7/31/13 Memphisdeserted sahara, magic potionused to be green like reedsalpha beta gamma delta,tastes like sand on the tongue;thick with blown glasslower egypt she screams,lowerlowerlowerher special brand of sphallolaliamosque, mask, chapel of kept sistersfate decided, pure cagatric...the devil himself will not eata woman;I know that a woman isa dish for the gods...take the apple, take it,Memphis, the color of your darkestazure dreams stitched with theglittering jewels of self abuse;Anubis claws at the thin fabric of theNile,snatching the drowned through tinyripsjust ripriprip up the pretty fruit
7/27/13 diagamic againraindrops on your glasses;hands held in front of a coliseum;stopped to tenderly brush the roses--"pretty jesus girl," you stutter andsmile real slowI love the crinkle of wrapping paperaround your eyes and mouth,I listen. Never though of myselfas the pretty or jesus type;a little to too caught up in booksto waste time in a shoulders-covered churchso i compensate with a rosary."if you can get between her legs,you can do anything..."the gutter coos, mother to cradled child,god is a womanthe invincible world is in her thighs,blandiloquent bums in the park,abdorian pretty-jesus-girl,dephlogisticated dreamer-boy,my god has settled in her legswhile the brontide made swimming pools inyour smoky eyes
7/2/13infinity is just a line,a divisionnot quantifiable yet used in aquantifiable sensefor instance,there is a quantifiable number ofraindrops in the oceanandthe past is a ghost worldevery little flickerblurred a stop-motion animationthat slowly develops thecurrentlike from a disposable cameranothing
7/14/13 velvet punksBuzzing in your earsAll the signs say"stop, wrong way"A rain soaked streetmakes you seemmore coherentYellow lines, pink sneakers"Just a walk," you rationalizeIt is, after all, a nice nightFace this on the bridge,One side is currents pastOne makes your future lastGreen dye in the guttersLightning (lightning) flashes,You whisper, "Take me away"While deserted sidewalks prayShe's a rising moon, neon poetryYou have a fear of snakesRubbed in the wrong directionReaching a new conclusionYou turned fifteen yesterdayBlistered feet, satin eyesI don't mind, I don't mind
7/10/13 the french kind of rejectionin the morning of night,when thestars roll over tossing and turn-ing in their misty,cloudy covers;when the streetlights' glow stoopsto kiss the wistful,darkly spot-ted concrete sidewalk;when thesky is alight with glittering gold& red,blue sparks and white flames,their smoky footsteps;the impressionism of our attachmentstrikes me like an angry mother,anangry master,the distance achievedwith the smaller details akin tohow one plus one does not equal three.pale white ambiance in the shape ofwide lotuses;a reflection of yourwhite-waterlily heart,you taste likestrawberry-lemonade and I am the totalembodiment of chokecherry,the most dan-gerous when I'm sweetest;only sweetwhen I'm most dangerous.
7/2/13 swift sandstoday is the second of julyand i still have no idea about timegrandma is flying 3000 miles awayon thursday, probably at 4 amshe's gonna stay foreverdaddy lost his job last monthand got a new/old green carstill sings the chainsmoker bluesmomma's got a brand new boyshe likes to sit on the poolsideand she loves to swim at nightlittle sister is twelve and a halfrollerblading with all the other girlsthen dreams from her suburban windowtiny brother is eleven since yesterdayhis favorite color is no longer pinkand he reads too much for his ageI'm gonna be fifteen in ten whole daysand I've already made too many mistakes;Daddy and grandma are bleeding,Momma hates who I've started to become,I see little sister and tiny brothermaybe twice a month,I'm gonna be fifteen in ten whole days:never had I ever thought that things wouldbe quite this way.But oh,I'm gonna be fifteen in ten whole days.
6/23/13 homehorizon/horizonhomei do not feelsafe, herei feel likewasted years, oran open drawera little trapped,a little likea young birdin a broken cage
6/23/13 disjointedI am comfortable with the knowledgethat I taste, smell, feellike cigarette smoke and white flowers,like gin and sleepy incense.but compared to you,utterly unaware of the factthat you taste, smell, feellike guitar strings and the late night,like sweet, milky coffee andwishes for better, unbroken things.