This Flooded Freewaysend a thought my way can I get you something else? there’s syrup dripping from my ears so messy, I can’t think. this flooded freeway thinks nothing of you or me.This Flooded Freeway
the cars yell back and forth and minds bash like bulls. important impotence petty like carbon, alone. we all live on the surface of blue glass where the nearest star is too far away.
Dinosaur HouseThere was a skeleton of a house across the street from ours. It was right on the ocean, although it did nothing to block us from any of the salt spray. It was massive and gray, rotting in the humid summer sunlight and the oppressive winter rains. Its history was a familiar one. Lots of people had tried and failed to build out here. There was another dinosaur house on Kaloli and 5th—also massive, but framed with heavy iron beams that were now red and disintegrating. “Plastic rusts in Hawaii,” my mom would sometimes complain. The dinosaur on 5th street might have become something more grotesque than just anotherDinosaur House
I'd followAnd he's a tree who wants to come inside like a million cats, he smilesI'd follow
with twice as many green and golden eyes a flower-power growing on the outside
of my windowsill tapping at the screen to let him in And he's a shady golden tree A tree who wants to live with me. A tree who loves me more than me A tree who wants to be let in
how come the apple in my hand is sour? what if it was just out of reach?
But since he's standing at my door
Risking all his roots and leaves I can't just say that if he would just run away I'd follow.
I do sometimes lurk here.
Tom
thanks for the comment.
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Wondering, Wondering in Feilds of Disillusion
ah, but those are the best kind! thanks for the comments, and thoughtful ones at that. i'll think about the phrases "deserted" and "dances and sings". i'm glad you liked it anyway.
as for Six Years Deceased: there was no intent to make it seem unsentimental, but after 6 years (7 now), it becomes easier to look at things objectively. and there was definitely no hostility intended. if anything, i have a semi-forgotten affection and respect. i was just trying to point out how we do our best to keep the dead "alive," and often have a hard time accepting the hard truth.
no one's ever told me it makes them feel uncomfortable. thank you.
What you know you can't explain, but you feel it. You've felt it your entire deviant life, that there's something wrong with the story. You don't know what it is, but it's there, like a splinter in your mind, driving you mad.
You take the blue pill, the story ends. Your browser closes and you believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill, you stay in wonderland. And, I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes.
I offer only the truth, nothing more.
Take: The Red Pill
Take: The Blue Pill
--
The Angry Deviant
Random Deviant
Prisoner #something (I forget) came after watching Saul Williams movie 'Slam' (like slam poetry). His character was in jail and at one point in the movie, just broke out into poetry when he was about to get beaten up. They all just stood in awe, and he walked off.
I loved that, and wanted to pretty much wanted to do it in my own way. So I put myself in his position, the boredom, frustration and such, and that came out.
Thanks for visiting.
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#writers - [link]
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