summersin

like oh god

summersin — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 23:42:40 +0000

Honesty is beautiful.
In the same raw way
Blood is, as it elicits a
Shocked gasp and
Stained, sticky skin
The opposite of the
Way lying is beautiful.
Lying is painted lips and
Dim lights that flash
Promises before dying.
Falling like stars before
Crashing on the floor
In a shower of sparks
And glass–honesty once
More–before darkness
Settles over like a plastic
Bag. Like oh God as an
Impromptu prayer begins–
Fear-inspired religion that
Melts away as the darkness
Fades and embers die.
Like oh God, it’s too beautiful,
And ugly and convoluted.
Twisted like the labyrinth,
And oh God I’m lost and
It’s dark and God please.
Please save me.

intoxicated.

summersin — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 23:56:02 +0000

I want to intoxicate someone
With my words. With pretty
Thoughts and sad, lovely dreams
Where it doesn’t ever seem to be
Just them and me. I want to make
Them drunk off adjectives and
Verbs that bring them back to
That summer with the one and
The winter that followed where
Sorrow drowned in madness.
Where the bottle replaced soft
Skin and sweet words that
Promised forever, meaning until
The end of September, the
Month of eternity. I want their
Own sentences to slur as mine
Try to infiltrate, and strange
Thoughts mixing with mad
Dreams produce their own
Intoxicating qualities. I want
It to spread like a disease, where
Poetry is borne through spoken
Word and contagious and
Incurable–harsh, flowery words
Flowing through blood streams
And undetected by any tests
Yet known to man, that enchants
And intoxicates the needy, who
Pass it on in their own, street
Ridden way. Until nobody
Remembers the slang-rhymed
Speech of the youth of yesteryear,
Before the world was intoxicated
With the beauty of sadness and
Madness and sweet dreams with
Curtains billowing.

disappear

summersin — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 23:47:15 +0000

One day, she swore, I’ll disappear. Like a bird’s shadow as it flits into the forest. And they’ll ask, what happened to that girl, with the dark eyes and swollen heart, with ink-stained hands and tip-tumbling words? Whatever happened to that girl? And she said she’d laugh and throw a cannonball into the creek–the remedy to dead bodies that sink. That laughter would drift into the breeze and any scenthounds searching would catch it like a cold and follow it’s mirth(lessness) all the way back to where she once stood on the bank, footprints still sucked into the cold mud. Maybe it was a ghost, the chief whispers prophetically, before pulling back the dogs and taking his leave.

cotton promises

summersin — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 23:42:26 +0000

Shaking—dark and quiet. Night descends like an eagle, dropping its shadow upon the earth. Majesty at its finest. Child of the evening air, with whispered steps and silky hair, call out to your fellow heirs—just let them know you’re there. Alone but united by the soft suffocation of darkness, of pale syllables that roll off tongues and plume into the ever-colder air, of cotton promises that swell in your mouth like poison. Choking and sputtering on words that should never have been captured in that cage you call a chest—those vows and swearing oaths that crawl off swollen tongues as lies before they’re even told, before their long life has begun—they’re resting as their work is done.

within hours of an inch

summersin — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 05:46:46 +0000

In a strange, strangling sleep, dreams stretched out my hair and cut it within hours of an inch. Wake up wake up but it’s like a gray dawn where night is still suffocating and thick. Get up, it’s insisted but those inches are far too long for minutes and a meter is how much longer is left in the race but baby I can’t move that fast. Like a boa constrictor with its tongue flicking against slumber-warmed skin, again again wake up but it’s like oxygen isn’t coming through, eyelashes weigh a thousand liters that drip-drip-crash towards the floor, that just won’t open anymore.

savage

summersin — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 00:00:52 +0000

Savage. Like blood not freely given. Like mud smeared across naked skin. Like the truth that supposedly will set you free. Perhaps it’ll tie you down. Like the dominatrix that won’t play around. Roar, she purrs, like the cat with its ears laid back. Alarmed at the shrieking sirens as they disappear down the road. Not hard to follow. Paved and painted pretty for the world of tomorrow. That “post-apocalyptic” eternity, that final plea made by humanity that just screams catch me. Seize me, skin me like the infamous Bill, show me the way to that infinite haze, that killing gaze, our youthful, deathless daze.

slick stone steps

summersin — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 04:38:41 +0000

A furtive look around before lightly tripping down the slick stone steps. Each breath is a frosty, wary plume that disintegrates into the shadow-black trees and grass. Sneakers pad softly on the gravely dirt path; a cell phone light dimly ensures the trail is followed. Lights flash from tractors; people screaming in the distance. Each step is quick and light, surreptitious in the uncertainty of the proximity of other people. Turn after turn until no lights are visible. Until the trees seem to crawl with the sounds of humans in the distance, until every leaf and blade of dying grass seems to reach up and stretch out, pointing the way to you, staring and waiting as the summer dies into winter, resentful and ancient and rising up against youth, against the fertility assumed. A rustle too loud to be anything nonliving is startling, and almost-running shoes create the steady rhythm in the living and dying darkness as they return to those slick stone steps and the safety found in anonymous numbers.

fast

summersin — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 17:39:09 +0000

Gotta get out of this. Harried, hurried, worried, the list goes on and on about the way these words escaped their prison. The failure to capture some more leads to a silent leaving, no goodbye spoken so she didn’t heed him, his franticness, the panicked thoughts that flew through his mind faster than the speed of light. So fast that he didn’t even realize what he was doing. What he was running from. The way of life, of strife that he didn’t intend to return to. Thoughtless, nonsense words overflowing from his mind out of his mouth, a dam being broken the farther he got out. Vroom, it occurred to him, God he was going too fast. So fast, like his thoughts, so fast it was slow, so fast a shot of the ultrasound flashed before his eyes instead of the sign and cliffside.

artist’s hand

summersin — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 02:55:11 +0000

Sweet like tea, like honey, like sugar could you do something for me? Baby please. A whispered request under a bloody sunset as one counts the ribs of another, slowly working their way down. Excuses excuses executed like abuse as a drunken rage is let loose. You lose, she hollered, the wind ripping her voice away and tearing it apart. Dashing it on the cliff rocks like the ocean as it beats away. Eating away at the jagged stones like a guilty conscience until they’re smooth and clean like a river’s ravine when the water is slow and old, full of stories untold. Secrets cling to canoe paddles as they dip in and out, slow and relaxed as the sun stretches for the river bottom and sinks its claws deep. Drawing blood, as an artist’s charcoal sweeps swiftly across to its goal. Baby please? she asks again, under the violent sunset and steady artist’s hand.

precipice

summersin — Sat, 17 Oct 2009 15:58:46 +0000

Dig down. Deep down, into the metaphorical grave of your allegorical heart. Symbolism always did run rampant in your family. Opening you up was a delicate art, like prying the intact petals of a rose apart. Sharp drop, a precipice of blood pressure, we’re down to the last seconds of a wannabe-existence. Acceptance of something you refuse to acknowledge. Judging like it’s a trial, you’re the defendant and the world is full of guile, for a while at least you join in but damn it burns you like a stove. Heavy as a stone, your heart sinks down and sneaks out, tired of being buried beneath your corruption and hate. Better go catch it before it’s too late.