December 2011
40 posts
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let’s plan
a revolution
let’s plot out
a way to overthrow
every wrong system
then forget every solution
we came up with
while we snog
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somewhere
in the infinite expanses
of human interactions
there is an embrace
waiting to engulf you
in its affection
take solace in this,
love is only so many sojourns
away
just a few more pieces of time
till you can sleep
in calm rapture
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it’s because of pagans
not jesus
I want to explain to you
the idea of what a pentagram
is
of why the tree is a fir
or any other myriad of traditions
that your religion stole
in order to suck all the other ones
up
but I know
what a deaf ear is
judging by your tone
insistence we change our happy holiday signs
for the baby jesus
and a few other not so subtle hints
your favorite...
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Sharing Poetry: Walt Whitman, "Poets to Come" →
sharingpoetry:
Poets to come! orators, singers, musicians to come! Not to-day is to justify me and answer what I am for, But you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental, greater than before known, Arouse! for you must justify me.
I myself but write one or two indicative words for the future, I but advance…
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If you’re going through hell, keep going.
~ Winston Churchill
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Would some stranger incessantly flirt with me? it sure would make me happy.
770-286-2204
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“The Mathemagician nodded knowingly and stroked his chin several times. ‘You’ll...”
–
- Norton Juster, The Phantom Tollbooth
(via jessica-mendoza)
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“We’re hesitant to jump on board with heavy attacks” personally against President...”
– Rachel Hartman got invited to a GOP strategy call she shouldn’t have been. And boy are you glad she did. (via yahoopolitics)
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the subtle difference
in delivery
of your lines
when you’re drunk
and when
you’re sober
tell endless
tales
of
squelched
wants
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I want to date a
punk rock princess just to say
I’m kinda hardcore
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I have decided, Ataxic is a way better way to say chaotic.
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Sunshine tiptoes
to my eyelids
and prods me
out of slumber.
Fuck you day.
I want to sleep
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now I go
and dream my empty dreams
in my empty bed
now I go
and toss and turn
with these thoughts of you inside my head.
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The love of my life
the last place I want to be is here
holding this knife
crafted from words
and emotions
listening to you bleed
tears down your face
unable to touch and console you
powerless and impotent
to fix the wounds I caused
I want to curl into a ball with you
but I know it’s not good
or right for either of us
so I hold my weapon
of love
and I cry
because I’ve wounded
the thing I love most
...
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it’s me
addiction
that whisper in your blood
that drags you back
to pleasure
it’s me
hunger
tearing out your insides
ripping up your veins
it’s me
desire
burning out your sockets
killing you slowly
it’s me
yourself
the one you cannot escape
who refuses to be silent
feed me
feed us
to the fire
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tired leather
binds the book
worn out leather
adorns the face
the court orders I be here
but they’ve been here
of their own volition
born of lack of will
powerless to addiction
so now they’re addicted to a group
with simple steps
but mostly
each other
it works
if you work it
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the same words
rearranged
do not make for new ground
they barely make for conversation
but this nonetheless
does not stop the tears
for the new arrangement
hurts just the same
as the old.