Songs I Want Sung

Not my picture

On top of the old milk crate
The rotten, bug ridden mate
Stands with her rainbow tights and
Head held so high

Little does she know
Her chin will fall fall fall
Like the leaves in October
Where she might forget the season

For the weather is a storm
In all the seasons of the year
Little does she know
Her feet stand on a throne of misery

Last Year, Today

The ability to see
Is much like a torture
Built inside me
Trained to standardize

I’m always running
Away from the things
That should be running
From me

When pity strikes
The plague in the heart
I stand by and watch
As dust flows

When my hands shake
I run from myself
Rather than sitting
And holding them

Where was I last year
At this time
I wish I could say
Definitively

Instead I say
Caught buying 99 cent
Dreams off the street
In my coat of thieves

 

Obsession Creating a Disguise (OCD)

 

If I had to-
I’d fall off the edge of the Earth
To have an even number of times
That my feet stepped on a crack
I’d tumble through the cosmos
A space where I can’t stumble
Through thirty second mirror viewings
Plus precisely twenty minute naps
I’d fly away if it meant
Time couldn’t be money allotted
To me every morning
I’d watch tears crumble
If I couldn’t
Count the number of times
My knees grazed the desk
As my fingers wisp
From side to side
Each receiving an even chance
Of holding the air the other
Leaves for dust

Innocent Runners

Posing for a photo
Is much like faking
A beautiful moment
Gone awry

What’s wrong with the
Picture is that you
Can’t have ghosts
Controlling your limbs

If you’re used to
Captivity when it’s
Time to run free
True and fast

The photo is much
Like a tamer of
Laughs and beauty
And peaks of bushes

Where we learned to
Sing in the moonlight
Just wait and see your
Smile in captivity

A Cat’s Dream

How neatly a cat sleeps,
sleeps with its paws and its posture,
sleeps with its wicked claws,
and with its unfeeling blood,
sleeps with all the rings–
a series of burnt circles–
which have formed the odd geology
of its sand-colored tail.

I should like to sleep like a cat,
with all the fur of time,
with a tongue rough as flint,
with the dry sex of fire;
and after speaking to no one,
stretch myself over the world,
over roofs and landscapes,
with a passionate desire
to hunt the rats in my dreams.

I have seen how the cat asleep
would undulate, how the night
flowed through it like dark water;
and at times, it was going to fall
or possibly plunge into 
the bare deserted snowdrifts.
Sometimes it grew so much in sleep
like a tiger’s great-grandfather,
and would leap in the darkness over
rooftops, clouds and volcanoes.

Sleep, sleep cat of the night,
with episcopal ceremony
and your stone-carved moustache.
Take care of all our dreams;
control the obscurity
of our slumbering prowess
with your relentless heart
and the great ruff of your tail.

-Pablo Neruda

Striking A Match

Burning wounds don’t
Further light themselves
Into chaoses of fires
..
Whether or not we learn
To kiss them in the sun
Or loathe them in the night

Wounds were meant to heal
Not become unreal,
Not to forget to feel

The world is too young
To tear all apart
The world is too small
To stop us from snapping
It apart

Burning wounds were always
Just a carcass of rotting flies
Always a fleeting moment

On the Radio

When people speak my name
It’s a twist of two mad tongues
Two tongues I’ll never belong to
Because I am none

Your memory is a remedy
When my mind keeps racing
For the sound of my name
Like dew upon grass
Like silk on skin
Like closed eyes
On a summer night
Is breathless

When I look to the sky
I see a fortune of a paradise
When oxygen fills my lungs
Naturally
I feel the dreams in my head
Bursting alive

Where I’m Coming

We aren’t even married
But I can tell the
Imaginary ring drawn there
By my mind
Is suffocating you
I can tell it has been pushed
Off and on enough times
To question how you feel
Wanting the world or wanting
Eternal peace by my side
I don’t even know you
But I can tell the twists
Of that ring around your finger
Represent the love you wish
You had and the love you do
We’ve never met
But I can tell the spinning lines
On your hands are like
The circles you draw in fields
To represent stumbling and falling
Marching to the finish line
I’ve never seen your eyebrows
Fumble when you’re confused
But I can tell you want to find
Yourself buried in someone else’s
Eyes but you find it selfish
To want hibernation in another’s joy
We’ve never met

Unfathomables

Today, someone asked me
For a song to listen to
Or words to sway to
For their first heartbreak

I didn’t know if I should be
Happy they lived for so long
Without their heart shattering
Or sad it ever had to happen

I wish the bottom of the ocean
Was full of carcasses
Of those who never learned
To break

Then again, I wish the sky
Was mended with the
Unmendables

The thing about stars is that
They’re not candles
Not flames that die in a mere second
Like the way our hearts are

Today, someone asked me
For the unquestionable
Unfathomable
Truth

The Sixth

My eyes are encrusted with filth
That of yesterday
They scream with the torture
Of places like sick

