Spots to Hide Ourselves

Kicking our feet back
Sinking into reclining chairs
Every grandmothers living room is home to them
Vinyl and cotton and stained with thick syrupy laughs that end with coughs
A minty breath
That spits out locations
Spots to hid ourselves

Names

Her spirits climb through crooked trails
Lying beneath the soles of her feet
She searches and stutters her words
Watching herself
A projection of the two of them
Beneath train station lights
Egg plant - leathered wine kisses
No one told her how sweet she looks when she smiles
Repeating their names in their heads

-

I have begun to forget again
Everything has ended, and finally it's done
They have loved me before, if I do remember correctly
Loving me in a modern spinning wave
In a fashion that will cradle us
and grab us
and poison us
Pushing us down into the biggest moment we ever felt

Written

We have no reason to hide our eyes
But we shield our faces from hat of which we do not know
We receive letters from distant friends
But we lack the courage to write back
Baring ourselves onto sheets of paper
It scares us, but why
Because once we're written down
It wont ever leave
You can rip the sheet to shreds
But we were still written

\\

Jump
Drop yourself into the sun, and fucking feel
Race yourself to see who wins
The you that is, or the you that was

The End of the Season

The end of the season is when we all dance to tunes familiar

At the end of the season is when the sticky film that's rested on our skin for the past two months washes away with every last rinse each evening

At the end of the season, we fear for the year

Convincing ourselves the two days left will be the best

At the end of the season, we reach for sweaters for the bitter nights

We say farewell 

For now

To the Exhibit!

This poem has been selected to join the Children of the Vietnamese War exhibit in Ohio (I think)
( :

Childrens Art.

All You’ll See - Paintings 1, 7, 15 & 17 

Drops of red fall from the sky,

Every time a plane flies.

Splatter on shoulders

Liquid that fuels our veins. 

The city is burning,

Even though you're convinced tomorrow

Morning will be accompanied with yawns

All you'll see is ash.

Our soil is yellow,

The ground beneath my feet is warmer than the sun.

Skies red, birds 

Melt into the horizon.

Your silhouette is all I can remember,

My toes sink into this purple hill.

It's funny to think about what other people feel.

Hand in hand, fingers tight around yours.

Unity is symbolized,

Yes, I love you, but

I wonder what it's like,

I want to know the feeling,

 someone else's palm pressed with mine.

The World and Her Ways

Do you feel the weight of the worlds tongue ?
Singing to hold itself together
Burying its rectangular muscle beneath the ozone layer
Avoiding the axe and pick of the wandering
Do you feel the mass of the world walking ?
Dancing to remain still
Skipping in the dust of the biosphere
Avoiding it's inevitable spin

I miss this girl.

Spells of your absence, brings loneliness ever so close.

My substance-less body weeps for your energy.

My candle lay dark, longing for your light.

Insanity arises with the deficiency of you.

Time is of no value when your presence is unseen.

Lacking you, my words feel ordinary and insignificant.

To me, there is only our love, the webbing of our souls.

- Mattie Liston

(My best friend) 

Rationality, Technicality, Fuck Reality

The words spoken are like herbs falling down your throat

There's cuts on my fingers from the papers I've burned 

Ridding of your prints, and ink dedicated to me

Now your legs look like wires, but shit I can feel you inside

I'm wastin' away inside of this drain

Spinning so sweetly, trying hard to be rational

Butterflies

Your palms sing to me

A gentle collaboration of hums

Seeking for a reply to their tune

Walking, and our scents are mixing in the atmosphere

Our aimless thinking is flirting with the wind

Palms resting against one another

They're singing softer than butterflies

Flight To Chicago

We will hover through foggy masses.
Our footprints are in the dunes.
Fresh, and will be walked upon by the little ones playing hide n' go seek during the night.
Wires converting messes of here and there into the ears of every passenger.
Mumbling with a narcotic film, spitting tongues.
"We will be airborne shortly"