Genderwinds
Spying on the grapes
We have feathers stabbed through our lips and old fashioned dances
In bottles
Talking to strange buses
Bless you bleeding horse head
All of your trials are in the past
And peace reigns
Like bells in tower on fire
Flowers under flash flood waters
Bleep against bloop
Tip hat ho
Bellows
The dark
Trembles out
From your hearts
Circling a braingasm
The shiver reaches out
Wracks the maelstrom
Of glad radiation
Sparkling taboos
In soon blue
I know what is in those houses
My expectations will be met
Forearm to forearm
Those mealy ash piles
Shaded under neon logos
Or ghosts or smiles
Or gone
arbitrary heart metaphors by waysidegarden, literature
Literature
arbitrary heart metaphors
The cliffs are covered with fuzzy caterpillars each making a small gesture that is amplified by the crowd- the sharp edges dulled by the massive undulation/blur. Later the cocoons can be plucked and eaten like fruit with legs kicking over the cliffs- laces dancing in the mighty howling death space. If they have not all been consumed- and how could they?- they rise and fornicate and deposit eggs before finding trains to arteries pumping straight into the dark capillaries of dark space by way of hearth and holly spiraling sparkling eyes hungry on the last page.
Money is like an ocean once you throw some in it just becomes like the rest.
Or like fire.
All fire is the same fire.
Sometimes I think people aren't like money at all but other times I think they totally are.
The engine made of graduated darkness
coos
the fingers
with feather extensions
are used to tussle
the controller burrs
hark
heaven
hail and
salutations to the half beasts
minor brine drips
this entire cavern was formed by tears
there is epic calm/dream abscess
and a place where all life starts crawling
we put the worms in our mouths
shiny hook
The changes
creeep cree eep
around opening doors
closing windows
little ornate guns
colorful curing
death with death
broken windows healed
the feathered snakes pour
in and out like a river
plunging the rain forest
righteous singed
muffled eyes
corralling
noses
give it a name
stroke its neck
after the future is the worry for the past that we survived
truck dust obscured
smiling bruised and lively smell
take the name while it watches
spit
Braid my thought spam
my heart is peeing itself
where is that tongue
? To sweep clean
these foreign commands do not explode
beaches rupture and blink
goat held close my heart is learning
the terror of the goat is teaching my heart terror
this is needed and it sits between the novelty shakers
the pepper mixes with drops of honey
spicy braille
calling
the hand to heart
Grown into a befuddled mineshaft the tree mind glides on it's own screaming gusts. I give you my warmth in battery form. Power the poets and the moths and the old people at the moment they are laying their moth balls in the pockets of deep tweed caverns. Cower gracefully. Fully grace your cowers. Launch the repeaters toward the echo walls. Cacophony cacoons will be achieved in the flashing of seconded grief. They erupt from the ground to be tied to black sky and baby bluespinks shredded over and melted in one of those spacecraft-looking ovens.They want us to hurt, they are that kind.
uncharacteristic cherubim by waysidegarden, literature
Literature
uncharacteristic cherubim
uncharacteristic cherubim
\
quivers and groans
a chicken breast coated in glitter
with tiny kittenish tongues on its underside
for to move
^^^^
but wherefore is somewhere
be:yond_s:cope_of_e:yes
we only obscure the
s{ }paces
we've slathered around the
c{ . )ores
which are useless by themselves
as all points are
\
we can never be examined
thoroughly from these points
for this reason I sought you out
but you came too close
\
you are a delightful blur
useless and as close to me as my
blossoms and my bark
I see your sap and think that it is mine
\
calling away the intimacy cravings
the lights combing and sidling through handsome cra
yes,
I am slow-motion
exploding
breasts and soft
layers
new awkward
habits
renurturing,
unnaturing
I don't want to be
forgiven
or told that it is not
shameful
that would mean
it is
renaturing,
unnurturing
don't say anything,
ignore me
and my deepest wish
surfacing
Ignore it, let me
pass.
tire swing towards swamp heart by waysidegarden, literature
Literature
tire swing towards swamp heart
Juke's
crimes
ticked by linseed mime
The Juliet tangs come craning at the switch board rains
trapped out in the sand traps we birthed a gorgeous goat-headed rhyme
from here it's all talk and tired mouths
It's a good thing they all have our standard issue sweaters, I'm just saying
the crying is distant piano now
and the slain habits resurrected
also gumdrop trees
time is crumbling again
all is well
tainted by awful fire
lets tire swing
towards
swamp heart
heaven inside the amber eyes of a raptor light-speeding turbulence
wolf charms
tallied
graphed
coughed up into the crumpled map
becomes revolting destination
we're off
4.3.13
My favorite sweater
is aged and scratchy
like an old mans beard.
I like to wear it
when it's raining.
I like to hide in it.
I curl up with a
stack of books and
a mug of coffee.
(The coffee grows cold
but I stay warm.)
I bought a smart phone. It is the future now. I feel rushing all around me. Where is the North star I was told about in school? Excuse me- I just need to stare into your eyes for a moment.
April 22-28th
So much muchness. No time for tedious journal entries.
I went to Pennsylvania. Family trip by car starting out after my editing shift on Monday. We drive all day and collapse on top of the sheets of new beds.
Day 1 of exploration (Tuesday) There were battlefields and photographs of battlefields. I wonder what they were like before those associations? I hugged lincoln. Postcard: Ghosts just out of sight (ugly. did not send)
Day 2 (Wednesday) onto Intercourse where we saw the amish wearing their sexy clothes over their formless dresses. My long lost cousin was there. Tiny and studious. DNA and blood all around. This is a trip
april 18th, 2013
(dream log:
I'm delivering papers in a strange neighborhood. It gets progressively darker as I head down an alley towards a dead-end where I know I usually have to cut through a yard to get back to a main street. It is black at the very end of the street and it gets weirdly light up towards the sky way above the blackness in a weird geometric pattern like graded lace. I see cigarettes moving in a gap between garages that lets me see into a wild area and I hear voices coming from the opposite side where the main street should be. I suddenly feel like I'm being ambushed and go into "dog mode" which is a weird survivalist fant