For You

The moon croons as if for you
The whites of your eyes
Locked onto mine
Though I knew it all the time
Don't stop and I'll fall just for you

So Pass Over Me.

Keep the distance comforting
In a locked embrace
Dance naked for me
I'm hellbent on misery
Oh my God, I'm gonna be sorry.
So sorry,
But If you don't stop
I'll fall just for you.

So Pass Over Me.

If I get cold, It'll be alright
Your memories warm, so I'll be just fine.

Confesional

I'd burn All my bridges
To spend one night in your bed
Pretenses of cigarettes and chess
Breaking glass and your hand on my hip.

A ricochet of glances
Staring into a mirror
Plant my hand on your chest
Curled under the collar to pull you into me.

Black Linen
Stiff-backed and uncertain
I have no shame
You lazy son-of-a-bitch.

Clarity

When I'd finally finished shuffling
One foot in front of the other
Into your current climate
I was surprised to find what I should have known already

Curses crushed beneath my feet
Wandered through wastes intrigued
Optimistic as can be
Now every lines like pulling teeth

And yes I was so certain
Convinced of my own inertia
Cause I believed what you told me about roads converging

So maybe Irony's changed her name
And I'll be smarter next time
Just like I promised I'd be.
...but not likely

And yes, I was so certain
Convinced of my own inertia
Cause I believed what you told me about roads converging

So maybe Irony's changed her name
And I'll be smarter next time
Just like I promised I'd be.
...but not likely

When he applauded my honesty
Quoting a song I'd sang about you
Every words untrue
Cracks run through to the other side
These words dont come out the way you'd want to
'Cause there's another in mind
Yet none of them the way I'd planned to
As you knew...

So maybe Irony's changed her name
And I'll be smarter next time

And yes I was so certain
Convinced of my own inertia
Believing what you told me
Has all these roads in dead ends

So maybe Irony's changed her name
And I'll be smarter next time
Just like I promised I'd be.
...but not likely

Moving Day

I wonder what’s happening. Here. Anywhere but here. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe on the other side of this blue screen light. There’s the smell of new car leather and antiseptic refreshment. The clap of heels against dirty pavement. Stiletto and shiny patent leather. Catsuits are what one would term exciting should they live here. In eternal cotton

It just doesn’t make sense. The slap of blush against skin. Waking up in the morning to find all your stuff gone and just a note of explanation. “I’m leaving.”--“I’m already gone” is the only response that comes up in the minds back alley ways.

And there’s refreshment in the taste of cardboard packing boxes being opened for the first time. Coats the air in the dust of new beginnings. An encasement.

A tomb you’d been casing for months.

She’s there. On her knees, coffee mug on the right hand side. Folding clothes, stuffing the corners full of sweaters and ratted T-shirts to be worn on grocery outings or around the home. Private cloth for the self only. The suits and dresses are hung up, unslumped.

Her dark hair billowing up in humid clouds. Sighing and grunting in turn as she shifts her weight from one shoulder to the other. Lifting the mug of coffee to hook her nose around the brim and sip. It was cold an hour ago.

The coffee mug will disappear too. When you’re done using it. The last grounds washed out and the porcelain allowed to dry on the countertop before it’s stuffed in and around old newspaper.

There are only stagnant memories here now. A memorandum instillation piece. Modern art in apartment buildings across the world over. A dime a dozen and precious. Each and every one.

For what used to be.

Wished for and dreamed. Reality was never more than a threatening phone call away. The bills behind and the ache of a neck bent over bracketed figures. At the kitchen table. Living room. On the floor.

Who lives here now?

Not her. Not me.

No one.

The scurry against homelessness. The audit of income and education. Will you have careers or go back to the dead end that gets by? Dream extravagant and learn to in actuality settle for less than nothing explaining that it was a good deal that needed to be jumped on. No moving truck. An ex-boyfriends truck and too much beer.

So then there is of course, the occupation of a new environment. Scrubbed clean of its old residents. Only their recollections remain. Scrubbed clean and perverted by your own. What?

Smell

Grime

Habitation.

You have a big job to do.

