Saturday, March 28, 2009


poised on a wooden canoe,
red paint fading
sad, glances
words spreading
blank black blanketed beds
crying for warmth
dusty spider webs
spread in the corner
water, calm
kind to the strangers below
you discover yourself before the wind
unwinding thoughts
the first foreign—buzzing echoes
the second strange—wings of bees burning brightly, slightly cold
the third-a ray of sunlight: pure
breath spreading
I saw you with your graybeard spreading
your cheeks in ruin
still, sweet
you spread
your arms

Friday, March 27, 2009

some people

know how to kill words and cry innocence.

Monday, March 23, 2009


i'm used to falling deeply, never lightly. always out. out of torn pages, and onto ordered thorns. black holes, tightened at the waistline.

never in

always out

Sunday, March 22, 2009


centralisation of capital led to the economic crisis

centralisation of pessimism will lead to a suicide crisis

as evidenced on our bodies.

Friday, March 20, 2009

the mind in pain

When the body is in pain the mind suffers, but when a mind in is in pain, every body suffers:

The mind is in pain when brain cells tingle but forget to mingle,
speech becomes blurry like stars falling on the window shield of your brand new car,
answers leave a bitter aftertaste and you turn nostalgic towards questions that breed questions,
smoke rises from tongues scorched by the heat of political visions,
the sea evaporates and you shower with sand that was once rock,
when nothing is too much too hold especially at midnight when the clock roars,
pounds and pounds and pounds against glass doors locked in your mind.
you shed weight
and forget about love
and everybody suffers

Tuesday, March 17, 2009


We want to move closer to insanity
We want to batter our dreams into bottles
Of all shapes and colours, but specifically azure coloured glass
Where we whisper tornadoes
We want to grow innocent on filthy streets
And burst into verse
We want to edit suicidal notes
Make sure the endings rhyme
We want to manipulate time
By stitching hands
it's difficult to figure out what we want

Saturday, March 7, 2009


Nothing happened, and that was everything.
Sometimes, it is hard to forgive nothing.
Some people are killed by nothing.

blank spaces

I reassemble ruptured ------
Painting flesh over shattered ------
Blood: a mumbling stream
engulfs the heart—
made of glass
over palms
ressembling -----.