She is naturally sweet, like butterscotch
(meltin' in your mouth!)
with that sassy southern voice that does a hopscotch
between sarcastic saccharine and tangy replies,
yes you, the girl with the cinnamon eyes.
She ain't your grocery store-issued bag o' white sugar
No artificial flavors here, sorry honey, go figure!
She's sweet like the sad aftertaste of sugar cane
Frosty autumn mornings spent dancing in the rain
Tempting undertows lurk, though her surface seems pure
She flickers in & out of reach, like a firefly lure
Swishing rosy spirals in her powder pink flower dress
The same shade as acquired innocence
to match those oh-so...
As the day darkens memories,
light fades & wears away uncertainties
we only see the shadows
of dreams & has-been's.
It's a revelation of our waking hours
which inspires our deepest dreams
and outlines our coveted nightmares
when fear begins to rip the seams
Of that which we love the most!
Hurt is eternal, and indefinite
and though joy is limited
But hey, that's livin',
though,
and yes, we know
the pain's only subliminal.
That doesn't ease the hurt any less
Paine is the constant companion
who's there during our distress
but never lends a hand, and
secretly, shush!
we all fantasize
for the day to come,
when we don't nee
People watching is such a perpendicular pastime
best suited to those whom draw right angles
in order to connect the dots. The over-analytical of the world.
People watching is a tiring hobby, as any chronic offender will tell you
Most are consumed by it, and, having their fill of humanity
in all its bipedal wickedness,
often find themselves nauseated. It ruins your appetite for mankind, doesn't it?
Observing all the unscrupulous things city-dwellers will & do do?
Line-jumping,
parking-spot stealing,
wrong-change-for-a-twenty giving?
They were to busy by their down inequity to notice
him, a tiny boy of no more than seven,
loo
And she did SPEAK, and quotably said...
"... Venice at night, an accountant's soul,
blood of an imbecile, a love rejected,
shot-out lights of a city,
smoker's lung & the inside of a lock,
Confusion, tenure.
The hair of a girl who grows up hopeless."
To which he cryptically replied:
Squid squirtings, a Venusian evening,
Contents of an empty gun barrel.
Absence of bullets.
Faded ink, typhoid, jazz music,
post-midnight and pre-dawn,
a bleeding con man,
fingerprints and veins of corpses.
An asphalt flower, growing in out-of-the-way cracks;
Isolation.
The eyes of Cassiel himself, the angel of tears and solitude.
The man
She is naturally sweet, like butterscotch
(meltin' in your mouth!)
with that sassy southern voice that does a hopscotch
between sarcastic saccharine and tangy replies,
yes you, the girl with the cinnamon eyes.
She ain't your grocery store-issued bag o' white sugar
No artificial flavors here, sorry honey, go figure!
She's sweet like the sad aftertaste of sugar cane
Frosty autumn mornings spent dancing in the rain
Tempting undertows lurk, though her surface seems pure
She flickers in & out of reach, like a firefly lure
Swishing rosy spirals in her powder pink flower dress
The same shade as acquired innocence
to match those oh-so...
As the day darkens memories,
light fades & wears away uncertainties
we only see the shadows
of dreams & has-been's.
It's a revelation of our waking hours
which inspires our deepest dreams
and outlines our coveted nightmares
when fear begins to rip the seams
Of that which we love the most!
Hurt is eternal, and indefinite
and though joy is limited
But hey, that's livin',
though,
and yes, we know
the pain's only subliminal.
That doesn't ease the hurt any less
Paine is the constant companion
who's there during our distress
but never lends a hand, and
secretly, shush!
we all fantasize
for the day to come,
when we don't nee
People watching is such a perpendicular pastime
best suited to those whom draw right angles
in order to connect the dots. The over-analytical of the world.
People watching is a tiring hobby, as any chronic offender will tell you
Most are consumed by it, and, having their fill of humanity
in all its bipedal wickedness,
often find themselves nauseated. It ruins your appetite for mankind, doesn't it?
Observing all the unscrupulous things city-dwellers will & do do?
Line-jumping,
parking-spot stealing,
wrong-change-for-a-twenty giving?
They were to busy by their down inequity to notice
him, a tiny boy of no more than seven,
loo
I refuse to take the easy way out and simple 'tell' you about myself. Draw your own conclusions. My best friends are a Polaroid camera and an ink pen. Somebody's got to be the president of the hobo club, that spot won't fill itself. The color pink is not allowed in my presence. My residence is in my mind. My occupation is to record the truth by writing lies. Go figure!
Current Residence: Beneath Your Bed deviantWEAR sizing preference: Does size really matter? Operating System: a laptop named Othello MP3 player of choice: an iPod named Absinthe Skin of choice: Let me crawl around in yours for a while Favourite cartoon character: Mojo Jojo Personal Quote: "To keep you is no benefit. To destroy you is no loss" -Khmer Rouge
Plenty of time has gone by. School is out & already I'm experiencing summer withdrawal symptoms, which includes but isn't limited to: assorted boredom, random thoughts (i wanna be a mongoose!), temper tantrums, (faster) loss of patience with annoying relatives, marveling at the beauty of take-out, unexplained aggression towards innocent people and/or animals, etcetera. Don't you just love that word, etcetera? Sounds like the scientific name for an exotic plant, etcetera zinnaeus. I couldn't plant it even if etcetera was a plant. The best I can do is stick it in a window box, water it daily, and hope that its leaves don't brown. Not for lack o
I'm trying to find my way. Unfortunately, my way does not want to be found. In fact, he wants to join the witness protection program and keep me in a state a decision disorientation. We began finals today, finished my test hella-early and had to sit. Sit. Sit for two auxiliary hours of more sitting. The power went out (a tree rudely fell on the power line) and it rained. Rained. Rained 'til the entire campus smelled like uncleaned turtle aquarium and microwaved dog shit. I think a Donald Barthelme quote is appropriate: 'Dog shit in brilliant colors, umber, viridian, ebony white and sienna brown'. Trying to post as many poems as my muse will