These are boxes we live in. To pick up and move when the year is out. The lease is up. The job is done. Whether we were ready to or not. They contain us and we are contained by them. Contented or mal--, there is no matter here.

A dime a dozen.

And inept.

The maintenance man must fix it when we’re gone.

And Forgotten.

An Outline for an Abandoned Project

Touch Me. I want you to.

Devour me. I need you to.


The initiation of desire, mixed with ignorance for the thing.
And what you get:

A bedsheet bloodied, paraded through the streets.
Singin' "Hail, Hail the gangs all Here"

Becomes a fight for control. Stolen body parts engraved with emotions that are not of the wearer. Taken by force, without permission, and twisted to another's sordid ends. The coercion to take part in another’s misconceptions becomes an enviable trait,



Empathy.


I am so ashamed.


And turn inwards.
Dejection leading to
The rejection of the senses, the desire of what was before
Cast out and denied.


It was mine once.
But not anymore.


The closure of reconciliation...
Some things can never be forgiven
While there are others that must in order to get to the next...



Power Up.



By distractions. Let the subconscious ruminate whilst the rest of the mind and body is


Alienated


Assimilation occurs only after the truisms of abject isolationism are perfected, reached into, turned around on, denied as unacceptable, then swallowed like a horse pill with no water.




Painful.


"Have you read any Heidegger lately?"

No. Just a part in a book I translated from the German. The original inception was intended to be difficult.

Now, it's a copy of a copy of a copy. Becoming what you now have here.


Before you, I was a better person.


The addition of generations is what keeps the species alive long after the page is decayed and rotten.

I think I'm going to focus on the taste of aspirin and the shape of a handkerchief in the hand at a train station.


Afterwards,


I am a business card at the back, in an envelope inscribed
"Take a piece with you. Because I don't want it any longer."

Bending is still a breaking

And he was talking to me of things late at night
Thoughts that keep reoccurring, popping up
Of red flags and sleepless nights
In parts there are comforts
Landmarks to lean on
A ledge to cling on

But Bending is still a breaking
Bending is still a breaking
Bending is still a breaking
Defeats from tiny fights
Bending is still a breaking
Bending is still a breaking
Bending is still a breaking
And that rope is never gone

You say you like the distance that bleeds through my smile
And though you’d like to know me,
I’m still proximity’s child
I know about location
A glance that can span miles
And I’m sure you’ve reservations
But what without them seems worthwhile

But Bending is still a breaking
Bending is still a breaking
Bending is still a breaking
Defeats from tiny fights
Bending is still a breaking
Bending is still a breaking
Bending is still a breaking
The warping of integral parts

About that divide inside
Between ambiguous creeds and ambiguous lies
And who gets the rights to decide
Breeding contempt with a spoiled mind
So days go by
Hand to mouth and everything’s thin
Suicide by slow a demise
Convinced survival's by your own skin

But Bending is still a breaking
Bending is still a breaking
Bending is still a breaking
Defeats from tiny fights
Bending is still a breaking
Bending is still a breaking
Bending is still a breaking
Submit to keep on living

But Bending is still a breaking
Bending is still a breaking
Bending is still a breaking
The warping of integral parts

Squander.

Crinkled.

Rice paper fought through with fist throat and nail. Voiced

. Guttural.

Slipping in and falling out between the cracks.

of broken teeth becoming warm. Precious and vilified simultaneously. This is a commodity that cannot be ignored

if only for the fleeting of the taste of crash.

You're broken

Jau


nty.

Worshiped for the time it must have been. Led up to.

Led on through. Let up and then find yourself let down.

There's something here to this. I tell myself convinced if only for a second.
The same one it takes you to lift a glass.

For dust to settle.

And disappear.

Old Song Snippets I want to save while Im housecleaning

Between what we thought
And what we actually find
Every syllable gets digested
I used to hate the space I occupied

But--

This skins much thicker now
My grins a grimace now
Bitter’s a badge blazing
on my chest now

With your scriptures as
inspiration
Disgust made flesh
sets so resilient

And you still dont fucking get it...


I decided I would exist to spite you