The Best Part of 'Believe' is the 'Lie'

Daddy

2010-04-30T19:14:00.000-07:00

Girl on your chest

Barely three years old

Sucking her thumb

Eyes closed

Her body following the rhythm of your breathing,

rising, then falling

Her nose tickled by the scent of your sweat

The taste of a happy sort of peace at the back of her tongue

Daddy, why?

Daddy, how?

Girl on the swing shrieking

"Higher, higher"

Drunk on the timbre of your low laughter

and on the sunlight illuminating your face

I could close my eyes and walk whenever I was with you

Close my eyes

and breathe.

Where do the years go?

Sometimes the one who is meant to protect is the one who hurts you the most.

Keeping the Moon

2010-04-30T18:37:00.000-07:00

Please, love,

Remember to forget

Shared coffee

Smell of skin

Running in the rain

Notebooks brimming with despair

and buses to nowhere.

The torn ticket on the empty bus seat

Staring out the window

Empty shells walking about

Errands being run

Books being read

Music being composed

People being forgotten

Silver is shinier than gold

and pretty is better than bold

Hustle

Bustle

Hurrying to live your life before it is too late

This is the first and the last time

And you have already

failed me.

Skydew

2010-04-30T18:30:00.000-07:00

When it rains,

I like to go outside

with my soul stark naked

Standing outside windows

Looking in

Appreciating bad feel-good music,

greenish-yellow warmth and

crudely intricate china.

When it rains, I like to dress up in my finest clothes and

jump!

elbow-first into the waterways of yesteryear

I go in until I can hear nothing else

Resurfacing just before I drown in silver tears

When it rains,

I like to stick out my tongue to

taste the rivulets of stone soup clouds

burn

my throat

as they

down.

Bitter medicine is good for health.

Stupidly Expensive Xenophobia

2010-04-06T09:10:00.000-07:00

"Oh look, the sky is tremendously pretty today,

the sun looks the best."

"No, the moon is the most beautiful."

What tosh! Is it not possible to

just look at the sunset?

These are our supermassive black holes

Sucking us in

Look at the brilliant trails they leave behind

Silver, green, yellow, red, white and gold

Brilliant, brilliantly black indeed

Throw away the four-colour theorem

I have a one-colour theorem

No more map pins

Rip up your maps

Who needs cartographers when you have a heart of your own?

Listen.

2010-04-06T09:00:00.001-07:00

Visualisation: Scope
The kiss!
Black gives way to blue
clashing, swirling, whirling, twirling
in a sky blue waltz
or perhaps a March under Blue Skies
with saccharine magenta and riveting raspberry red
like a sunshine yellow Kadinsky
it's dance of the freaky circles

The brushstrokes blend with the brushing of lips
flash to off-white cottonstar
Tongues touch
silver star-flavored cominatcha: we're so mad and happy we're dizzy
Hot hot rainbow
where you're the pot of glittery gold
and what goes on below?

Green is not your enemy
Gray arguments equal sparkly cinammon loudness wars
Flat green line starts zigzagging
Bold thick matador red marker ink across the page
Furious violet Anti-war statements made
Threnodies graphed in porpoise turquoise grids
Another chapter noted and closed

We love like Scope
Held together by one lime-green line
Up up down down left right
You complete my lines

The world holds us tight.

Tu es le plaisir de mon soupir
Toi l'aube et moi le ciel qui se couche
Tu est le jamais de mon toujours
T'es mon amour; t'es mon amour

Aspiration Expiration

2010-02-10T05:13:00.000-08:00

Today, I killed a dream.

A fluttering, delicate silhouette of a dream.

Then I pinned it carefully - what's that thing, the one where you preserve butterflies in a variant of formaldehyde and stab their bodies with needles? yeah, that -

to my scrapbook of Reserve Dreams

for when I needed to build up my resolve.

The faint sickly aroma of imminent rebirth

was comfy like bunny slippers,

plinking piano keys and boys standing

outside

staring at trains when it rains.

The soulless on the bus stared.

Little did they know that reenactments to come

were expired Polaroids of blue skies

malaise hidden at every corner waiting

to subvert rainy days and harpsichords

Taxidermists euthanized unseeing cerulean

eyes

leaving behind fragments of

crystal stairs.

Womb

2010-02-07T06:18:00.000-08:00

In the womb

there are no words.

Merely tendrils of thought like

stars holding the earth in

vise-like embraces.

In the womb

naked talking babies are verboten.

An inky blackness reminiscent of:

nothing

connecting celestial bodies with visions of greatness

In the womb

the lines used to delineate, define, and demolish World's End and World

or the distinctions between being and nothing

blur as unruly pens splatter ink across

the blank pages.

In the womb

any part of heaven can be judged (and touched)

just by reaching out

and moonshine smiles

upon all our wanderlust.

We are held up by the stars,

shedding their sparklers dim

wilting

with every nothing

that does believe in something;

stretching to forever, dancing.