Design In Your Froth

their voice was as smooth as an exhale on a desired cigarette, it spilled out in a straight line, a dart searching for it's bulls eye, and it doused your entire senses with this intoxicated cleanse that you could swear you were a little high. their voice followed you around long after the words had evaporated from your surroundings, they'd follow you home and even the simplest of sentences suddenly seemed sexy. the first sip of a cappuccino, a voice with a design in it's froth, in a perfect cup and saucer. the kind where the heat warms your hands and that sip warms your entire being. a voice that could arouse you and put you to sleep, could calm you and get you excited, a voice with a ribbon of confidence, care and certainty. a voice that reasons with reason and pushes you and encourages you to do something. a voice you go to sleep sometimes thinking about, and you don't know why, and you aren't sure but you try to still hear it.

We Create Condensation

We've created condensation.

I trace our heavy breathing in the windows of the back seat of your brother's mustang.
We've crumpled ourselves into a spit ball, all limbs and soggy skin.
Our hair mashes into one another, forming constellations on our foreheads.
We aren't that young and not that in love, but we find solace here within each other.
You're much wiser than I remember.
You wear combat like a pair of gloves, I can feel your battles in your hands.

Your eyes beg me to spill about my troubles, but you mouth doesn't dare speak.

You lap at my skin like a thirsty kitten, I can't help but feel at home.

You've got to get back..

You have to get back…

I have to go…

We've created condensation. 

After Party Clouds

severe after party clouds leave melted steeze across a celebratory sky and in the mesh of life there is a diluted pride that heaves with a vomitty smell of insecurity that has been pooling under dancing shoes for hours of drinking and smoking and laughing at things that aren't even that funny. ashtrays hiding the ashes of love and lust and sit in little mountains that demand you step slowly around them so they don't budge and don't shift and stay there tall, mocking you from the coffee table. empty bottles chime home time with a burpy breeze of filth that hangs in the air like a stink bomb just went off. music whispering too loudly all of your last nights activities and sleepy eyes filled with powdered poisons flicker up and down from their slumped positions on the pee coloured carpet as if taking tiny snapshots of your humiliation.

The Shade of Moonlight

Ultraviolet love orbs catapult and shatter glitter the shade of moonlight all over your day. Do something absolutely lovely and wear your sunnies like the cigarette smoke is too bright and the weather understands you best. Write it all down. Everything. Keep the fragments. Trace your name in the stardust and allow the ocean to pool within your eyes and live along your coastline with the etching mountains reflecting the truths that are housed within your collarbones. 

Welcome to the Land of Indifference

they walk about like flamingos 

lookin' for a fix

suckin' on bent 

cigarettes and shoppin' netflixs

everything being obtained electronically

instant insanity - automatic lust

no more pining, no more introductions

Welcome to the Land of Indifference

hot pocket manicures 

and mickey mouse hiests

clickidy-click-click 

has become the soundtrack

to our life and we're all about the speed,

insta-needs being met with hella steeze

buyers market, human target, alien world

and we've created the scare

the internet breeding pop culture and

exposing you exposing me while

we're all being exposed by someone out there.

No Favor Party Favors

feelings sinking behind shrugged shoulders as they part ways into a party of absolution. there is no favor in these party favors that are begging them to pledge allegiance to any disservice about to happen to you and you and them and me. lights zig and zag about, probably, sending mixed signals and causing a random encounter under the black light of some fight and you'll try to kiss an apology into my face. i've been checking under the lamp shades for a sliver of honesty but i continue to come up dusty. i tried to keep the dust in my pockets, hoping tiny dust bunnies would form, and i could ask them a favor with a twist of a party favor to devour you and push you right out of the door. your shoulders still shrugging, a constant loop, i cant tell if you're undecided about me, undecided about them, or undecided about this song that has been on repeat for about twenty two minutes.

Words Frothed

Words frothed, a pint of the most imperfect pour floods the mind and overwhelms the senses causing unattainable punctuation to fleet onward toward better pages. Lip prints rim glasses and I so long to taste their truths that in return will reflect my fears. Snatching the last drops of amber shelter and indulging in the snippets of a refreshing discomfort you cannot help but salute with the head the head of all the words that are quickly being gulped and just as quickly being unsaid. 

Dreamy Electric Chalk

Little sound waves crash against the coastline that is made up entirely of myself. Tiny water sound spiders illuminate outside of the speakers and crawl at the walls. This sound has created images outside the mind and outside the body, but apart of some lost soul that is craving a musical fix. Pulsating against the drumming beat these water sound spiders search for a home and take up house inside our feet. Electric chalk stains our hands and as the music bashes against our bodies it's quickly shaping the sands into sea glass and everything is suddenly a lot more beautiful than you could ever dream. But it is in these nightmarish sound spiders where beauty flows like a storm made of such melodies you hadn't dared to fear them in their dreamy, made up element. 

Everything's a URL

The cyber trail demanding the pupils to rest on the pupils of such affairs that has spiraled out of hand and cannot be fixed with an insta-filter. A terrible disease breaks through the firewall and casts wicked shadows on actuality outside the realm of a cyber world. An existence being documented and all the happy moments cling to screens and the same static cling reflects back and stains unhappy eyes and wheels turn in both the machine and mind and everything is a URL to a capsule where all the people that have ever crossed your path on a busy street can hide and check up on your 
blooming happiness and always 'Like' the good times but never 'Dislike'
the times that frayed from good to bad. 

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. 

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..

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.

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.

 

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. 

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.

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. 

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. 

INTERNET EXPLORER BLUES

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?

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.