Saturday, November 21, 2009


blood, its traces proof
of desperate, bursting desire
to transpose thoughts exploded
into utterable phrases
fit to cross lips
live air

by even a heart whose finnicky
shimmer across a baked horizon
melt quickly in order to float
evaporate across

twitched veins pumping proof
of throats clogged with sounds
noises, really
living amoebas' lives
refusing language
and taking the form, instead
of bubbling, simmering

blood drips to fly
not of pain
but of vitality
flying to paint the sky

the sky that finds all faces
not the same
but just the same,
mirrors each dimple, tear
with feverish precision

only one perfectionist the judge
judging slowly
by measurable standards
immeasurable error
and beauty,
no less
no less
than one in the same

Sunday, November 15, 2009

United States of Anticipation

I've had a lot to think about over the past few days. My whole life to think about, really. Every aspect of my coming life hid around the corners of an 1800 mile road trip to New York City.

I don't have time to spell it out right now, but I only have...eight months until my life enters a new, inevitable chapter.

I don't know how I feel about that.