 |
shy art-student doesn't have
many friends
tags along breaks down in tears
in front of well-meaning
3d design tutors.
barista makes the coffee
sm..
|
|
when i'm spoken to too kindly,
it's the unmasking.
i used my sleeve to furiously rub,
traitorous tears away.
and white powder solidified on my arm..
|
|
we expend our energy on cardboard boxes,
and scratches in ink screens,
and four-hour lectures about a future
they won't let me have.
and more;
th..
|
|
last night,
you had a tiny hole in your tights.
we are?
the nuances of sound
and rhythmic pitter-patter of the rain, staring broodily into the d..
|
|
slow-moving optimist,
safe in gravy-stirrer hands,
held in pulling-evening revelry.
hardly an object of poetry.
i'm coughing on you,
you're smili..
|
|
there was once a boy, and his two sisters.
raised with love,
believing that life was an art.
making shy eyes at each other,
hands held in confidin..
|
|
she is: self-flagellation
our punishment for daring to dream
she is imitation
a longing for utter assimilation.
the brightest star in the west.
i..
|
|
to begin with,
the truth:
the earth has turned a year and i have not changed.
here;
love-pressed.
giving blood and giving time.
infinite music..
|
|
in the future, somewhere,
you follow me through white canvas corridors.
the faces and paint splatters
that make me want to draw.
waking in each ot..
|
|
stranger, dream to suicide.
lying on the ground with his shoes upturned,
in dream-world i begged you for our lives.
kissed his hand, and solemn fac..
|
|
|
first
prev
Profile
Writing
Friends
Share This