as i type this, you're listening
but you can't hear the words
and when you sing
and when you breathe
i'd like you to know i listen.
every word,
every little whip
from your lip
s.
*
sometimes i can hear my sobs in my breaths.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Monday, February 7, 2011
Forests
They would be all sorts of natural – skin and blood and bones. It's all one and the same, and it's all real and there. Unabridged flesh, metal mouths.
It's like falling into place, but breaking some bones.
*
It's Forest, eleven-years-old, and Tops, just a couple months older.
Tops had big teeth and Forest made fun of her for it. He laughed and laughed, and she shied away from him.
*
Twelve was an odd year for the both of them. There was a lot of sitting, on all sorts of surfaces. Marble, tiles, baskets, gravel, cement, wood, chairs, rocks. Skies, suns, clouds, Saturn's rings, and all those celestial things. It was a dream. But they were just sitting.
*
And then came the years of the Great Separation – Forest and Tops grew and shrank and tripped and tripped and tripped in love, and fell so far away from each other. There was a lot of grasping and clutching and grabbing but sometimes their bodies were buttery.
Sometimes they were just butter, melting away under the heat of elsepeople's gazes.
*
And then Forest came back, and Tops let him in. And it was day after day after day of stories and words and so many words. Have you heards and have you watcheds, then let's go outs and are you guys frees. The geography of a line, and the silence of a car crash.
And then there was Piper.
*
Three consecutive numbers – the first was Forest, the second was Tops, and the third was the night. There was a lot of sitting, and a lot of swaying, and a lot of her make-up on his suit jacket. That was when the night was young.
When the night grew creased and even the stars were dull, Tops was alone with her thoughts. And when the sun came up, Tops was alone and her thoughts burst from her skull like a bullet through her brain. It painted her face with the colors of chaos.
*
Forest and Piper could be real good together. They ought to give it a try!
*
Tops was okay.
*
Sometimes she wasn't okay, but most of the time, she was okay. Tops was a skeletal wonder. Real strong spine.
*
It's strange how it all ends, really. Everyone is a princess except the one who wants the crown. And there are no speak nows, no see you tonights, no it was always just yous. It is just smiles that aren't on Tops's lips. Not lost smiles or misplaced grins. They are just not her smiles, and she can't own them.
Pity, though. She would've made a good princess. She would have been a natural princess. Natural as water and forests and volcanoes, but no one's ever going to see her try.
*
oh, poems in prose! why don't i cut this up in lines and show you the ribbons!
It's like falling into place, but breaking some bones.
*
It's Forest, eleven-years-old, and Tops, just a couple months older.
Tops had big teeth and Forest made fun of her for it. He laughed and laughed, and she shied away from him.
*
Twelve was an odd year for the both of them. There was a lot of sitting, on all sorts of surfaces. Marble, tiles, baskets, gravel, cement, wood, chairs, rocks. Skies, suns, clouds, Saturn's rings, and all those celestial things. It was a dream. But they were just sitting.
*
And then came the years of the Great Separation – Forest and Tops grew and shrank and tripped and tripped and tripped in love, and fell so far away from each other. There was a lot of grasping and clutching and grabbing but sometimes their bodies were buttery.
Sometimes they were just butter, melting away under the heat of elsepeople's gazes.
*
And then Forest came back, and Tops let him in. And it was day after day after day of stories and words and so many words. Have you heards and have you watcheds, then let's go outs and are you guys frees. The geography of a line, and the silence of a car crash.
And then there was Piper.
*
Three consecutive numbers – the first was Forest, the second was Tops, and the third was the night. There was a lot of sitting, and a lot of swaying, and a lot of her make-up on his suit jacket. That was when the night was young.
When the night grew creased and even the stars were dull, Tops was alone with her thoughts. And when the sun came up, Tops was alone and her thoughts burst from her skull like a bullet through her brain. It painted her face with the colors of chaos.
*
Forest and Piper could be real good together. They ought to give it a try!
*
Tops was okay.
*
Sometimes she wasn't okay, but most of the time, she was okay. Tops was a skeletal wonder. Real strong spine.
*
It's strange how it all ends, really. Everyone is a princess except the one who wants the crown. And there are no speak nows, no see you tonights, no it was always just yous. It is just smiles that aren't on Tops's lips. Not lost smiles or misplaced grins. They are just not her smiles, and she can't own them.
Pity, though. She would've made a good princess. She would have been a natural princess. Natural as water and forests and volcanoes, but no one's ever going to see her try.
*
oh, poems in prose! why don't i cut this up in lines and show you the ribbons!
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