those rock stars we want to impressI wish I were more drunkthose rock stars we want to impress by sellenimonie
because then, the word would come
like ships on the distant horizon
not like, the words of a friendship long gone and done
not like the happiness of a love long past its prime
I wish I were more drunk
because then, the relics would be clear in the ground and
the archaeologists would not have to erect fences,
and order no build zones
instead, they could dig up the dinosaur bones in their hollow shells
and build shopping malls for consumer joy the next day
and profit and profit and profit and something that distinguishes profit from profit
and makes it a reality that we cannot escape
much like we cannot escape the alcohol in our veins
or the sounds of those who have already fallen asleep
in the next room, while we, the insomniacs, shift and stutter and shimmy through words and words galore
and create multitudes of universes out of the stench of vodka alone.
This is why the only porn worth watching is the porn that shows no emotions nor lust nor the faking of orga
for Alex, with love (1)With love, from me to you after I’m gone,for Alex, with love (1) by sellenimonie
these are the best and worst parts about you:
Suddenly waking, you toss and turn
without fail, waking me in the process
because I guess I’m a light sleeper
but I don’t mind.
I can expect your arm around me
as I can expect your need to hold me, to touch me, to hug me, to bury yourself in me,
even in your sleep.
You never fully wake, and walk around dazed
for a few minutes, sometimes more. This is when you’re most vulnerable.
Almost as vulnerable as when you see me cry,
though I suppose you’re getting used to that.
Almost as vulnerable
as when you’re afraid and wandering and too proud to ask for help,
almost as lost as you’re afraid you would be without me.
You’re frail, always sick, and always inconsistent
in your moods. An ironic kind of inconsistency that makes me wonder
if I can ever expect anything from you.
And whether you’ll be there when I most need you.
I’m afraid you don’
little necessitiesIt’s only a tendency towards violence,little necessities by sellenimonie
only an orientation in the dirt that cracks in midday heat
and in midwinter cold.
It’s only a dependence on the sleeping pills
I gulped for months on end, until I realized they don’t work, never worked,
maybe never will.
It’s a propensity for violence, a need to whisper my name
into your shoulder blades
to make them my own.
person igniting life through explosions.nearly transparent frameperson igniting life through explosions. by chromeantennae
with your crystalline abdomen
and a smile made of snow,
it is the iced cage of smoke
fogging a glass unseen
that makes me wonder
what hides underneath
of your poetic ingenuity.
and this is part two of admiration.
person igniting life through explosions,
you have the eyes of many watching.
retina sponges absorbing
cataclysm seasoned food for thought
raining from a spirit
who speaks so loudly,
even with the quiet depth
of a tired blink
and a smirk that speaks
of words infinite.
the cliche that an image
speaks a thousand words--
for a poet,
is quite simply not enough.
when a thousand words
can say anything infinitesimal
to something grandiose
or even crater space.
and my ears are pressed to the crevices
that words leave open in their cracks
and i can hear the throaty howls
and quiet sighs that escape
and hit the roof of their mouth.
senses playing lids
that hold together lifeforms
because it contains secrets,
muses, music, and musings
interstellar motion (the north star)i.interstellar motion (the north star) by Lissomer
i am in love with you.
i am in love with you
and i ache in every language i know
and a thousand i don't;
your name spilling from
constellations like some
pure wor(l)d built
there are days
i am ador(n)ed
by the skin of those
when kindness blisters
and it burns;
i am spitfire conflagrations
and no respite, no shelter
when comfort is the
you fly from.
in the between
i am paused
these are days
that feel like all days
and i cry out to believe
i am. not broken,
yet sacred and longing
you are everything;
but the sun
|Hello, my name is Marty and i live in Canada. I dabble in just about everything, from photography to writing to slapping coconuts on walls. What sort you may ask? the kind that an African swallow can carry.|