Saturday, March 29, 2014

Constellations of Consolation Prizes

He dripped with this after-hours glow that held my attention but made me so ambivalent, that I couldn't decide weather I'd stay or weather I'd go. There was an acid ease to his character and it was a slow erosion on my instabilities and installations of constellations made up of consolation prizes for a night of laser beams and confessions. I felt his heart beat from beneath my feet and I wasn't sure if I had fallen into the grip of grime or time but all seemed to be the same thing anyway. Institutionalized bottles of nectar that decides to intoxicate the soul and bring memories down to a slow simmer. Eventually you realize that it's closer to lunchtime than anytime and nothing is as sunny side up as you thought it would be. 

Friday, March 28, 2014

Cityscape Face

I see myself best in the whipping reflection on the train.
I am not fully there, blurred by some of the light inside
the cart and some of the outside light that is quickly
tickling the contours of my structure with its fleeting
motion. The speed of the train alone matching the
speed of my thoughts. My hair is a tye-dyed scene of
sunsetting sky and the blueish hue makes it seem
like a majestic sort of place to live if I were tiny and cold.
My forehead smudged with the buildings I am passing,
those buildings with their people inside of them working
and creating and there for quick seconds I wear them across
my face like their viking, hoping to take them my direction.
My nose almost becomes apart of the infrastructure; snug
right between the grocery store and gas station. Its own
steeple in the vision of a vast and empty field. My lips
look like life rafts for the pulsating cities we pass. My
lips want to call out to whomever will listen, but I keep
the thoughts inside my head, out of the atmosphere.
The train chugs along, keeping its pace and direction.
And I cannot fathom where I would look anywhere else
more like myself, than in the reflection of the train's glass..

Sunday, March 23, 2014

Their Constant Science Puts Me to Sleep

the carbonation inside my soda can reminds me of tiny hyperactive fireflies bumpin' along the sides, looking for the suction of the straw to put them out of their misery within the black pit of my stomach. i want to catch them, bottle them up, let their constant science put me to sleep. but i don't ingest them, they'll become flat.. and worthless, and someone will come along and dumb the leftover parts of them down the drain or worst just leave them in the shallowness of a shallow waste bin.. the carbonation inside my soda can is kind of lusty.

Stakes to Steaks

The love moon rose in the eerie night
and made love sick fools of all of us.
Everyone looked so good in the hue of the love moonlight
that no one noticed how strange we had all
become by love's gushing sense of certainty.
The love moon grew fuller over time and
then shrunk back away into itself,
it didn't know any better,
for that was the love moon's way.
And the path of light it did gush in sight,
was only the love moon's way of drawing you away,
but like Medusa's dangerous snakes
you were only tempted to
draw much closer and make
mistakes and give it all up
for the love moon's way.
Because what's stakes to
steaks when you're in the love moon's way.

Saturday, March 22, 2014

The Golden Beer Coloured Lagoon

It happened like that.
This moment in time, where all I could hear was the slow chew of dry cereal from the mouth of a kitten who had just realized they were suppose to be a puppy, but born with the wrong set of paws and into the wrong suit. They've had to make whatever they could with the nine lives that was dealt their way. Within this moment in time, I also heard alligators contemplating their differences with crocodiles, but they could all agree on the crocodile rock because, truthfully so, who couldn't. It rocks. I envisioned this coastline, within this moment, and I think it might've been me sitting on it admiring what looked like Swiss cheese clouds and in the golden beer coloured lagoon that this coastline hugged seem to be actual gravy boats passing me by. I think of that kitten, dreaming to be a puppy, all the time.

Thursday, March 20, 2014

Someone Else's Hand, Your Pants: A Nap

Meditations in an emergency. An wearing the wristwatch upside down doesn't make cents out of sense but reason out of doubt and doubt can be reasoned with. Adding quicksand pressure to that which covers the chocolate coin, yet just desserts has yet to be described as strawberry or vanilla. All we really want is a pint of ice cream. We're all dying for a nap, but someone else's hand....... Your pants. 