They fall from the sky
Much like tadpoles did
During the late 18th century
I beg of someone to see

Somber eyes are not me
My eyes are chairs
In which someone sits
Playing cards

Only they lose everytime
Forgetting to close
For the last goodbye

Recover

I heard of an experiment
In which someone
Tried to test whether
We were factors of love
Or just pawns
I suppose tomorrow
When I woke
I may not know of
This thing called love
I suppose I could believe
It’s a game or a test
In which children cry
For an imaginary ideal
I suppose one could disappear
From this magnificent equation
With no solutions or equivalents
Leaving empty factors
With no x or y
I suppose we could be factors
In a way
A nicer way to say
Pawns of
A love

Antiques

I have an old soul

Much like an antique
Sold for the first time
With the wrong price tag

I want to tell you
In a hundred words or less
All the things I’ve been
Afraid to say

Let it be sorrow
Let it be tomorrow
They used to say
Before the vase fell

Fell deep to the floor
I never finished saying
Your name

Mirrors

Photo by Laura Williams

The walls tumble down
Around my purple heart
Where the veins cease
To pump blood

I barely learned to
Love someone
Without the absence
Of life

I wish I could tell
My mother that I love her
To the moon and back
But something binds me

I barely know how to love
The crevices of beauty
One might see at 3AM
In the mirror

Someone once told me
There could be a thousand mirrors in the world
And they wouldn’t see themselves reflected
In a single one

The mirror is the world’s mortal enemy
To some
To me
It’s the person inside

If one day I saw
A clear space
Where my eyes were meant to be
Maybe I’d breathe

I Beg Of Thee To See The World As It Is

Silhouettes by Taylor Allen (photo)

On the other side of the world
Rests a girl with pale blue eyes
Her world tortured by corruption
Her hometown sought after
By the very man meant to protect her
Her hair fades from brown to grey
Like her orbs of mystery
Encompassed in screaming for help
The very help others offer their people
How it must hurt
To see the country you love
Reduced to rubble
To view the country you adore
Falling asleep in the broad daylight
Providing nothing but a heartbeat
To the soldiers who fight for life
For the things you’d love to have
But almost wish they didn’t
For you to sleep in the same bed
Every night

Stop Listening

Today, I was prompted by
twelve words found in
the English language
below the words my teacher told me of

She said they were simple lines
We’d recite everyday until
They are quiet words containing
Loud truths I will want to sing

Today, I sing of beauty
And how it is lost in the
Colors of the wind and
The death

 

Muerto

In other languages
One person is always as beautiful as the next
In some ways, I wish I could stretch
My legs far across the coast, above my head
To read the words no one else has seen
To be beautiful in one place and
Dead in another

Perhaps that’s what I’m comprised of
Feelings of falling down and rising above
Pictures of myself guarding the gates
Waking up early to rest in the shower

What I hate about this world
Is uncertainty
But what I’ve learned for sure
Is the certainty of one star exploding
Into a million others is as sure
As the fact that galaxies create me

These Things Make You Cool

Not my photo

It always terrified me
How someone could embark on
A new mission in their life
As if it meant more

More than the core of it all

Seeking more in our veins
Than the words words that flow through
Your brain when it’s clouded
The fear not allotted

How could someone called it migration
As if a bird looking for the forever land
How could one drop everything
In one second

As if that’s all it was; one second

I always wondered
How flying free meant
Vacating the premises and
Leaving what you knew behind

In the dust
I saw the memories
Of sticks, prodding and picking

What I never saw was
Someone looking back

Rails Don’t Bind Everything Inside

Not my painting

Along the rails of my eyes
Are tear stained black drops
That read as mile long-
Equation solving constructs

Black drops of tar that
Break happiness long
Before you can ascertain the
Beauty of what it is

Black drops of scar tissue
I wished I’d saw
Before the moon turns to dust
Before miles of scars appeared

The Lesser Thoughts

In the middle of slumber
The darkness approaches
Silently creeping up
Into the future
Where everything is blank

In some ways
I wish I was born dead
And life was a struggle
Of getting better
I wish that life was
Learning to breathe again

Rather than learning
How to walk
For the very first time
I wish I was born
Knowing my place in this world
Who I would meet and see
Who I’d learn to love
To be

In the middle of September
These thoughts flood the banks
Of where we mumble
Of coherent existence

 

Third Night

The blanket hangs over
The left side of the bed
Much like the left rim
Of my eye is indented
Where visions of myself
Dancing, laughing, sobbing
Sustain me

The ceiling is chipped
Much like dreams
Wounded and torn
By the truth of society
The specks of stardust
Exploding into space
Even though I
Wished on every one

The lifestyle we led
Growing up was
So different and so far
Compared to the soul
I have harvested now
One of fire and decisveness
Fire for every experience
Somewhat terrifed
Am I now