June 2010
34 posts
and
I want to tell you, so much, I love you. I even got a tattoo of your name across the chest I’ve been alone with you inside my mind. And in my dreams I’ve kissed your lips a thousand times . My tea’s gone cold I’m wondering why I.. got out of bed at all. The morning rain clouds up my window.. and I can’t see at all. And even if I could it’d all be...
3 tags
We’re going down. (How will I hold my head?)
Down to the wire, I wanted water but I’ll walk through the fire. Slow dancing in a burning room. Then I’ll come through.
Some of us, We’re hardly ever here. The rest of us, we’re born to disappear, Slow dancing in a burning room.
So wheels up, I got to leave this evening. Don’t you think we oughta know by...
My plane landed in Fort Lauderdale at 11 0’clock. I exited wearing my shades.
Inside of me there is a harmonica man who wears a bowler hat and is not afraid of the dark. My bones are friends with this man.
One day my bones wanted to go to the park, but the harmonica man was too busy; He wailed that he had his hands full with his harmonica and that he was not afraid of the dark.
My bones showed him the last 2 fortune cookie scrolls they had read after New York meals with...
Sometimes my artistic perception gets the better of my common sense.
Recently there have been tiles
pressed
into the crumbling dimples of Spanish Harlem sidewalks. With the delicacy of Hollywood hands. Their avatar faces wield arrows pointing north, south, and away from “Walk East.”
So confusing and spot on during these aimless walks in which you wonder if your destiny will manifest. Star potential shimmering...
Write one leaf about being robbed.
(via writeoneleaf)
Three weeks ago I could not smile
A week ago I woke up with a sore tooth and watched my reflection’s entire smile crumble into his hand. I beat in a face with a brick that refused to break as I cried concussion tears. Apparently my subconscious still wants revenge.
A month ago I was accosted by 24 limbs. Fists and feet. Jumped by a number, like Greaser forehead mistletoes. ...
Tires of my bike itching and antsy rub their spines on the grooves of Williamsburg spinning by.
There is a distant forced laugh as if from the navel of a whoopee cushion. The whisper of an alley, swallowing my wind, says hello. My rear brake responds “I am not interested in your mystery,” without closing its lips. While a curb brandishing stretch marks from shoving tires picks up the unwanted...
In this moment my wine bottle is half full. The cork floating in its belly forecasts heavy sleep. And so… in this moment, my glass is half empty.
Explore what is new to you under the sun. What is familiar can take on a new beauty in the dark…
“And we turn him into an anecdote, to dine out on, like we’re doing right...”
– Six Degrees of Seperation
For what it’s worth,
I know I’m in love with you.
And with that said,
your callused pinkie toe comes to a point on the bottom, and is my fingertips second favorite ridge to toy with…
But, I guess my first favorite isn’t exactly a ridge.
With that elephant out of the room,
I think you spell favourite with a “U.” Which I don’t think is grammatically correct. But highly appropriate because my...
15
Fifteen
15 is you and me
15 is joint
15 is beauty
15 is striped zebras
Porcelain and ebony
15 is companionable silence
15 is noble like extreme left gases
11
Eleven
11
11 is grumpy
11 is quiet
11 is thoughtful
11 is an ass
11 smiles
4
Four
4 smiles
4 smiles when grumpy, but frowns with its eyes.
4 is not quiet
4 is twice as thoughtful
4 shares food
4 is a bitch
But 15 is perfect.
For the 22nd time…
We moved.
The allen wooden floors groaned goodbye
While the off white ceiling seemed unmoved. Stoic and pristine it dismissed us with a wave of the ceiling fan. Unverbose- a perfect goodbye and simple at that.
I screamed “see you later alligator,” to John the baker,
a stray,
his fire hydrant,
condos and flats
as we drove into the sunset.
The darkness...
Company that sits in a brown paper bag like intoxicating lunchables Cause my shoes to try walking my feet home. Left to my thoughts
that fall into the crevices of my brain waiting to be soaked up like my only company.
I think it might be more than love. Because Cupid ain’t around to complicate things. He closed his eyes after opening one too many bottles of wine. And now the broke arrows...
Know that your beauty starches my limbs,
And strikes me unmoving.
I can melt faster than chocolate in your hands.
Know this.
Know that love is abstract,
though I love you definitely.
Defined by googles of pet names, adjectives soaring,
And smiles, and winks, touches and blinks, squirming and moaning.
Know this.
“His conviction of having no purpose in life other than to act as a distillation...”
– Yukio Mishima
A Beating Voicebox
Born as a platoon birthed by a baby boom. I am war.
Wind is not meant to be hard. Wave your flag while on another’s territory and there is no denying awareness of overstepping a boundary. Whether the boundary is yours or theirs will never matter. You have crossed it. The shots fired, however, will matter. Their directionality will look you in the eye. Your hands will be...
“Bullfighting is the only art in which the artist is in danger of death and in...”
– Earnest Hemingway
I believe in planets moving to realign. I believe in self-eclipses. I believe you cannot be in two places at once. I believe you can be stuck in your head. I believe people are born good and are corrupted. I believe that what I believe is different than what I have faith in. I believe that the word love has lost its connotation. I believe that when I sleep my dreams better the world. ...
I have an alarm clock that speaks sign language. My pillows have seducing hand-me-goose-down stories that cradle my ears long after sunrise. In the noon my floorboards read more sleep in the palms of my feet. My coffee press has accumulated mold. And shower curtains remind me of guillotines. However despite a chilling shower I do not have cold feet. I shave then wipe my eyes and walk away...
“A fine artist by definition is not a commercial… or applied or useful artist. A...”
– Ad Reinhardt
The extra brown brown of my face and superfluous visible scars, affirmed by the baking sun of Miami, look to the east. Held up by a southern neck on the careening spine of Lincoln Road. Supported by bare feet haloed by soggy puddles of summer rain. Catty-cornered on a silver-lined rooftop in Spanish Harlem. Punctuated by biting bottle caps.
I have yet to find fingers that can relax my...
““You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep Spring from...”
– Pablo Neruda
James Sprang
As I caressed and rubbed away the goose bumps on your inner thigh, your eyes reflected two tips of my nose as the bluest sky.
Tongue touching here and there, you stroke my goatee— in memory— from then to now. The sad of my past thought the trail of tears when you commented on the salty of my brow. Spring is a loving justice.
Justice was your weight on my lap and ironically a thieving...
Dear Nina,
You painted the vertebrae of millions ivory and black then demanded they play their backs straight. We sung your caged zephyr back to you in defiance. While you smiled knowingly then left us.
How could you expect us to continue rolling that stone. That vibrato marble is blocking a cave somewhere. And you can hear “Alone Again,” from crossed fingered apostles of Jazz.
As my fan...
“Leaving me to doubt God in His Mercy
And if He really does exist then why does...”
– Nina SImone
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– Photos by James Sprang
“Write drunk; edit sober.”
– Ernest Hemingway
They had not yet touched each other. Saving up for that majestic transcendental moment they had spent their cemented lifetimes admiring each others stature. And so she stood by the bar showering it in all of her love struck regality.
A wall of mirrors.
Axis two
Avoiding eye contact was the bars way of playing hard to get. Oblivious to...
Luca Mundaca- Day by Day
Speak not, lie hidden,...
Haiku #1
When the shit hits the fan. Grab an umbrella. Diarrhea stains.