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

You're Your Best With Dorito Breath

He smelt like Doritos 
and it was nine in the morning.
I wanted to leave just as 
much as I wanted a hot cup of coffee.
There were lip prints on the mouths of the people in the painting.
I still wonder who was that 
lonely to kiss them.
Did they feel like the acrylic texture was puckering back at them?
He was a junky for anything colourful.
His cat hid in the 
contours of the drab darkness, that
spotted his kaleidoscope room, probably looking for something still.
The motion in the patterns was enough to make me sick.
Just thinking about it now gets me sick.
His ears were shaped like mismatched potato chips,
And he wasn't the most enthused guy I'd ever met.

Monday, March 17, 2014

Between the Ceiling and the Floor

and if he could've thrown himself into the arms of the floor he would've.. and there would have been no thud and no scratches because the floor would've accepted him... and there would be this lightness and openness where suddenly the floor was really a ceiling to an exceptionally better party, and there, in that party, with the rushing music he would land on the floor, with such vigorous dance moves that it wouldn't matter if he was up or down when it all started, because it was happening right there.
whatever needed to happen to him, happened there between the ceiling and the floor. 

Sunday, March 9, 2014

You're Beginning To Look A Lot Like Breakfast

Her passion sizzled like bacon 
on the frying pan of her heart. 
It snapped and crackled with each lick 
of heat that sparked within her as she tried to play 
it cool as iced coffee and not become scrambled 
over little acts of kindness 
that were presented to her 
from a beautiful creature whom carried themselves like brunch. 
She longed for orange juice sunrises and cereal boxes to house her thoughts. 
Everyone knows breakfast is the most important, 
and she was starting to believe the same about you. 

Wednesday, March 5, 2014


Money is everything.
Dishing out Crayola to
buy cases of heavy soda.

And we're all about the
fizz, the carbonation is
the motive for the kids.

There is a value to our
lives that don't make sense,
with everyone piling
up the cents,
what’s senses to cents.

To ‘Like’ is a different combination.
Electronic affection infiltrating
mass production of organic copulation.

Anti-viruses have become
the condom of our lives.
Protecting all the information
we're trying to disguise.

And we all see the world
through a different shade of
Internet Explorer blue, while
we nurse our blues from the
over use of bytes and gigs.

And when was the last time you
got a bite and scored tickets to
a gig and rocked out from behind
the desk that shields your body from
the jive and keeps you shackled from
nine to five and in reality isn't
helping you survive.

Money is everything.
Making bad investments in
created lands that create
you fans and make you feel
apart of something like a fam.

But these faceless writers
are in a jam, looking for
stimulation from your
hand, hands, nothing sexual,
nothing on land, everything
a figment of your imagination.

Everything is money,
how much can you stand?

Sunday, March 2, 2014

Appear Darling

A terrible spill of the heart leaves a poisonous ink blotch
the size of affection on the collar of a man’s finely pressed dress shirt.
While it slowly expands it has a way of changing 
the embroidered initials on the cuff to the initials that belong to a lover. 
A sort of perfume escapes, along with a gasp from his mouth, 
as his lungs expand and cause a friction against his rib cage. 
A friction he wishes would stay in his pants but pulls at 
his wallet and his Adam’s apple. 
He tries to gulp his own thoughts down to the pit of his stomach, 
just above his belt buckle. 
A punch drunk jive creeps into his argyle sock 
and makes him twitch with a caffeinated pleasantry of anticipation. 
He wears an expression 
of a Lost Boy and squares his shoulders so that he can appear just like a Darling.

Saturday, March 1, 2014

The Sun Percolates a Vibe

The sun percolates a vibe across our sky 
and we are sure to fold at its brightness.

We’ve barricaded ourselves in
and make-believe we’re in a fortress.

We speak only in body language
and touch and relinquish all our focus.

Lunchtime crawls close to us
and we fetch ourselves some breakfast.

We fluff the pillows and rearrange our castle
not paying attention to other worldly disasters.

Evening approaches but we’ve already emptied our glasses,
pouring more we forget about the social classes.