February 2012
58 posts
the old man sits at his kitchen table with hands full of junkyard songs  he walks outside toward a tree stump older than he is the head of an ax buried inside the old man pulls out the ax as he does so his bones begin to ache the handle leaves splinters in his skin tiny teeth biting their way inside of him to cut him down but he just grins at the stump hurls the ax back down into it ...
Feb 29th
4 notes
1. She washes her hands slowly. The water is full of laughing ghosts  headed for somewhere bigger,  with a wider floor,  where every step sounds like an invitation to dance. When she is done she writes with a leaking ink pen: “Pitter patter goes the moon. Scraping salt from its rough hands,  to pour it into me.” 2. Leaves stick in his hair as he lays. With his hands behind his head, he listens to...
Feb 28th
6 notes
1 tag
like dingledodies
I’m living, brother. I’m breathing in all those ghosts tonight, and boy, do they like to sing. I got a warm belly these days. My heart is learning how to write in cursive, and even though it’s got a short hand, it’s tryin’. I kept an ocean for you, tucked in my throat, crashing in on itself, waiting for you to come home. Let me sing for you, brother. Please, stick around. Take your shoes off, the...
Feb 27th
10 notes
on the roof of the workshop behind our house shingles had slid off here and there it was rough on our palms as we laid back I pointed to Orion and told you that late into the night Orion would play the singing saw to let the crickets sleep he was a haunting field in the sky and I know you didn’t believe any of that but you said the trees  looked like they were listening for something bending not...
Feb 27th
7 notes
Anonymous asked: I'm in love with your poems. :]
Feb 26th
4 notes
Carrying acorns in the front of my shirt. Some are in my pockets, some in my shoes. A golf cart waiting for me to drive home. When I get to golf cart, the acorns fall out, rolling into the river before I can get them. The ones in my pockets and shoes, crumbled. I sit with my back against the oak tree.  I watch an ant hill. The day is going down. A chill in the air sets me to trembling. From where...
Feb 26th
2 notes
1 tag
A Finger, Two Dots Then Me
This is Derrick Brown’s poem “A Finger, Two Dots Then Me” that was adapted into a short-film.  This is gorgeous, thoughtful, important, tear-jerking, heart-clapping, and monumentally beautiful. Please watch it.
Feb 26th
5 notes
Feb 26th
237 notes
Feb 26th
11,469 notes
I got a poem accepted into Headwaters Journal,...
Feb 25th
3 notes
2 tags
Feb 25th
13 notes
Feb 25th
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Feb 24th
1 note
The mountains inside of you have been reaching up,  cold fingers pulling at the sun, but only grabbing handfuls of midnight instead. For too long they have done this.  They have grown hard. And tired. But there are feathers on top of your mountains. Gray feathers. White feathers. They are waiting for the smallness of your hands to hold onto them. To carry them to the bottom of your mountain, and...
Feb 24th
6 notes
jellyfish
She told me what a jellyfish felt like. Like something fallen out of the sky, something made malleable  by the planets spinning around it.  Warm, glowing, and wet. And I breathed into her  so that she could live underwater or in outer space, because her heart is a traveling song, carrying me in the passenger seat. While she drives,  I’ll look up at the stars, and try to pick out the...
Feb 23rd
3 notes
I could learn how to play the tambourine. Barefoot in the summer,  standing in a river, pants rolled up. Let me play songs for you, while the minnows kiss our ankles with their bodies. You are the house I can sleep in. The rooms inside of you breathe like wind chimes. Tell me what the birds keep singin’ about. Catch some rain with me, let it pour  into the spaces between ourselves until we are a...
Feb 22nd
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Feb 22nd
215 notes
“She kissed as if she, alone, could forge the signature of the sun.”
– Saul Williams 
Feb 22nd
1,400 notes
2 tags
Feb 21st
27 notes
Pulling my fingers through her hair I feel like something beautiful though I can only play two songs  on the bouzouki.  Her eyes start to close. She can take the day with her. I’ll lay here beside her,  humming until I’m sleepy.  While the little birds inside me  nest within her tangles. 
Feb 20th
4 notes
fisherman
he has a tattoo of a fishhook  it rests on his wrist said the moon gave it to him catch and release he lives alone spending the days turning paper into pictures the nights he prays watches television and listens for insomniac birds he used to have a boat one his father built out of a tree it stayed on his roof and he lay in it some nights the rivers inside of him rushing towards his kettle bottom...
