a fish hook, an open eye

solartime: dear God, thank you for the flower you left me under...

Sun, 22 Nov 2009 17:17:36 -0600

dear God,

thank you for the flower you left me under the bus station seat tonight.

it’s beautiful.

no one has ever given me flowers before except on dance recital nights.

i’m glad that i danced beautifully for you tonight.

kerri, this post gave me chills. it is beautiful. you are beautiful.

i have that quote tattooed on my back. a poetic tramp stamp, if...

Tue, 17 Nov 2009 23:18:28 -0600

i have that quote tattooed on my back. a poetic tramp stamp, if you will.

dear sierra

Thu, 12 Nov 2009 11:35:45 -0600

you need to buy why things burn daphne gottlieb.

Photo

Tue, 06 Oct 2009 13:31:07 -0500

Photo

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 13:57:10 -0500

help?

Fri, 28 Aug 2009 21:09:52 -0500

sooooo I need some quotes for a press kit. anyone have anything nice to say about me?

2nd draft- possible one minute poem for iwps

Thu, 27 Aug 2009 00:33:18 -0500

when i took your virginity,
i did it carelessly, like a dog
left alone in a butcher shop.
i taught you the way adults love
(quick, dry, no eye contact.)

a year later, in the back of your car,
you showed me what you had learned,
what kind of man i had coached you to be.

there was nothing playful
in the way you hit; pounded, tenderizing meat.
scraping at skin as if you were trying to take back
what you lost inside of me

by the time you came on my back,
my nipples were as chapped
and gnawed as bones, my legs raw
like a newly butchered lamb, bloody.

ode to carbonation 5/28

Tue, 25 Aug 2009 02:25:09 -0500

you taste like what i imagine
swallowing radio wires
feels like: all sparks and pop
music in my throat.

love at first sight 4/28

Sun, 23 Aug 2009 23:49:41 -0500

when she stops kissing you
with her mouth open,
find the screw driver.

buy a newly cut shank of beef.
leave so much blood in the kitchen
she has to ask what happened.

when she stops calling you baby,
hide the silverware
between the couch cushions.

when she starts leaving
your mail on the table,
let the sinks overflow.

when she stops
making eye contact,
set fire to your bedsheets.

when she does not reach
for your hand on the street,
pretend it is the first time

you’ve met.

Photo

Sun, 23 Aug 2009 17:37:02 -0500

happiness in four strings

Sun, 23 Aug 2009 15:04:51 -0500

i am learning to playing the ukulele. it is small and orange and it makes me ridiculously happy. thus far, i can play hallelujah by jeff buckley, the first day of my life by bright eyes, where does the good go by tegan and sara, and wagon wheel by old crow medicine show.

3/28

Sun, 23 Aug 2009 05:54:29 -0500

when he sleeps,
the snoring doesn’t bother me:
the rhythmic growl, gravel shoveled
across the sidewalk of his throat.

it is grasping, desperate way
in which he takes in air—his gulping lungs
as if every dream was filled with water
and he is trying to inflate
the life jacket under his skin.

i babble in my sleep. he believes
i am trying to tell him how my heart works,
says he will translate the manuel one day.
i want to ask him am i the ocean?
are you drowning in everything
i don’t say when i’m awake.

excellent, james

Sat, 22 Aug 2009 14:40:03 -0500

Swelter by James Merenda

Tonight, the air
swam in us.
There was more Jameson
than we’d payed for,
less room to move
in the humidity,
but we danced.
1974 jumping off
David Bowie’s teeth, through
the jukebox,
anachronism we couldn’t give context to
at the time,
hot tramps to Rebel, Rebel
and then, again, to the
swelter that New York City
wore like a mink coat.

Sometime between
the N train
and the 1:37
I got stuck in perpetual smile,
to think
I never need to find anything
if this is what the wander can be.

2/28

Fri, 21 Aug 2009 21:42:00 -0500

when i took your virginity,
i did it carelessly, like a dog
left alone in a butcher shop.
i taught you the way adults love
(quick, dry, no eye contact.)

by the time you came on my back,
my nipples were as chapped
and gnawed as bones, my legs raw
like a newly butchered lamb.

when the apocolypse comes,

Thu, 20 Aug 2009 23:06:00 -0500

and all the windows are shattered
and the car tires have melted into the pavement—
once the last street lamp has wilted like a day old flower
and all of the schools and hospitals
and skyscrapers are folded in on themselves
i will want to fuck you.
you see, i have never handled stress well.

to be continued….

The Good Son, by Jason Shinder

Thu, 20 Aug 2009 18:44:57 -0500

mlekonight:

The Good Son

If God had come to me and said,
if you are willing to forget your self

you will find the cure for heart attacks and compose
the greatest symphonies,

I wouldn’t have been sure of my answer.
Because there wouldn’t have been enough

attention to my suffering. And that’s unforgivable.
But I keep on forgiving myself

with God’s love. And it’s strange I should say this
because my mother died of a heart attack

after months in a hospital room full of a silence
that lodged itself like a stone in her throat.

And she thought I was wonderful

and would do anything for her.

damn…

hey! that is me!

Wed, 19 Aug 2009 17:42:41 -0500

hey! that is me!

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Tue, 11 Aug 2009 04:28:12 -0500

i am a stump for you count the rings. this is how long i’ve waited. - Sarah MorganWriteBloody...

Sun, 09 Aug 2009 22:48:00 -0500

i am a stump for you

count the rings.
this is how long i’ve waited.

- Sarah Morgan
WriteBloody Author

megan falley pimped my tumblr. it is now beautiful.

Sun, 09 Aug 2009 21:29:42 -0500

megan: pick a number 1-8

sierra: 7

megan: nice. thats how many beers i have to drink
bahahaha. oh jesus i am laughing by myself… at myself… this is silly

sierra: hahahahaha
get it