You learn the life that is in your hands is not the one you've been saving, and the ragged roll of wrongs just seems to keep unfurling. This sympathy at first misplaced turns out to be mistaken, and the same old saw drones on and on in the movie in your mind. Your blood unspilled, just a little spatter. Your thoughts too real against this...
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First there is that itch upon the page, some ache of intentionality, some utility inferred. The blank an asking in itself, a condition of inheritance, the comfort of impulse in the framework of the thought. The empty inside invents the metaphor and your heart just longs to spill. All the old songs and gypped feelings, all the spells of blood and want and tongue writhing...
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kay:
Indeed.
The cut always comes before I'm ready, my second measure never complete. The words fall from breath to silence, from kisses listing and meanings gone astray. The words test the flesh like corpse flies, gathering to sup and flit upon the glistening pall of the meat. A sentence tensed, a tendon flexed, my story told in this need to tell. I never learned which words...
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The questions go on, unspoken and unanswered, flies landing on the flesh not yet tainted with rot. Asking always invites perspective, perspective always shows somehow it is not enough. Always this want of understanding, these hints of a puzzle that can't be seen. Always this need to justify these words with still more words. Pressed against these tides of sensation, buffeted by the insistence of...
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Grant me first this raging fever, give me this searing in my blood. Fire rises, up through each root and stalk. Each burn another little story. Another turn towards the urge to isolate. Grace is a glacial favor, so slow and deliberate as to seem unaware of the time. The work of the world is to bloom and reach. The work of this fire is...
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kay:
Indeed.
xxxholic:
+1
the crows sing out
The sky is only clouds and motion, the afternoon so startled and bright. Shadows stuck sudden to the wall waving, so slow and certain of goodbye. Vultures glide on formal wings, their distant brushwork a deft suggestion at the depths above. You follow the map of the cracks in the plaster. You follow the argument loosed from the crows. The song...
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The sky is only clouds and motion, the afternoon so startled and bright. Shadows stuck sudden to the wall waving, so slow and certain of goodbye. Vultures glide on formal wings, their distant brushwork a deft suggestion at the depths above. You follow the map of the cracks in the plaster. You follow the argument loosed from the crows. The song...
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All at once the day goes
All at once the day goes gray, though every ruckus stays the same. The drift of music, the dogs kicking gravel as they go. The air exchanges breath for breathing, the wheel just turns and turns. I save a portion for the Sky Kings, settle up with a little smoke left over for the wind. It is the endless...
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All at once the day goes gray, though every ruckus stays the same. The drift of music, the dogs kicking gravel as they go. The air exchanges breath for breathing, the wheel just turns and turns. I save a portion for the Sky Kings, settle up with a little smoke left over for the wind. It is the endless...
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count
It begins with how much I want you. It starts and stops with how much I love you. The way these trails of ink and breath still the sentiment. The way these words flicker and burn leaving your lips. This love note certainty somehow seeming sediment, weighed with familiar truths. This love letter rewritten again and again, a life of trying to get it...
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It begins with how much I want you. It starts and stops with how much I love you. The way these trails of ink and breath still the sentiment. The way these words flicker and burn leaving your lips. This love note certainty somehow seeming sediment, weighed with familiar truths. This love letter rewritten again and again, a life of trying to get it...
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migration
I miss the call of the crows in the sky before the day even knows it's dawn. I miss the silk of your dazzling hair against my lips as I kiss you in your dreams. This odd magic, this old one-two, the stretch of want across the wastes. The feather slowly spirals down, broad and black as it flitters and floats. It falls to...
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I miss the call of the crows in the sky before the day even knows it's dawn. I miss the silk of your dazzling hair against my lips as I kiss you in your dreams. This odd magic, this old one-two, the stretch of want across the wastes. The feather slowly spirals down, broad and black as it flitters and floats. It falls to...
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press
The chances are you don't remember, my hand on your waist, your name on my lips. The chances are I never lingered longer than the smoke in the air or your scent on my fingers, everything written in lightning, everything so skipped and spent. I was there for a brief and fevered moment, then I was gone. This legacy of splendid flesh, this inheritance...
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The chances are you don't remember, my hand on your waist, your name on my lips. The chances are I never lingered longer than the smoke in the air or your scent on my fingers, everything written in lightning, everything so skipped and spent. I was there for a brief and fevered moment, then I was gone. This legacy of splendid flesh, this inheritance...
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push
How the air shivers when we intend to part our lips, speaking aloud what once was only blood and pulse. Giving body to a notion the same way we shed breath. I lean in, as if to whisper. I move my body as though we were close. The wind spills in to sweep each tree of every shadow. I do not hesitate until I...
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How the air shivers when we intend to part our lips, speaking aloud what once was only blood and pulse. Giving body to a notion the same way we shed breath. I lean in, as if to whisper. I move my body as though we were close. The wind spills in to sweep each tree of every shadow. I do not hesitate until I...
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dreamers
The skin of the day is nicked just so, peeled off all at once to reveal the glisten of the meat. Light dribbles down and pools just so, on this, the beginning of everything that's left. They always say their mouthful. They always speak their peace while the grease from the feast still shines upon their chins. The day always so ready for the...
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The skin of the day is nicked just so, peeled off all at once to reveal the glisten of the meat. Light dribbles down and pools just so, on this, the beginning of everything that's left. They always say their mouthful. They always speak their peace while the grease from the feast still shines upon their chins. The day always so ready for the...
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