1/28/13 (que tiempo hace hoy?)i have an informal relationshipwith the rain--estás lluviosoit is almost a part ofla familia;it does not ask to enter my house(mi casa es su casa)it is always welcome inside.
1/28/13my words are agoraphobicthey do not want to leave my mouth,they suffer from separation anxietypanicked, they cling to my lips--they do not understand themselvesas collections of repetitious ancient marks;they do not see significance in their appearanceand they cannot fathom the value of being spoken.
1/24/13 (i don't feel it, really)when you are so pleased with yourselfin the decision of pressing your flesh to minekeep in mind that you are not touching me,just skin and blood and tissue and organs:there is nothing romantic about my physical beingdo not betray us both by thinking so.
1/23/13 (burn my loyalty, take the pain too)i will always waitpero nunca regresa.i feel likean insignificant burst of inspirationset to the windi want to be aloneif all i can be is a ghost.too fewto explaintoo much.
1/22/13 (his and hers ft. Zevais)Roaring my lungs at this dried dirt Muted are the cascading shouts of waterfallsMy thoughts rain--flood this world. In the pools of silent—the lack of wordsAny day, I will devour it. One day, it will swallow me upI am Kronos and it is my son. Like the whale swallowed Jonah wholeYou will see that I will end this. I guess this is all just a prelude to collapse,My nova will be the brightest this world has seen. The dramatic exit of a faraway shooting starSometimes I hate that I couldn't be more right, Sometimes you couldn't be more wrongall this hate and rage inside me. And the tiny voice of a tawny child in my headDeaf due to the voices inside my head, Echoes that I should know better,I lost my sanity, my ability to look in the mirror. With all my books and reflections and wisdomI cann
1/21/13 (on the wind)Muted are the cascading shouts of waterfallsIn the pools of silent—the lack of wordsOne day, it will swallow me upLike the whale swallowed Jonah wholeI guess this is all just a prelude to collapse,The dramatic exit of a faraway shooting starSometimes you couldn't be more wrongAnd the tiny voice of a tawny child in my headEchoes that I should know better,With all my books and reflections and wisdomBut the words still won't come,and you can't force the unwillingShrug it off like a mountain bordering a valleyAnd so I implode like a buildingWeak in the knees, just pillars reallyMy fingers stiff and cold like flaky stone,I lean on the door frame,Arms crossed protectively over my chest,The church of my skin and bones is abandoned,the pretty hymns and stained glass windowsShattered and all gone—I can't hear your voice, not in the slightestI can only hear the smashing of your smile.
1/21/13 (i don't know you but this is the start)let me be your faery queen, my lovekidnap me,leave a changeling in my place,then we could we be free to run away,deep into the heart of the forest,come on,just let the branches cradle you in their arms,let the rivers flow over your skin,we could swim in the oceanthrough schools of family fish,strew our love letters in colored glassinto the aquamarine water,hoping to play jesus for a while,waiting for the jagged jigsaw piecesto wash ashore, as we walk on waves,talking and laughing all the time,to find our own shore,our bodies ready to shatterfilled with their own words,tuck me into the covers oflily-of-the-valley and forget-me-not;and in my gracious springly slumber,slip under the sheets with me,and in the rain of fresh waterand pastel petals,in this cliche lover's dream,this warm firelit cavern,sparkling bright withnameless semi-precious jewels,this is the magic and stories,this pair of silver wolves,out to seek adventure throughchildish, innocent wonder
1/20/13 (green dawn, green sunset)I'll say it plainly;indifference is on your tail,(hark, quiet shadow)Only terrible brightnesscan make sillhoutes shinebut you feel the sluggish ghost of paincreep silent in your veins--You're a spectator in a non-spectator sport,the specter and spirit you are,And those eyes, watching,seeing with virgin curiosity,(they sing, they play,they dance, they laugh)simply a calculated game foryour reflective shame.You hear a lament,I hear a song.But hark to this--I won't tell you to hold on,to find strength where there is none.I won't tell you that,not you in sweet endearing cynicism.But god forbid you have to step beyond your door~You say you have no need for God,well maybe you do--see him not with idealistic praise(cynical child, tsk tsk)But because he is your Fatherjudge him as you see fit,love him not in blindness and follyBut in strangeness and melancholy.He is not only the keeper of mindlessblind sheep, you know.or if you so choose--find yourself in stori