Feb 16th
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Feb 16th
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Feb 16th
8 notes
the stars
before the stars came down people feared the worst the cities were evacuated  houses were nothing but boxes a lot of people sought churches heads down eyes closed this was supposed to be the end but when they finally came down from the far ends of space they came down at night they came softly landed in lawns and streets making hardly any sounds as they hit little glowing spheres turning...
Feb 15th
7 notes
Feb 15th
630 notes
strawberries
I dipped strawberries in a bowl of sugar. The juice trickled down, looked like blood on a face full of moonlight. I gorged myself on them, staining my lips with their insides  until my stomach hurt. I felt sick. I wondered if the sun ever felt like that. Its belly too full,  round with something sweet.
Feb 15th
5 notes
Feb 15th
11,939 notes
Feb 14th
8 notes
the birds
he found small birds one night laying in the street broken and bleeding they breathed like comets he brushed the sky off their feathers whistled to them while they slept they stayed in his bed beside him too tired to make a mess he fed them bread in the morning the smell got them to sing again then one night he carried them up to the roof sat all the birds around him he told them stories about...
Feb 14th
3 notes
Feb 14th
16,202 notes
we stood on the beach I was diggin’ for whalebone not anything big  just a small piece of something  to hold on to and feel like part of something bigger she looked out at the waves the night made ‘em look restless she put a seashell in my hand when i held it to my ear i heard her breathing
Feb 13th
5 notes
4 tags
Feb 13th
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Feb 10th
1 note
1 tag
Feb 10th
8 notes
Feb 9th
24,588 notes
Bread
I’m trying to be kinder. Practice kindness. Tell the truth, not only to get honest responses in return,  but to let the sugar of truth stick to my tongue. To avoid cynicism and negativity in any form.  Distance myself from those who practice cynicism and negativity. Distance myself from those who would bring me down, via cynicism, negativity, self-loathing, etc, As well as those who bring question...
Feb 9th
9 notes
Feb 9th
113,389 notes
5 tags
Like Handshakes
My buddy Jamie’s band, Like Handshakes will be releasing their first album, “Tongues” on February 18th. So I’m suggesting y’all take your narrow behinds on over to their bandcamp page and have a listen. If you like it, pre-order it. If you like it and can’t afford the quite minuscule amount of money it costs to pre-order it, then beg for the money, sell some...
Feb 8th
3 notes
1 tag
Feb 8th
32 notes
gravel
on a stump down the road a little man stands an old man he has dust on his knees his pants are corduroy and he wears a dark blue vest made of night sky fabric his hands look like bark there are wrinkles of prayer on his face and his beard is rabbit cloud he sings about the devil sometimes and one time he told me about his billy goat how the goat eats everything has a beard like an axe swing and...
Feb 7th
3 notes
monkey bars
The dirt settled in my hand the same as sugar. I had to know the taste of it. On the playground after school waiting  for ma to come pick me up. I dug in the dirt, enjoying the feel of sand running over my hands. I buried them like secrets or gold  and avoided touching my eyes. I let caterpillars walk across my fingers. I liked how their entire body was a furry green mustache. And how they would...
Feb 7th
5 notes
1 tag
Feb 7th
27,460 notes
I watched him gut a fish pulling the skin back like a page in an old book his rough fingers turned delicate i liked how the fish’s eye looked like a marble not made for playing in the dirt but for holding and looking through blood got onto the table outside while  the radio in the yard  talked about a football game   i threw rocks in the pond the ripples looked like grandma’s hands.
Feb 7th
2 notes
3 tags
Feb 6th
14 notes
3 tags
Feb 6th
81,932 notes
Feb 6th
313 notes
i sat next to the creek
while the sun bled through me. I pretended my name was Tuesday  and I was a thief. I stole feathers from the ground. The heavy ones, full of magic. Skinny ghosts walked by. They ate cricket string.  I could only hear their chewing. I fell asleep out there.  Dreamt about a lighthouse. It was evening.  Going up to the top I felt like a cigarette. I grew tired with sweat. At the top of the lighthouse...
Feb 6th
1 note
All I dreamed last night
was Space Jam. I just watched Space Jam in my sleep. Nice.
Feb 6th
5 notes
Feb 6th
56 notes
1 tag
Feb 5th
1,508 notes