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Finally…

Just got a new guitar…not having one was killing me. I got an amazing deal on a Stratocaster!…Sunburst…sexy as hell. Time to jamb.

Between the ocean
And your open vein
Leonard Cohen
I see monsters by Ryan Adams from the album: Love is hell, pt. 2

letitride:

Ryan Adams, “I See Monsters”

Bliss/Gone/Please and thank you.

Hazy

amorphous placeholder

during an argument

on the way out

or in

I forget

translucence forming

beneath the eyelids

delicate and mutely downward

console

then shrink away

rhetoric against feeling

street lights magnified

eyes open finally

brushing past

the staticky neighbors in the hall

Winter break

the wind in layers through the vent

numerically lost

tracing back the night’s opportunities

back to the G train

the diner

the argument

you said “I’m confused”

and that’s when it ended

you crossed the street with unimpeded motion

I hopped the train

trying to postpone resolution

enveloped in the serrated documentation

every sigh

aloud

feigned

glossy and uninstructed

muffled by mattress

and wrapped in faultlessness.

3am and I still can’t figure out how this light cord works.

I tried to get this giant moth

to fly into my apartment

earlier

I was stoned

it was not interested

now it’s 3am

and somehow it ended up getting in here

now I can’t sleep

I’m too stoned to read Dostoevsky

so AM radio it is…Coast To Coast.

When I look at small things, I think I shall go on living: drops of rain, leather gloves shrunk by being wet…When I look at something too big, I want to die: the Diet Building, or a map of the world…
Kōbō Abe, The Box Man (via odaro)
Time Is Not Ours To Make.

Examine the condition

of optimism

enduring exile

in that drawer

top left

fumbling

through fragments

of last night

tidbits

particles

better still

waiting for the third ring

before answering

with a cough

before anything

that you could say

would make me need something

that is too far away

for me to ask for politely

perhaps I will catch it

but perhaps

the silence is numbered

between

greedy unremembering

and accidental style.

Auld Lang Syne…Sure.
Lost in decoration
collar tight
from spasm
to curtsy
words must be forged
eventually
if we are to last
theoretically
we have already acted upon
each other’s thoughts
past their gossip
and marking the walls
with persistence
I guess
I know these streets
but I don’t know you
I’m happy
about your skirt
your incorrigible fashion
and yielding
to this thought
I would never believe
that we
will grow old
into
a soft total
A different time
maybe
after the 6 cycles
of this Winter
when our season tickets
are of some use.
3 Things…

I’ve been looking through old blog posts on here….these 3 things came to mind.

1. When I first started it…I shouldn’t have used it as a diary…so stupid.

2. I actually like a lot of my older poems that I used to hate.

3. I used to be so fucking angry…all the time…and for the life of me I can’t relate to myself back then….no idea as to the why of any of it.

Happy Birthday To Me

Telling time

by lying

perfectly still

with the perfect letter

at each end

out of wetness

out of heat

listening to the AM stations

always oldies

beaming in from Canada

I just…never sleep

I crave it

fragrant and unexplained

I aim each lie

at the nearest house

carved

layer after layer

until the lie

forgets us

perfectly

and the songs 

flutter against the window

and fall

Legs crossed

or not

never leaving very much

for me to want

strong enough 

to be sure

that the sun

no longer has a cord attached

silly

and dancing down

transitory as you are.

Olga

Even the cab rides

the smell of ore

in cold

answering her eyes

even in plight

even in paradise

no one’s forgotten

her thoughts

are already forged in iron

accepting that kiss

with alacrity

and first light

Good enough

thrust every word toward me at once

honey

you should know

that i’ll never be more sunk

than I am now

here to be

consoled

and

ready to come back to my life.

Right Away

Sift our haze

through

wind shivered branches

chattering

the almost complete sentences

with

no pausing for sentiment

excitement in her blood

forming a blush

showing slip

and nudging to speak

brows pursed

while his thought

never quite makes it

to a verbal future

that she wishes for hourly

TV glowing

and full

of the last decade

that

faded gray-white hiss

more familiar now than ever

why talk anyways?

questions

are more defense than offense

and

this is the part of the show

that always makes him laugh.