http://www.flickr.com/photos/nobodyhastostay/5147427655/

old art, still with meaning

poems from highschool

CAKE - Saturday, 27 March 2010

I walk on, bridges cracking, and the splinters dress a cake.
You eat it, inverted hands
swimming with my one arm.
Until I look past and through,
through my ribs
appear your eyes.
Amongst the blue it is an accomplishment.
Amongst the blue it is draining from your face.
Streaming bubbles commute my colour
up to the surface where you started.
Oh, I don't think you see. But you see,
because this time you pull on my arm;
sales sell sorrow of my bone marrow.
I'd like you to come down here
to me.

UNTITLED – Thursday March 4^th 2010

far out there appears a face of a girl in the reflection of a window far out.
far out in the face of a girl theres is the reflection of a window far out.
as things, we shift. i swear i am to never carry desire for a promise.
every spring from my red brow, take plates of me homebound.
i sit into myself and recognize the beat
and as some lack ambition, i grow new every day.
they are littered with regret and seemingly empty futures.
no where could there be found a sturdy wooden man
of surrounded palms lost in me
pressure a weakening into my bones
released with a flush
some figure has comforts that make me feel like spice
beige earth green, old shaggy hair wrapped behind my neck
i'm scared to an untilted whole, not knowing wheres a going
passed unworthy settlement
can i take up your time ?
to be precious like i forget i should..

aeiou

Share

Thursday, 25 February 2010 at 19:32

If you want to see my teeth
you wont be seeing me smile.
If you want to feel my insides
you won't be tasting my bile.
50 calories before bed!
share the covers
or give me head.
throw the noose outside
it wraps my organs
but we'll still dream;
sleep through the tide.

Thursday and Friday – Saturday feb.20 2010

have i recovered sympathy in your bones yet
politely caressing
cementing manners at the back of your throat


spit
fire blue
home-bound
lucky lucky one
rare and sound
firece angry need
chest to cheeck
collar to kiss
creating sparks
taking me away from home
without crispt delight
uneasy gearing great
state to taste
the tasteless mouth
finding a masked dear
and standing behind
begging to blister
and gander
with gambling gardeners
shooting pure steel
-classical signs.

i despised this buckling; not revealing
my hands
delayed with hesitation to be used in a discovery
unnoficially a vulnerable act
ending in 'ing'
where it started with a long S
the honey of nature
and the nature of honey
appear between knee's
of admiration and myself
oneself
in dedication beside exposure.

Wed feb 10 2010 NIGHT

I often have dreams I am running through silent dark neighbourhoods. I often forget they are dreams. Until I am sitting in the uttermost boring of settings remenising on the time I ran through dark neighbourhoods. Then I remember it must have been a dream.. if I am here rather than there

M A N – Friday feb 5 2010

wicker basket man
dreams of blood and flooded hands
sut is displeasing to a man
but its all you bathe in so you cant
fire desire
deriving from longing
and the grand
just incase you flee from
(wicker basket)
man

cadavers – sun jan 24 2010

a conscious cadaver wouldn’t choose to wake up
supple pain from the spine couldn’t trade fair
for luke warm waters
a decision to slash the bed
only hoping I could strip the blur from these look-outs
it’s a radiant visit when silver shields come and go
but if they decide not to leave
ever
I would not even have the chance for a massacre
of this path
not even the ability to stop and swell with rage
helpless and flailing in the sun
the same time belly’s twist and bearded lips drive along
I
repulse this buckle
only sinners cascade out of this one given gift
never a full recovery
yet never a full disadvantage
sometimes I donate myself to crisp pure sight
and inhale my childhood
but sometimes I am just that –
powder blue
carnival of the dead

Friday December 4^th 2009

cheap grin
high expertise
count down, past my knees
there's room for you, there's room for me

low speed over the seas
pull on the hunt
across your back
my tree's.


2
a bastard you call home
i have grown to hug and celebrate
waiting for the day
his pasty forhead blows
burst vessels, rows and rows
and much more beneath the skin I don't know
i wait
to celebrate
moving on

Thursday October 15^th 2009

a wolf slides by the window
thick in the middle and quaint
warning me whats to come
his sly grin snarks quick
raping me of my nature
tooth by tooth
fang by fang
from each slight prick
i am closer and closer
cushioned into his gums
and my structure held by his jaw
with compasion
i am so lucky

Sunday September 20^th 2009

Your hand feels like the roughest flower soiled by morning dew behind my house
like the shortest touch of anything beautiful swiped away by time and difference
your hand feels like a thoughtful gift in sidewalk dirt
like the stale tears that sit useless of my puffed cheek
like the cold comforting slumber found between the sheets of my bed
like the tight grasp of a vulnerable child who isn't really a child any longer
your hand feels like the hard blow of sea winds
like the wondrous walls hidden by paint that surround my head
like the moist corners of elbow and arm pressed against one another that meet when I raise my hand to fix my hair
like resentment, like me
your hand feels like my both hands pressed against one another searching and feeling for any sense of accomplishment

I once heard a girl say 'my heart is split across the country'..it's true, and all I want to do is read to you.

This complicated digestion forces my gaze outside. I wish I could look at you the way I look out the window.

A startiling innocence I once had is now coated with colour and sound. I'm here, i'm home. My roughest skin is cold.

Even now you have gone and I don't want to sleep. It might be a while until our arms cross on another, retreat

into blankets full of cider

Our past shed,

seeping so shyly while we sleep in this bed.

A goodbye is never.

Friday September 18^th 2009

As her face met the faces of surrounding students she produced a painful smile in attempt to create a warm greeting. Her drooping cheeks pulled upwards adding in more lines to her wrinkled face. And the low thin skin under her eyes bunched up and reminded me of the skin of testicles. Her hair was like the back of a grizzly bear and her faint lips were smacked with blood-red.. Unnatural as her smile. You felt sad seeing a smile like that. You could tell that behind those amber corneas was a mind deep into something. She was supplying for an absent teacher today which meant making sure students could pass for civilized. Sitting there, I’m sure the dull and empty time had brought out an accordion of sad thoughts in her. And every time she broke her droopy wrinkles to perch a small smile that accordion wouldn't break.. And rather just seem to make things a little less bearable.