something new

It's easy to burn
when despair fuels a fire
set clumsily where my ribs meet.

My insides are hollow
filling slowly with the thick smoke
of my fleeting hopelessness;
It presses itself against my withering organs.

When I speak, I speak in carcinogens,
watch my words dissipate,
get a blood rush sensing your disgust.

I am vacuous.
I am desperate.

It's easy to burn
when despair fuels a fire
and I'll be warm
even when there's nothing left to burn.

hbjfyhgdgfd

I can feel you,
ghosts of fingertips
on top of skin
sweat-kissed,
puckering in the air
of an open window

I can feel you,
dents in the mattress
scented in the creases,
dented from the weight.
When one has gone the
other stays, is patient

I can feel you,
the gnawing on exposed
limbs bent in all directions.
Eyes wide, still hungry and
waiting
for another taste of

you. I can feel
the blood-pulse, the rush
and the push of things.
It's swirling, dizzying--
teeth exposed, grinning
stupidly, wonderfully

I can feel you
when you're gone
when you come, go
when you return.

Where there is nothing
I can feel you.

thank you, too, for being a friend

Yesterday Bea Arthur, the actress who played Dorothy Zbornak on my most favorite show The Golden Girls, passed away from cancer. She was 86. Here's to you, Bea.

blogger =

livejournal

only we're older, more hip, and less emo.

thinking

the neighborhood sits still and quiet
and the children are gone.
those who have moved away or died,
their cars rest in the driveways.
no one leaves in early mornings
or returns at dusk, just trees
and the branches that hang like ghosts
of people we've been before.

ice hardens like sharp glass
along the gutterways, a stark
and harsh light lining my way
back to this place that slips down
in silence at the end of each day
and the faint voices of childsplay
echo like a distant symphony
somewhere in the back roads.

no more stories of the old country
or dinners around the table where
so many dinners used to be,

no more old and and empty souls
retiring to recliners, sinking
into television sets that snow
when the station is off the air

no more mothers, fathers
yet i dream of where they've gone.
i shake and miss the morning break,
and fade into the dawn.

seriously fucked up

not your ordinary whip-it

and so i've learned

shit happens. deal.