Betray the subtly changing colours
Of the untamed thoughts in my head (in your head)
And your swells right before they crest and crash
Into my stillness,
Into my unfallen shattering.
There is silence and loud in that single colour…
In that unnameable brightdark colour.
Do you have a name for it?
I can think of hundreds.
*** Edible THC… 🤣🤣🤣 ***
In and out
And in and out
And fucking IN again
And fucking OUT
And in and out and in and out
*** Sounds like some serious hanky panky there, Sweetums! ***
*** Maybe it should be “around and around” rather than “in and out”, but at one point, you are on your way out, and at a point right after, if you don’t completely exit on time, you’re on your way back in. But no… not hanky panky. I would have thrown in some moans and “fuuuuucks” if I were talking about that. ***
***This poem is for the wishy-washy, who never know what they want, who go back and forth on their word, who are largely unreliable, and flit in and out of your life at will, attracted to the light one second, and repelled by it the next. ***
I found myself
Under your teeth
And your howl-faced skull,
Your expression twisted into
Your drew all of my blood
Through my fingertips,
And turned my veins cold with your empty.
You made me wail my steaming guts
Into the frozen ground,
And grind them to paste
Beneath my bare muddy feet.
*** Whatsamatter, Sweet Cheeks? Need a hug? ***
*** I don’t know…. I’m just so drained…. And I always need hugs. Eternally. ***
Writing poems and lip-synching to “The Power of Love” by Huey Lewis and The News is not a compatible match for efficient multi-tasking.
*** Huey Lewis and The News?!? Exactly which decade do you think this is, Sweet Buns? And why are you not listening to something more ironically cheesy? ***
*** The 80s are eternal. All other decades can blow goats for quarters. ***
Photo credit: Googlerama
I used to draw a lot.
Now the thought of bringing
Graphite to paper
Fills me with doubt… and trepidation.
And every time I try,
Or rather… think about trying…
My hand stops me
And asks me
If I really want to put her through
The experience of drawing something
I will only throw away.
*** Well… that’s a piss-poor excuse not to start drawing again. A downright cowardly one, Sugar Lips. ***
*** But my hands are raw from balling into fists and breaking pencils. ***
*** Pick up the fucking pencil, sharpen it to a fine stabbing point, and draw that thing that has been haunting you since the pall of plague draped itself over the world. Your lungs sputter and spray blood now. Aim it at the book of empty pages at your curled feet.***
You’re my cloud, and my head is strangely in you.
I’m a cloudhead too,
In case you didn’t notice, Mr. Cloudyheadface.
It feels weird but right
That I am steeped in your precipitation,
And that I drizzle your drops of storm,
But I always catch them in my own rain guage so they can be reswallowed and repeated.
All over again.
All over again with my head strangely in your clouds.
But how do I get my head out of your clouds so I do not drown in your dewey drippy leaky condensation?
***[Insert meme about getting high.]***
Your laughter always gets stuck in my teeth
Like stretchy salt water taffy.
*** Laughter is yum. Need more. Want more. ***
I am sitting on my bed
crunching black opal, rose quartz, labradorite and celestite between my smiling teeth
singing forth shine, shimmer, sensual enigma and rippling auroras through the window of my pulsating heartworld
Into the undulating aether
hoping that something lightful and godfringed bounces back.
I lick my lips in languished wait
And recline into a momentary crystaled joy.
***I do not endorse drugs of any kind….other than cannabis….and perhaps select hallucinogens….why not? ***
I watched the moonlight
Drip down the inside of the bottle
And pool at the bottom (pearlescent sheen of reflected light).
I mixed in a little you (cloudful white),
A little of me (cloudless blue),
A drop of forgetting (brackish pitch and tones of shale),
And something else…
Maybe a fragment un-embedded from my brittle heartstone,
Or a memory
Only I recall (the deepest darkest red of a coagulating blood drop).
I swirled the bottle
To watch us all blend into a new colour I couldn’t find a name for;
There was shimmer and lots of shade,
And dark lightness.
When I took a sip of the concoction,
I could no longer
The memory I added to the mix.
And drank the rest in a single gulp.
There is this one 4-syllable word I discovered last week. I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. It won’t leave me.
Ready for it?
Ok, then. Here it is:
Mmm… slower now….
For me… it’s a word that doesn’t need defining;
I already know what it means because of the way it feels in my veins.
If only I could forget it now….
I have been reading the Thesaurus before bed. It’s the best book I have read in a really long time.
She stabbed grapes with toothpicks
Just to watch their skin break
And listen to the sound.
It wouldn’t have been my best poem anyway….
Because if it truly were to be
I never would have forgotten it
Before I even wrote the damn thing down.
***Inspired by a forgotten poem… shit…***
I felt your finger tips brush my lashes
As you stole a sunrise from my eyes.
***So I poemed LOTS today…***
I broke my slumber
On the underbelly of a dream
And found myself on a moon-soaked treescape
With little to do
Other than laugh
Until I too
Became one of the hilarious trees.
*** I am convinced that trees are all in on a big joke being played on the planet. They know exactly what’s what. I am convinced that they are enlightened beings. 100% convinced. ***
*** I wrote this when I was ill and highly anxious. I thought I would stop breathing while sleeping for some reason. I started to panic. Feeling better now. It is not really fun or sweet or sexy. It might be a tad unsettling. Yup. ***
She stood in the middle of a slumbering boneyard,
Furnished with crumbling headstones
And a barren tree with branches like ribs
That held the still and silent air at bay,
Just out of reach of her gasping lungs.
She coughed and coughed,
And she spat crimson and onyx onto the permafrost.
Again. And again…,
Painting the hallowed grounds with unspoken pleas for purchase on the air.
If only she could pull in one single breath
And fill her chest with something
Other than the nothing
And the countless unturned rocks studding her slow-beating heart.