When you find a man Who transforms Every part of you Into poetry, Who makes each one of your hairs Into a poem, When you find a man, Capable, As I am Of bathing and adorning you With poetry, I will beg you To follow him without hesitation, It is not important That you belong to me or him But that you belong to poetry. Translation by Bassam K. Frangieh and Clementina R. Brown
all those times i’ve pressed my lips against yours and felt nothing. moments where i’m convinced we’ll shake the multitudes. and pull away feeling nothing. the empty wishes in our actions i know you feel them too. yet we pile nothing upon nothing as if the weight of our sins would create a diamond but what’s so impressive about a diamond except the mining.
do you remember those afternoons you confused for mornings? making love to a toilet bowl, the sweet taste of bile fresh on your tongue. the heartburn and nose bleeds, the piss soaked clothes, dead friends, and empty wallets. the throat slitting regret of waking up next to stranger, after stranger, after stranger. the promises to God oh, and how you break them. like the way you think...
God is nowhere, God is now here Those smoke filled walks in December to the coffee shop twenty minutes from the corner. And, I didn’t last forever. But then again, I never thought I would.
Hell no. Try again. Pick yourself up, road kill. You ain’t finished yet. Patch up those holes in your lungs, learn how to walk again. Baby steps. You’ll be off the nipple soon enough, just give it time. You’ll choke on solid food. Your jaw’s still wired shut, but don’t fret. Your teeth are in tact and you will learn how to talk again.
I want to draw I want to be inspired I want to photograph I want to inspire I want to be a genuine human being again. I feel fake and full of shit. I need to DISAPPEAR! and reappear reconstructed spiritual surgery before this soul expires. Before the ink runs out while writing my comeback story.
i am a constant struggle between lost and found i am the dead leaves and the dirty ground a paper ghost in a paper town i never brought you orchids and you never came around.
i was born into this the crippling comfort of middle class crisis a life of spoiled little rich kids and alcoholic house wives. give me the world. i do nothing yet deserve it. i am the poster child of an asshole generation you can’t stop us but you can follow us on facebook. ( i live in a house with a scale beside the kitchen table)
i had light in my eyes two roman candles burning blue in the night and i meant it when i smiled but i was born with crooked teeth and i curse the wind each time it speaks.
I felt like destroying something beautiful tearing you out of centerfolds except you’ve escaped from the cold. and i growing old in my slumber laying dormant, think of you as an endless summer. ...