cliche
It is in the hours, if you are counting. It is in the room, perched upon the bed frame, teeth pressed against your dreams. The thoughts that won't stop, the tomorrow that won't begin. Sleep that ship that has run ashore. Love that pet that will cost you the deposit.
If I could, I would write you a letter. Something a little light, something...
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It is in the hours, if you are counting. It is in the room, perched upon the bed frame, teeth pressed against your dreams. The thoughts that won't stop, the tomorrow that won't begin. Sleep that ship that has run ashore. Love that pet that will cost you the deposit.
If I could, I would write you a letter. Something a little light, something...
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asymmetric
The sky does its worst, the earth content to just lay back and take it. These waves of black and gray slowly turning to blue, these fields of green awaiting the inevitable fire. These trails of smoke ascending to some meager idea of heaven. Dawn breaks and all the colors are filled in, even the gaps in matter, even the invisible and the inferred....
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The sky does its worst, the earth content to just lay back and take it. These waves of black and gray slowly turning to blue, these fields of green awaiting the inevitable fire. These trails of smoke ascending to some meager idea of heaven. Dawn breaks and all the colors are filled in, even the gaps in matter, even the invisible and the inferred....
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turn
We always try to dodge the wheel, inevitably moving towards entanglement beyond it. We wander farther from the circle only to meet these lonely eyes. Somehow the inventions seem unavoidable, so much time chartered to vision. That lapsed baptismal, a solitary horn flying through the densest meshes and deepest nights. That subtle sustain that parts way with all rhythm, even the melody finally pausing...
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We always try to dodge the wheel, inevitably moving towards entanglement beyond it. We wander farther from the circle only to meet these lonely eyes. Somehow the inventions seem unavoidable, so much time chartered to vision. That lapsed baptismal, a solitary horn flying through the densest meshes and deepest nights. That subtle sustain that parts way with all rhythm, even the melody finally pausing...
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nessy:
I like the way you write, sir 
krito:
Thanks for you comment on my set; realle realle thanks i appreciate it! youre soo sweet
tear
Ghosts cast of grocery bag plastic roll through the deep blue shadows of the dawn. The haunted ribbons of asphalt and river silt, the strange escapades of a morning wind. Somehow everything is unsettled, misspelled and left askew. The burnt out match and the fleeting ashes. The library of echoes that confuse tongue and speech, that trade glisten for hearing, the fumbled deck and...
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Ghosts cast of grocery bag plastic roll through the deep blue shadows of the dawn. The haunted ribbons of asphalt and river silt, the strange escapades of a morning wind. Somehow everything is unsettled, misspelled and left askew. The burnt out match and the fleeting ashes. The library of echoes that confuse tongue and speech, that trade glisten for hearing, the fumbled deck and...
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genre
I am that certain stranger, sighted from across a dreaming sea. I am that mirror, the worn skins of the familiar. For a moment we trade places and become forever lost to the other, meaning another name for mistake. That art of noting aloud the way a paintings eyes seem to follow. That gift of always guessing just a little at a time, a...
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I am that certain stranger, sighted from across a dreaming sea. I am that mirror, the worn skins of the familiar. For a moment we trade places and become forever lost to the other, meaning another name for mistake. That art of noting aloud the way a paintings eyes seem to follow. That gift of always guessing just a little at a time, a...
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enfeeble
All the sunlight got stuck slipping through the treetops, clinging to the varied greens and boughs. The wind pitched a fit or two, writhing through the greenery, dancing with cups and bags across the asphalt, scattering litter, scampering through the gravel. Crows on low perches complained and tattled as the little dog and me completed our rounds. The sky bantered with the lowing hills...
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All the sunlight got stuck slipping through the treetops, clinging to the varied greens and boughs. The wind pitched a fit or two, writhing through the greenery, dancing with cups and bags across the asphalt, scattering litter, scampering through the gravel. Crows on low perches complained and tattled as the little dog and me completed our rounds. The sky bantered with the lowing hills...
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stare
She seems to shine so that even the light is fooled. She seems to glow so that even the moon is jealous. All the empty nights, all the covetous dreams, they bear witness to her skin as if she was the answer. The air crowds around her, the sky drops to its knees. Every eye is held open wide, full of reverent wonder.
Beauty...
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She seems to shine so that even the light is fooled. She seems to glow so that even the moon is jealous. All the empty nights, all the covetous dreams, they bear witness to her skin as if she was the answer. The air crowds around her, the sky drops to its knees. Every eye is held open wide, full of reverent wonder.
Beauty...
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favor
One by one the days drift past, caught on the fickle breeze, glittering in the sun. The days burst and flower, the days fruit and lay fallow, they slide through your fingers or cleave through your bones. The heart bakes on the sidewalk, the heart ripens on the vine. Something about the weather being on the mend. Something about spring clinging to the air....
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One by one the days drift past, caught on the fickle breeze, glittering in the sun. The days burst and flower, the days fruit and lay fallow, they slide through your fingers or cleave through your bones. The heart bakes on the sidewalk, the heart ripens on the vine. Something about the weather being on the mend. Something about spring clinging to the air....
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fortune
The sand glitters in the run off from the gutters, bright and vivid crystals hinting at constellations drowning beneath the sea. Stones forged in fire, ground down to dust and sparkle by the restless rolling of the tide. Our heads are full of patterns, the sieve of sensation and the forge of habit pressing our echoes out into the world. All the sign still...
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The sand glitters in the run off from the gutters, bright and vivid crystals hinting at constellations drowning beneath the sea. Stones forged in fire, ground down to dust and sparkle by the restless rolling of the tide. Our heads are full of patterns, the sieve of sensation and the forge of habit pressing our echoes out into the world. All the sign still...
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skin and bone
The night dances away the last of her brights and bitters, her whirling skirts the ever spreading dusk. She rises from the dashed dreams of sun and sky, lively and unreckoned. She spins and pauses, waiting to embrace us all. She is wrapped in clouds and grace, her flesh stippled with stars. She is the only brightness that finds me on this...
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The night dances away the last of her brights and bitters, her whirling skirts the ever spreading dusk. She rises from the dashed dreams of sun and sky, lively and unreckoned. She spins and pauses, waiting to embrace us all. She is wrapped in clouds and grace, her flesh stippled with stars. She is the only brightness that finds me on this...
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durable
I see you in dreams, though I know you can't see me. Your eyes that set into mine in my slumber cast too far from these wishes and obsessions to find me even on your worst night. When sleep finds you I am sure I couldn't be further from your mind. So I pursue these strings of words and ill conceived sentiments. So I...
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I see you in dreams, though I know you can't see me. Your eyes that set into mine in my slumber cast too far from these wishes and obsessions to find me even on your worst night. When sleep finds you I am sure I couldn't be further from your mind. So I pursue these strings of words and ill conceived sentiments. So I...
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sunder
Enough of the cobwebbed windows. Enough of the somber streets. Enough of the stars run by remote, the skies left in sheets and shreds. The clasp of light, the drift of hands. The night that falls again and again. The words that want and wander, always lost beyond limits. Something needs to end.
The nerves have frayed. The dust has settled. The reasons just...
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Enough of the cobwebbed windows. Enough of the somber streets. Enough of the stars run by remote, the skies left in sheets and shreds. The clasp of light, the drift of hands. The night that falls again and again. The words that want and wander, always lost beyond limits. Something needs to end.
The nerves have frayed. The dust has settled. The reasons just...
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