October 2009
“mix me in like kool-aid. sweet and cheap.”
– today i spent three hours in a makeshift dorm room studio, freestyling and poeming and agonizing into a microphone over sigur ros and coming out a fraction less of something i was willing to let go of and a teaspoon more of someone i’ve been waiting to be.
thanks mike.
“Let the wild rumpus begin.”
– Megan Falley. (via grassbladelips)
that’s me, and this is my new catch-phrase.
i’m glad we make that pact
while we were bar-crawl waltzing
to believe in ourselves.
even though the words tasted
suspiciously similar
to 2for1
rum & cokes,
those,
have always tasted like truth.
i’m glad we promised that, too.
you & i, gathering seashells in our t-shirt...
it was the closest we could get
to robbing a bank.
searching in someone's eyes like your favorite...
i’ll miss that.
“LET THE WILD RUMPUS START!”
– max [his first order as king.]
simple goals:
stretch poems drink more tea.
so many people to be.
rebolynn:
Blood Bank - Bon Iver
listen to in a...
he is freebase escalator shoelace. split grape in microwave micro-flame. the word “grenade” vociferated in airplanes.
when he is sleeping, though i call him baby.
i’d like to think your dentures are still smiling (night swimming is truly incredible) and that the early bird special waitress, who knew you like half a sweet&low in your pale cup of coffee- that you tip in lint and lifesaver mints, will miss you. that someone will notice you started sending hallmarks when your hands got Alzheimers forgot how to cradle a paintbrush i hope they miss your...
“the world is too much with us.”
“Today, I was working at a kid’s Halloween festival, giving out candy. A kid...”
– Major awwwwwwww from My Life is Average (via yourpalmal)
me: i'm glad i got fired. it was the worst job i ever had. in two weeks i made what i used to make in one weekend.
chris: yeah, but prostitution has its drawbacks...
i sit in his desk chair and balance my weight on its hind legs, danger is indecisive, it’s a salsa dance with gravity.
“are you grumpy?” he asks, like trying to figure out which of the seven dwarfs i am.
he pulls my chair back to level ground and looks at me in the way i know i can’t find a stray hair on his cheek or crumbs in his beard. i have to look at him right there...
you still live within me like inner city wind chimes a musical jewelery box in the cabinet of my ribs that only opens when i’m thrashing about. i yawn- and our song still comes out. it’s not that i still love you, i just haven’t forgotten how.
i gave her my heart but she wanted my soul.
he says
“i hate bob dylan.”
i say
“i think we should see
other people.”
intangible semifinal slam! →
i’ve made it to the second round of the intangible semi-final slam. this is cool, except that i’m competing against some of my best friends & stellar poets, tracy soren, james merenda, and chris milea.
come through! tonight @ 7:10pm in manhattan. it’s also tonight. the venue is called port41, it’s in midtown. caroline rothstein (beast/BEST) is featuring. you kind of...
“i am not trying to hit on you, but…”
– - seems to be the phrase most men utter when they are indeed, trying to hit on me.
[file under: things i learned in college.]
“there are years that ask questions, and years that answer.”
– zora neale hurston
my phone, the alcoholic.
sunday, on the train from freeport to penn, i dropped my phone in a vodka & orange juice. she’s still drunk and she’s making bad decisions. calling people she hasn’t spoken to in years. typing recklessly. “hello, how assffghrre you?” having random sex with other phones. textual intercourse. forgetting their names in the morning. passing out in the middle of...
“pulses of laughter are the soul, running an old tin cup across the iron prison...”
– tj natole (www.intangiblecollective.com)
for eliza.
her neck hurts, playing for so long...
polio.
In 1953 Bruce’s mama tells him not to play with that boy “He don’t look right” Like rabid dog Two minutes later He talks hopscotch With a disease wearing wristwatch Seven days later It starts as a fever Within the year they learn The thin boy was a carrier Who had secret handshakes with Eleven different children that summer Soon, Bruce’s spine will retire
“i hope you blink before i do.”
tears from looking at the sun.
funny, photographs of forests in new zealand, and the ones of you & i wrapped in the tapestries of my old apartment; ingredients for the same soup.
