dancers foot hardening with each move
I want histrionic shout downs
winds from the east
a blossom
faking it
conversation over conversation
in a noisy red room
a nosy pack of queens
chomping at the bit
sucking from the bones
I want hungry mothers lounging in a living room
all lamps off
the ice in the glasses tinkling
secrets as quiet as a summer night
red sweaters in the gutter
blood on her dress where there is blood on my lips
I want to be told I am worth it
in a dirty bed pile driven off streets of the magnificent
I want to crave what I can’t have
and make you pay for it
a boyfriend who escapes at the last minute
so delicate
so precise
we end up taking the prize anyway
there are rumors packaged in home grown bottles sweetly
priced and there is a line around the block just to look at them
there are words falling out of
your mouth-shade
like a hot breath on the back of
my neck and I notice the eye rolls
the headaches, the ice pack
I want a body that hasn’t eaten for days and can still think clearly
I want cold sheets and cold sweat and arms wrapped around me
it is always a holiday
I want euphoria wheezing with a high temperature
and a phone call in a panic
I want your dial tone to
be something special
voicemail taking up the time
I want your person to notice that I like you
but hate all of your
worries
your cares
I want the love from a family who knows that potential
is the worst word in my English language.
I want to pace myself in the room
as I make sure the space you keep is relevant.
I want time
like the fathers that walked out to
freeze frame adjust
swing back around
I want to love you so madly I am
stuck to the days where it all works out
and I can feel your lips around
mine always
miles away no matter how cold the world
is.dare winter 2012
-
untitled
I watch you strangle yourself under
the blue Picasso shade of the agave tree
veins pulsating to the tangible BPM
of boys that will never call you
the nights that were supposed to be magic
dripping with messed up make shift
attitudes
diseases disguised as pleading
and your next bold
move was a headline written correctly dot dot dot.immigrants from the midwest
from the east coast from the outskirts
from kid trains
formed lines to watch you form lines
and you are coughing up go go rouge
hip sweat neon need spilling out
you went
crying for cute shoes sweetie darling mother mister
hotness real loads sir and 10,000 manics equipped
with a like button forget how to use it on you
but you still spread in static hotness
and the cigarettes the cigarettes the cigarettes
stylish drowning dumbo dismissed apart from
a choke hold, an excuse for the month of June
and I wasn’t lying babe doll kiddo
there is blank behind your eyes
paper thin soulless consuming pages round and around the hours
I thought I saw you selling a girl tragically tip towing down the lunar poles
laughing in slow-mo and I’m not sure where I am.I’m not sure what wall this is
where the bathrooms are
who’s hair I have
and a laughing skull
a balloon
in my mouth
tipped you off
now he comes around in suits
comes around flashing
and the dick the dick the dick
who would say no
who could phone in it
there is death here grinning in those spaces
between the hours you thought you had it all
there is fear here crumpled like the mound of flesh
and fabric that walks with you.
and I caught you in sunlight day dreaming once
staring into some strobe light space
going where the fields of grass were your favorite color
and no one is ever cold.dare winter 2012
-
(Source: wasbella102)
-
sketch
Sketch
we had a tree
ripped, wide, and gutted
i had the land
for a minute, tilted
you had the moon
thick, slip, and shouting
a grey-ness, abusive
we were the hunt
afraid, alone, eclipsing
kissing my every moves
i was careful
not to tug
careful not to fall away
but i’m
in love with the crew
sick, angry, amusing
draws me into darkness
one tear at a time
the trail is soft
and so is the quiet. -
"You are so young; you stand for beginnings. I would like to beg of you, dear friend, as well as I can, to have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will, gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day. Perhaps you are indeed carrying within yourself the potential to visualize, to design, and to create for yourself an utterly satisfying, joyful, and pure lifestyle. Discipline yourself to attain it, but accept that which comes to you with deep trust, and as long as it comes from your own will, from your own inner need."
- Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet (via ruefle) -
untitled
hypnotize the magnificent
the scraped down hollow bell
floating to the north
lay them down gently
and peek through the wall
sharpen the senses then disintegrate
the beauty of the falling flies.
i found you amongst flowers
mustard on the side of a hill
the sky opened, breathed deeply
heard us.
your shirt in my sheets
is a lost cave where
i failed to go.
-
untitled
that time when you
lived on 7th and Berkley
and in my opinion
the eastern santa ana’s were
taking too long to come
i thought
maybe this year
we’ll be too busy to notice so
we smoked like the cool thing and
i was experimenting with
gender roles and
what i wanted was a
magazine cover and my name in the papers
what i needed was a better understanding of
the layers and layers of people and patches
of our neighborhood
the little hide-aways waiting for our warmth
waiting for our message via
hot lines and forgotten film
i contemplated suicide and spirituality
in the same sentence
on a daily basis
and watched you shake on corners
with the money in both hands
what you wanted was relief
and almost always found it
in his new pants those shoes
scraping along the walk
i loved the way you use to slip on the lavender
and steal fennel off the trees” this city could feed you”
“but this is L.A.”, I said
“no one uses an umbrella”that year the rains came heavy
a pounding priesthood
of pro-nouns and neutrons
no one knowing what to wear
i stood in the stale yellow light of those
evening nights wondering
if sunset junction would ever change
and i was right
no matter how much it did it never actually
was
i could feel the coldness of your hands
leading mine
into this life we
wanted and got
i could feel the cool stares
of the eastside queens
checking their luxury at the door
and this was it
the year we got brave
the year we lived a life
no one ever
told us we would live. -
untitled
Cynthia
lays the .22
on the dresser
and caresses it as only a
woman could
finger tips first
then nails
she needed this
off in the distance
i can hear them coming
this city
a mixture of
flashlights and fireworks
and word on the street is
New York in a heat wave
while we freeze here in L.A.
it’s mid June and I haven’t
seen the sun for days
the great debate being
marine layer versus storm clouds
the room fills with smoke
and i want one
i sit listening to her dramatics
her problems and how she’s already solved them
he never loved her the way she needed
but something tells me
no one can
i’ve been her before
the seductive victim
the empty glass
a walking ghost
she lets me leave alive this time
a tired warm kiss
on my neck -
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