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*Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

cuando el sol cambia color

7/2/06 07:30 pm - i still have my sea legs from five days of sailing.

I live in a room
Where all the walls are blank
At night, with their bare bones gleaming,
They hum a tune,
The sound rocks my bed to and fro.

And when the daylight breaks,
The streams of sunlight
Come in a shade of gurgling laughter,
Into the very bosom and comfort of my bed.

Every night,
At the beginning of my trek into sleep,
The ceiling rises
And then falls
With the rising and falling of my chest,
And the wheeze
And the sigh from my lips,
Is in sync with the walls as we bend and breath.

I live in a room
Where outside the city shifts in the weight of a busy schedule,
He squirms in the discomfort of an acid-rot belly,
In his consumption of far too much black coffee.
But he is gorgeous,
His skin a pale concrete,
Dirty garbage filling up his spidery streets.
A full head of unkept coniferous parks,
Runs in splotches,
Like malignant cancer,
Down the neon nightlife of his vapid limbs.

12/21/05 02:40 am - let’s have a nice clean cut, like a bag we buy and divvy up


the fortCollapse )

11/1/05 08:05 am - In and out the window like a moth before a flame.

love rhymes with hideous car wreckCollapse )

10/6/05 11:05 pm

mostly good
settled in and moving
sleeping sound
drama over little stumbles
happiness in spurts
big hearty laughs
and long silent thoughts.

something from a month agoCollapse )

8/19/05 08:17 am

sort of sum it up or somethingCollapse )

7/25/05 12:51 pm - I Heart Hyde.


i get about 0.02 seconds of free-time here, but i want to send letters, so, TELL ME WHERE YOU LIVE!

cause im not physic.

7/4/05 12:53 am - Panic la la la la 5 a.m. Panic 6 a.m.

ohh that wee flowerCollapse )

6/30/05 02:03 am

"look there,
see why arent you here?"
loud mouths pass hot air
stealing smoke which curls u[,
and with your hair.
Later on,
loud voices droned out from their headphones,
speaking melancholy whispers.
Ripped threads of lives lived,
and personality gone.
Shes known for a long time,
its not the man,
its what was in that man which ties them all together.
And he was there,
guts boiling
exposed and pooling in sandy beaches.
And mixing in with the dew of mornings,
a silvery film
enveloping each thorn and blade,
saliva running cool,
in oceans
and locked lips
where you hand held.
Mixing in with dark grey rains,
until all the guts and dew and saliva,
liquid forms of green jealousy and red anger;
they liked what was on the table,
and while they slept the past caught up
ripping off the sheets and blasting on the lights.

6/19/05 03:14 pm


5/19/05 08:33 am - the 25 and soon too be 40 hour day.

theres something about airports/planes and general that make me all emo.
aka traveling altogether.

stealing blankets/pillows/food from first class.
getting wierd stares.
tom waits on repeat.
watching half moon reflected off the Great Lakes.
flying through a long lightening storm.

also i wrote a elegy on Frida Kahlo - no i didnt spell it wrong, not a Eulegy, an Elegy. dictionariesaremyfriend. hahhah. if i can stay up for over 70 hours my writing would be so much better.
¿cure for writers block? = no sleeeeeep!¡

dreaming of sleep in a jungle canopy
but touching her cheek as she drifted away,
finally crawling out from her broken, deflowered cripple.
never to open the morphine eyes in waking
sitting across the dank wrinkled bed,
stroking the cold, monotone brace
something across the face, a smile
skirting the corner, a nurse in charge to moniter
and me to jump down to the street
leaving behind, a stream of little words,
to trickle down whispy thighs and pause outside my skirt, and live in my world.
painlessly float alongside feral cats
and where the Spanish babies cry
no more days filled with drug and drink
pain which struck and held her body
chopping the ever-distant portrait paintings
free of metal caskets, cages warped around her soul
"soon i shall die, and i hope to never return."
then she folds her book,
eyes fall quietly
dreaming of sleep in a jungle canopy.

...also:(not an Elegy)

i came to the lake
surging with an urge of hellbent conviction
tearing off constricting
weaves and messes
snapping shut sunglasses.
a childs face playing across mine.

sending the articles
crashing, with indolent sparks
too rocks and boulders below.

she watched
perched awkwardly
lighting a second pack of slims
gawking at the flash of womenly flesh i had become
i swung and slowdanced
with the low moon
her cast of stars.

before tossing myself too the lake
a tearing splash,
and soaked too the core.
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