come out

to the harbor at the dusk of day. pink whisps of leftover cloud will blow your heartache away. and if you are careful, if you watch closely, you can suck the last bit of sunkiss up with your eyes. and hold it inside. if you watch closely, if you stay careful, you can keep the last sunkiss, sip its warmth in the night.

clarence woke up

quick
without thought, without care. with one foot sliding down, with one hand moving up. hard wood floor, soft folding covers. smooth sheets, plump pillows. panels polished, quick, crisp, clean.

but one dustbunny hid. grey and matted, fuzzy and unassuming. in the far dark corner, under the bed.

if clarence had had time, if clarence could have seen it-- he would have cleaned it up, quickly without remorse. in one swift swoop, it would be safe within the waste basket and out of the dark.

but clarence woke up too quickly for that. he was letting his legs fall down and his arms slide up. his eyelids, lips, feet, fingerstips think for themselves. all members moving independently. operating on automation. animated mechanically. faucet, paste. soap, water, face. slippers, feet. cupboard, mug. kettle toast drink swallow. chew. eat. nothing tasted nothing wasted.



but one dustbunny hid shy and silent in the dark corner far under the bed.

what if

everything in the natural world is born of necessity?

even lunatics and scapegoats, martyrs, saviors, war? what if love doesn't exist outside its ideology. and acts of it are only thus because we desire its existence so much? so, we have to play it out, however imperfectly.

he has

a strange life. or many lives. and so it's unpleasant, sometimes, to remember. especially the pretty things. even pretty scenes are painted with a hungry nostalgia, tainted with pangs. of remorse, of regret.

his past looks like a painting streaked with too many contradicting colors. pockets of loveliness and compromise and growth are visible from up close. but if you step back, it's reminiscent of a three-year old's ball of playdoh. she didn't understand what you meant when you said, "Don't mix!" as you left the table. she simply saw the brilliance in each pot, the potential in every texture, and loved the feel of doh --squish-- dohing together.

in the end, it's quite ugly. mildewy brown. putrid. turned stale and tough from overuse. so then, the child pushes away and slides beneath the table where she can pinch lint off the carpet and arrange it in star and flower shapes. the playdoh is left on the shelf to harden, cracked and dry. shapeless and unloved.

forgotten,
forgiven,
spoiled.

[sometimes]

i think of myself,


and wish


i could vomit her out.

"now a days

i just don't know much. .. anymore
i can't say what is real"




s e r e n i t y

hard pressed
and panting
for a freakish ripping roar
right down the center of the sky
break the blue in two
let us slip outside
while no one sees the fire
and i sang a song you didn't know the words to
and you said, i'll see you again
my friend fought for right
then became a supermodel
your sister lied
and snuck out the tear in the sky

i want to fly home
but i've forgotten the way to go
and you sang a song she didn't have the words to do
fingers flip for ever after
faith and heart has hungry eyes
i'm angry with a stranger
and the stranger copied me
we were staring into nothing
but crystal tubes
of me or you
and whatever i was thinking right then drifted away with the melody
omisweetFatherPapaloveandmaker
you made a funny little man
he has a normal name
bf//rh how your songs just sing and sing and sing and sing and sing

i know now that [wo]man shall not live on bread alone
but every Word and song and sunlight that pours forth
from the mouth of the Father

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.



* s i g h *

&g'night.

"i don't have a soul,

i am a soul.





i have a body."







~modification of best quote i've heard all year.