Wednesday, December 28, 2011

epic of the Atlantic.

my brother and my sister don't speak to me; but i don't blame them.

as the grandfather descends into the faded, uncontrollable angles of his mind,
the granddaughter hums to the ocean.
winded, dark, dangerous--and the most comforting thing to be seen in a long time.
time swirls like paddled water, and the life circling around her finger freezes just long enough to catch her breath and hold onto the railing so as to not slip in the ocean, the same descent, the same loss. to be insane is to be dead.

where the snow falls, the man waits. for an answer; a whisper across the Atlantic. you cannot hear the flakes hit the ground, the sidewalk is too wet. no danger between the cracks and across its vast stretches and parking lots. only wet.

if there were no warmth in my hands, i would catch the snowflakes and make it a tower just so i could watch it fall and blow over.

resting, the boat's engines cease their turning, and the granddaughter catches her eye's desire. stealing her breath, squeezing her heart, squandering every good and sensible notion she has ever had. that look changed her. for the "deep," worser. and for the shallow [experience makes better superiors], better.

do i claim my words to speak for the ocean?
well, no one has ever seen the wave. all the waves in the ocean equate to a life of breaths, a story to be told, a narrative to be respected.

and all these words from a basement. who will remember? who will discover? or will they sink into the floor and become soil on the material?

help me find my way cause i've been lost since you've been gone.

Sunday, December 11, 2011

we question the passes.

to be fair, you've never had your traveled feet in my trendy shoes
and i have not in yours
but when the glass cracks, and the water breaks, the
pressure is off
wheels stop turning
they spin on their own accord, madly
until the world freezes
who drew the line?
canyons spread apart slowly with time
waters carving out their ways at a malicious pace, slow but steady {wins the race}
i wait in its stones, underneath its rushing passes
aware of the storm
i became simple
because i let myself discover why
while you search i will wait with the waters

simple and cut
minimized to an issue

Sunday, December 4, 2011

love for now.

the taste of someone new rests on my lips
as my heart twists into circles at the thought of every future, and
every moment to come
the beautiful, the
warm & cold
i fear my sense of true is flawed, and that i
prefer the ones with mug shots
but i cannot imagine a day without
so i will pursue the
until the next day
and the next