Black Tumblr Themes

Apartments stacked like tvs
Balcony screens where
Everybody can
Keep an eye
On one another
I saw a poet stop trying today
And tried to write it off
As a metaphor
I amplify their voices
So I can tell you
What the angry silhouettes
Were saying
Sprinklers buzzing
Like lost connections
And I heard them say,
I stopped living today
But I’m writing it off
As a vacation

never could give an apology

doesn’t translate
into whatever you speak
the way it should
(you’re crying)
you want
who can save
and be saved
at the same time
(you never let me finish a sentence)
it’s okay
you were trying to avoid
you’d seen monsters
in the cupboards
and skeletons
in the closet
you never wanted
to live that way
(you won’t speak to me
but i hear your glare)
everyone you need
will let you fall so hard,
there are no heroes.
but there’s a place
to sit wounded
at the end of the day.

eroding in the aeroplane
gliding above the places
where the land
has splintered away
impressive depressions
carefully branching
in rusty hues
deeper canyons
than my melancholy city
could appreciate

I saw the same
in the corners
of her eyes
later that day

the angel arrived
and offered her graces
to the troubled
"2 out of 5 stars-
more impressive in
the pictures”
she reported
on yelp

 Last Post For A Lost Friend

Last Post For A Lost Friend

Infrastructure was rotting
Under the weight of childhood secrets
The noise that dirtied the air
Was the resonance of sin
And things
We pretend
Never happened
Pinata guts on walls
That were never alive
And light so impure
It stole the stars at night
Every forgotten plaything
Will tell you
Nothing could brighten up this city

I could not tell
Whether I was floating
Through the clouds
Or sinking
Below the water

A bottle of jack in a paper bag
Sipping the nectar
After all the butterflies had left
And she thought about the butterflies
Because no one else
Knew the truth
That she saw
Without her glasses
She knew
Were shamed
With a reputation
As grubs
Ripping out of sacks
Where they slept
Like bats
She saw the truth
A dead flower on the ground
Shriveled petals
Twisted stem
A breeze cradled it off the dusted concrete
And its wrinkles
The manuscript on its sides
Stretched into wings
Its stem-
A nimble body
Once again
It flew
No, butterflies
Were never squirming
They are recycled beauty
Not rebirth
The girl was never beautiful
A cocoon couldn’t fix that

I wrote this as a guilty soul
That’s how I do poetry
With something sad
Just emotional
Try to make some rhythm
Of obscure little phrases
That’s how I do poetry