January 2012
15 posts
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You really have to be naked when you write poems. And poems are best written in public. Scratch yourself down there and try saying the first line of your poem. Does it sound right? No but more important: Does it feel right? People will judge you for writing poems. It’s part of the deal. Make sure to spit a lot. Hiss. Moan. It’ll help you rattle up some ideas. Oil and grease your...
The absolute silence of happiness. The mute world of joy and all the rainbow glint bubbles popping along the grass. And the dog. Always a dog licking at my face. The streaks of sunlight and her silhouette. Arabesque. One stretched arm and her lips moving but no words and no sound. She blows a kiss and the trees sway from a sudden burst of wind. Silence. Your ice cream scoop falls and the dog jumps...
I’m scared I like good seafood more than I like sex.
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I live in you, and on my walk beyond the invalid house where the leaves crack and they mourn in sharp whispers, down from the hill to the city where the skyscrapers are draped with sheets of bluest white, to the bridge where I stand and glare at the refractions of the light born on the waves, I dig in my pocket for, I don’t know, for anything to hold, maybe to study, maybe to throw in the...
We are little gods and the sun of high paper is rolled and enjoyed in the haze of its own glow and all summers combine to an eternity range of high bliss low worry love love loss sand bitten kiss. (we learned from the lack of death and the void is incomprehensible with so much music) We perpetuate our joy by dividing ourselves to the immortal “smallest thing”, that one second...
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