Archive for July, 2009|Monthly archive page


I want to lose some letters in your ears, multiply the amount of times a day you think of me; if it’s none, I’ll just have to add instead. This quest borders on necessity to heal hardened blisters: the exactitude you have on my heart whispers only your name. The age may seem inappropriate, the mind is not.



‘Help me, I love you,’ he said and meant to every pretty face; the holes in his mind left constant chemical chaos. No inhibitions hit his brain: he chose to abstain from drugs completely, focusing on the breaths of strangers instead. He could sense the rapid pulses clash against rib then skin, but none took his words seriously.


Her hips weaken my words as do her deep, chocolate mousse eyes; when she smiles, darkness feels more like a lie than a struggle. I want to be a tourist and travel each inch to see the landmarks others willingly pass up, patronizing those who won’t. I will slip love inside to let her taste its purest wine.


The clop of horse hooves stuttered over the hillside at midnight; the man in the hammock glanced up and watched the spectral body wade across the air as if it were water. That ghastly face took a look and intertwined sadness in the man’s spine; she cradled his heart, and he let the beauty envelop him until sunrise.


The tips of her toes dragged along the waters surface, stirring thoughts away with ripples; she smiled and nodded to each question asked, but didn’t pay much attention. Her mind drifted away with the fragrance of vanilla stamped onto her skin; she longed to taste something as sweet as her own lips but didn’t realize it was impossible.


His voice left a print on the secrets he never shared; one could feel what he said and what he meant differed in the tone he used. When played backwards, one could taste his misanthropic blood and the ferocity of his soul. And in those bits of sound a message played of his mission to massacre all humans.


No one planned for the ocean to sit still after the moon had fallen; it sunk its head and called a mighty maelstrom to swallow those curious enough to look. It circles at the center of the triangle: Florida and most other southeastern states no longer exist. If you look deep down into the wreckage, you’ll find peace.


The palm reader took more than money when she grasped my hand; she spoke of a tire swing of love: chaos reigned until the right one sat beside me. As her eyes focused deeper, she said it was someone I knew but didn’t; then, she vanished, whispering another mumble. I can only find a glimpse of scarlet hair.


My brother mistook me as any other bum as he passed the hole I tuck myself in at night; he said nothing and only stared. I asked for nothing; I didn’t want his money nor his pity. I only wish he would have realized that I have beaten society; its rules apply no more. Yet, our blood dried.


Misguided gestures ensnare his heart between any woman’s palms; this cradle can also be a casket of dried blood and unsaid words. His love finds a little perfect in every passing beat and longs for each to soften some of its hardened death. They don’t realize what invisible tattoos mark their skin: he looks away from their faces.