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    poetry


    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    We are targets in the dark
    Cars parked tight in alleyways,
    Waiting to be hit. 

    ...Created 2017-09-06 14:10:39

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bmUR6FCjO5I

    ...Created 2017-06-11 16:25:55

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    John the Baptist makes a beeline right for my car window
    and I remember all those times when I stalked my friends
    until they turned into cigarettes,
    never honest enough to beg.

    The rough edges of the world no longer
    call me on the landline I don’t have, cracking plastic
    pressed against my sweaty face.
    Or maybe they do, but I don’t answer strange numbers.

    I view color schemes designed to make me
    not feel and think of how another self,
    a past self,
    would have been floored by this.

    Pastel gray-blue-otherblue-red-green-purple,
    a rustic artisanal rainbow pop
    and I wonder if there is any language
    in which these colors mean war, or death,

    Not just the slow death
    of domesticity, of fashionable ice cream shops,
    of keeping busy while the ground crumbles underneath,
    one drunken night crying in an alley somewhere,
    Truth and revelation.

    Because what I see in this color palette is the hole it’s trying to hide,
    and the rough edges of the world come flooding back,
    only I don’t have time for them now
    except to think of how I still believe
    in truth, in this truth:

    If the world doesn’t break you until you beg,
    you’ll never see god.

    ...Created 2017-05-26 13:08:46

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    John the Baptist makes a beeline right for my car window
    And I remember all those times when I stalked my friends
    Until they turned into cigarettes,
    Never gracious enough to beg.

    The rough edges of the world no longer
    Call me on the landline I don’t have, cracking plastic
    Pressed against my sweaty face.
    Or maybe they do, but I don’t answer strange numbers.

    I view color schemes that make me
    Not feel and think of how another self,
    A past self,
    Would have been floored by this.

    Pastel gray-blue-otherblue-red-green-purple,
    A rustic artisanal rainbow pop
    and I wonder if there is any language
    in which these colors mean war, or death,

    not just the slow death
    of domesticity, of fashionable ice cream shops,
    of keeping busy while the ground crumbles underneath
    then one drunken night crying in an alley somewhere
    truth and revelation.

    Because what I see in this color palette is the hole it’s trying to hide,
    And the rough edges of the world come flooding back,
    Only I don’t have time for them now
    Except to think of how
    I still believe
    In this truth: everything has an underside
    Of dirt and worms.

    ...Created 2017-05-26 12:57:09

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    Come, sit with me at the bar. The jokes here taste less
    like lead the more you hear them.
    Brush off this jaundiced weather
    Like lint on your grandfather’s army uniform, his frown
    Etched into your smile like a landmine.

    ...Created 2017-03-19 12:25:42

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=fzQ6gRAEoy0

    ...Created 2017-03-01 22:42:18

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    I think you're crazy, maybe

    ...Created 2016-12-13 22:45:45

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    Her father was born in China, or Singapore,
    Brother lost at eight --
    The story wears down
    mountains.
    Sip coffee, think about the next sip
    of coffee.
    She is watching the garbage men
    Like she will have to replicate their motions later
    Like someone who has read the same book over and over
    because everything new
    is just too much.

    She is not beautiful,
    Not in the traditional sense. Not lush and pulsing
    with life. She is pale stallions writhing in pain at the finish line,
    The chance of a falling match striking a vein of coal.
    Her face is smeared
    with oil and sweat, her hair tangled
    and her white dress
    barely holding on to the pretense
    that it is still a white dress. She is
    a used paperback novel that is always in your bookbag
    whose pages you finger,
    both familiar and terrifying,
    like sleeping next to a childhood friend
    seeing all the ways in which the world
    has eaten you both.

    This is her finger inside the hem of my sleeve, saying
    Feel how rough I am. Feel how the years have worked through me
    like a worm through an apple. Tell me I’m ugly and fuck me
    like long division.

    I’m blind and bleeding in traffic,
    I’m naked in the middle of the street,
    I’m walking out on coals,
    To meet you.

    Now we’re downtown. Now
    we’re in the top of your apartment building
    with the lights on.
    Now we’re getting ready to go out.
    Now we’re in our underwear.
    Now the curtain blows.

    ...Created 2016-11-01 11:55:59

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied...

    ...Created 2016-10-03 19:45:14

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    https://theprose.com/Zammatran

    ...Created 2016-09-15 20:49:48

    Be kind, take a few minutes to review the hard work of others <3
    It means a lot to them, as it does to you.

    Machiavellian Constellation written by HisNameIsNoMore
    Deep written by Janesaddiction
    Rooted in Nature written by Chelebel
    FamiliarDemons ©™ written by kyserin
    Meaningless Meanings written by ForgottenGraves
    Ritual Hunger written by endlessgame23
    Gaia written by endlessgame23
    All cause of you written by theman
    My Irish Harp written by poetotoe
    A Worsening Effect written by Daniel Barlow
    no sky on the other side written by teika5
    None the Wiser written by endlessgame23
    A Sense Of Things written by Daniel Barlow
    Mystery Read written by kyserin
    Silent Hill written by endlessgame23
    Ammit Ma'at written by endlessgame23
    A bit of Pain written by teika5
    The Want written by Daniel Barlow
    Live In Between written by teika5
    hurrying About written by teika5
    Starseed written by endlessgame23
    Hyle written by endlessgame23
    Lie back & tan written by Daniel Barlow
    Snippet written by Daniel Barlow
    Unselfish written by theman
    going,,,"Skin." written by teika5
    47.4979 19.0402 written by homeless
    Relentless. The Visceral Fracture. written by Daniel Barlow
    Don't Stop written by poetotoe
    The Human Harmonic written by Daniel Barlow

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    January 10 07
    131,497 Poems
    Posted

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