Poetry V.

1a.m. showers

Down to the pore the soap doesn't cleanse me,

makes me weaker and makes my heavy

footsteps drag their tread,

loud down the hallway

wake up all the rest,

they're sleepless as always

anyways.

Nightmare of You -Thumbelina

Thumbelina
Hey, dainty girl,
Flailing on the side of the road,
With your great thumb in the air.
I hope you don't mind my asking
But what happened to your underwear?
And does your husband know
A thing of your succeeding path
With car operating?

Sexual deviance!
But Julian would never understand.
And doesn't he know?
That just because he's a painter and he loves you,
It doesn't mean that he has got a clue.

About my Thumbelina!
I've never seen a pair of digits quite like your's... before.
And I've been travelling shore to shore,
Into arduous palour.
Your almost perfect body's got me quivering
In a ball.

To that brash cowgirl,
With her hands petting your crotch.
And humping you in towering grass.
Naked & gender-bending.
What makes you think the two of you will last?
For there's no damer man for her.
There's just this open road,
Where she'll hail down some pervert!

With the usage of her giant thumb!
But Jellybean,
You could never comprehend
The intellect of her mind.
And just because you can make her cum with your hand,
It doesn't mean that she'll be your woman.

My Thumbelina!
I've never seen a pair of digits quite like your's... before.
And I have travelled shore to shore,
Into arduous palour.
Your almost perfect body's got be quivering
In a ball.

But twas a loon on a hillside.
Planting a seed between your thighs.
You fancied his therapies,
But he's just a sadistic sadonist
Who gave you that bastard kid.

My Thumbelina!
I've never seen a pair of digits quite like your's... before.
And I have travelled shore to shore,
Into arduous palour.
Your almost perfect body's got me quivering
In a ball.

Yeah!

My Thumbelina,
My Thumbelina.
My Thumbelina,
My Thumbelina.
My Thumbelina,
Hey, have you seen a... oh.

Poetry IV.

Board Games for the Heart

How could I ever let myself get this way,

I tried so hard to separate myself from their reality,

From the regulars enrolled in the fucking game.

My instructions: never say love, never say your name,

Never utter a sentence in either of those directions,

Those were my rules and I used to follow them well,

They kept trouble out of my clutch, kept the dice out of my grasp.

Until one day, I let one slip, one seven syllable phrase changed my game,

Of course only now do I realize what an idiot, a fucking fool I became,

Because from that point forth I enter The Game.

The game you start playing once Shoots and Ladders becomes too passé.

Poetry III.

Lonely darlings can't see me pout can't hear me moan.

Lonely darlings,

Can't see me pout can't hear me moan.

Lonely darlings,

Can't see me pout,

Can't hear my moan.

Film Noir

Poetry II.

It took me two and a half seconds to think this through,

but I spend the rest of my hours stripping it,

of all the hidden details,

over romanticized it all to an ugly ,

guilty pleasure.

Poetry I.

How can I fill space with all that I know not

never experienced and never once known, how can

I expect to convince the prevailing ears that I've

time and time again been there and done that.

All lies.

Just lies, filled with imagery falsely presented in verse

so sure of itself, but never once understood

the power of what it narrates.

Nostalgia

I found this polaroid on the sidewalk between ice and stone, walking to the bus stop after getting coffee downtown.

It's always unbearable to leave the aroma of roasting coffee and the clink of silverware on porcelain that creates that unique atmosphere of that tried and true cafe. The one that doesn't make the soy latte too sweet, it always comes to you hot and steaming to defrost frozen digits.

Beached Whales

So here were are, first blog, first post-sort of-and what to say... want some of my naive insight?

Okay this will do. I'll give you this analogy:

My life is like that of a suppressed minister's daughter. Except the thing is there is no one suppressing me. The tide is rising and are bringing anguish and frustration to the shore. Beached whales ruining the scenery, my beach is full of them and it smells unbearable.

Things have gotta change, or I will go ape shit.

yeah that'll have to do.

Kurt Vonnegut

"All of the true things I am about to tell you are shameless lies."- the book of bokonon