Sunday, November 23, 2014

City Current Man

He wears the grit of his life on the surface. His brow has become a private, yet very exposed cityscape. Two eyes set on fire, embers of smoldering cigarettes casting smoke signals into the night. Streetlights reflect his thoughts and his whiskey breath is punctuated by wine stained lips. His mouth, a gated community to rows of houses, when opened you see the pull of tiny teeth gnaw on its plumpness. Below you see the ridge of his chin, an upside down mountain. Shoulders sturdy, his veins pulse through his two arms like telephone wires begging you to call. The trunk of his body, home to his core and I suppose an inner mayor self indulges in the dance of his heart beat. If you listen closely you can hear the car horns beep. His legs support a current that drips into his feet and carries him throughout the world. 
A city inside a man, a man inside a city. Feel the hum of their electricity. 

Unsaid Blotted Wine Sentences

I see you trying to make out my unsaid sentences in the blotted wine on my cocktail napkin, but the drumming of my fingers on the bar top has got you distracted. The fullness of your lips matches the contents of my glass but your glass is a reflection of why we're here. The empty pauses between sips is making you one sour grape. The pours become our clock, closer to the bottom signaling goodbye o'clock. I toss the cork, no evidence of this. Our final image of one another, two court jesters with stained lips and lopsided smiles. Retiring this place and time to the rack in exchange for a bottle. Your future encounters jaded by your own memories. Sluggish slips to torment me, a quick drain to fill the self and suppress the things you've never tried to say. 

Monday, November 17, 2014

You're Easier to Make Up Than Experience

they're thinking on you under the moonlight on a frigid night. their thoughts of you bloom into a wine stain on their lips that they rush to speak of. you are their best shared secret, they admire and dispise you all at the same time. they watch you from across the body of water that separates you, for their eyes cannot trace the roads that lead to your front door. the vision of those who you once knew falls directly on the tower across the way in your vacinitity. they evny it's height, they envy your proxy. the words of you are tossed against a backdrop of other words and all these things form sentences that don't quite make sense, but they do. they boom and shout and ripple out of their minds. they are going out of their minds for you. they're thinking of you, in the silent sun and they are not only warmed by their want, but their need and they are warmed by their absolute reasoning for only speaking of you, keeping things at bay, and never concreting actualities, because the fleeting possibilities of whomever you're becoming is easier to make up then experience, but they are thinking of you.

Sunday, November 16, 2014

A Bruise Percolates

the crossword hint points to the word, SIGH. there is a heavy flickering on the roads of my heart that are signaling thoughts that my mind can't quite churn. they have taken to the avenues of my arteries to express their weight within me. the moment when your heart and mind cannot respectively connect the dots appropriately. the inside of me must look like a child's colouring book, skewed outside the lines, yet still a lovely picture. everything in it's proper place pulsating keeping the person that i am alive, but the person i am becoming is to be determined to destroy that. Personal contradictions. I am my own worst friend, my best enemy. A bruise percolates colour to the surface and exposes a galaxy that was harvested long before I had decided anything. A trove of treasures of exactly what I should be is revealing itself on the shrunken shore of futuristic moves and in this game called life I ought to take a spin, with you. 

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Jocks For Our Hearts

you demand the drama, the sexiest quality of every television show out there; we should all be supporting jocks for our hearts. when did the heart become this other thing that doesnt need protecting, a condom to ward off an infestation of hatred and lust that seems to percolate endlessly. the drip of dreams and wants and desires brewing a steaming cup of contemplations. to weigh the options heavily on the cutting board before slicing into each tiny detail later down the line, when you've made up your mind and things suddenly start to bother you it won't matter then, you won't suit up and make a move you'll adjust the jock and shut up and move on and let your heart twist with the bitterness of stale candy. you demand the drama, boys and girls of this weirdo lifestyle.