October 23, 2010

I’d like to think of my logic as something beautiful:
tangible aesthetic of the mind, beauty mark of the brain, chic nerd.

My thoughts- tangled, obsessive, manipulative, tangible and unreachable: oranges.
I make synaptic connections, networks of unresponsive friendships to words, letter cascades, sounds, image-connection similarities, colors. tangible tangerines smoothies plastic slides daycare neon green orange pink
this list goes on and I go on.


It’s runningthrough me
honey-shaped couch-smelling glory:
this amber glow that touches the corners of a smile and tilts the world to such an angle as to
scream the inner depths of pain out of the soul-
it’s in a cage and simple silent sitting in the corner.
this is how I’m spelling.

the way I see it:

July 8, 2010

An espresso shot has ten seconds or less to live.
So, technically speaking, those orderers of espresso drinks are paying for leche con carcasses of the coffee bean, ground in to split second decisions, life or death matters.
A doppio is nothing more than a dual graveyard, too cheap to purchase twice the plots, two bodies comingle as one in a demitasse, slowly sipped, a supple enjoyment of death.
I see universes in this, settled in layers at the bottoms of espresso glasses, the beveled floors of the shot glass stained with a ten second life- aborted fetus of caffeine.


July 1, 2010

The dust is settled on her like a fine layer of exhaustion, creases and folds filled to the brim with crusted mucus from the eyes disguised as sleep sand.
this is no day at the beach, we all have these ridiculous umbrellas and I’m swimming in lies like a.
my gossamer wings are something from a past life I never had.


June 24, 2010

The drop chittered down her spine invasively,
shredding a trailblaze through the muggy stick of the humidity on the derma
sharp, sparkling-wine-shock, winding through each vertibra
touching each nerve ending like counting fingers
there are bones in this water.

intellectual highway

June 22, 2010

There’s a throb behind the eyes when it happens-
everything is still and suspended in time: amber flies caught in earth’s lusty grasp.
Words, forming like enlightened pixels on a digital bilboard, sunning in the Chicago deadheat
I 9094 choked with assholes and pulsating vaginas, cocks streaming at the ready thump of an erotic rush of car.
I broke the sound barrier- my thoughts a sonic thunder in my brain. I could hear synapses thickening with scar tissue before I felt them break.

swift clouds

June 22, 2010

stiff ally with a choked hold- no air
there is a tourniquet around the oxygen, my containers empty
these trees are too swiftpleaseanswerthefucking phone-
my soliloquy solstice solo:
stuck in a stillbirth alleyway in the breadth of a storm in heat.


December 23, 2009

Today, I am a writer
in seriousness
I am a writer today every day.
I exist to form words, to stitch sentences
I am to give my mind to paper.


December 21, 2009

I looked up and saw birds forming in the sky
their wings pure against a background of grey.


October 12, 2009

Wax wings and I love the sunrise,
goals are too ambitious of a nature to plant like scared seedlings into the soil of the brain-
I am nothing but flight and raw emotion- salt for a wound.

From above, I can see the map of my life like the lines on the palm of my hand
no gypsy can read me
I am an oracle for one and my sight is permanent.