#noatry

[time-sinks]

god damn metaphor

I'm sick of being the beggar borrowing change from strangers at intersections / I'm licking blood from lacerations left over from daybreaks and family vacations / I'm in constant thought about things that I think might spring up within the next hour or two / I'm in love with intangible features of people that rest behind my eyelids /

[time-sinks]

the day the clouds blew in

We were friends back when we didn't need a future yet. The only space for memory was filled by chunks of blue sky. The steady crawl of time was a little more graceful than my own, but at least I ended up on my feet. You could not stay, I know it was not your decision to make. Without you the world seemed just as bright when I learned to view things differently. The same light poured from the blue sky. These eyes were made for inundation, not for the learning curve of observation. Thick tree branches were made for sitting, so I did and I pondered just where had you wandered. The same light poured from the full moon. At noon each day the tower would chime a hollow note, though I sometimes slept well through it. At one time your voice might have tried to echo the tone. The people I passed on the sidewalk became my modern education, and I studied. The orange ceiling of Earth captivated my memories. An unseen horizon overpowered the chunks of blue sky, something I couldn't do for all my studies. You would have brushed up the footprints we left on the sandy shore, but your toes weren't shovels anymore. Your hands would not pull me from open jaws again. I would sleep when I was tired and awake when I was tired. There was nothing I admired more than my own shallow grave.

[time-sinks]

this is a nation of sleepless faces the undead walking corpse oasis men and women drive in metal beasts there is no place for the horses anymore this is a nation of sleepless faces late shift scrounging for minimum wage corporate heads fund law creation from conception to orphanage doorstep this is a nation of sleepless faces our bullet holistic generation lovers quarrel with smoking guns clouds take the form of objects, places paradise

[time-sinks]

I’m on the water / as though I might swim or paddle / but on another hand why bother / if not for the hand on the ball / the compass in my hand doesn’t wobble / even a blind man could know where the going gets / and there’s pounding in my head where the knowing is / this raft is a relic from another age / on that front I’m moving forward but it feels the same way / and would be nice but an oar would fair better / a real boat with bilge water, now that’s a trendsetter / unfortunately / it’s not a regime I could follow for the life of me / I’m all on the ropes and they’re pulled taut / throws from the wind grip my throat / from my mind steal my thought / Now I’m drifting…

[time-sinks]

I've been working on a carving since the weekend passed. It's of a path that runs directly through a dense wood where the shadows shape the future and blanket the past. You can tell your gods I'm not looking back and that's a promise. I'm trusting the howls of the wind more than I am my own eyes these days.

[time-sinks]

#mondays #mad at myself in a lot of ways #mad at the wind and the sea that birthed me #mad at the flowers, the trees that don't let me pretend there isn't beauty #fog in the morning and my eyes and my brain and my mind #daydreams of taking a bullet train to god knows where #i think I'd find you there

— 9/x/15

[time-sinks]

On your fathers lawn, where we first kissed, there’s a story, birdsong and some grassy footprints. At the train station, where we first said goodbye, there’s a pool of the floor, there were tears in our eyes.

9/3/15

[time-sinks]

I’ve been thinking a lot about you I’ve been drinking a little too much and in those bottles, swishing oceans of your eyes, I always find something bigger than myself There’s this urge I have, to run away from raging fires in my heart and home And let me tell you, It’s a scary kind of freedom to write ones life in a song and strife in a poem

But someday — 9/10/15