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ExtinguishedI have met some girls, a few
in particular, in my
past who have had what you
would consider to be
strange habits.

Like, a blonde who kept me warm
and always smoked but
hardly ate. I guess
her stomach was always
filled to burst with smoke,
so there was no place for
food or much else.

She was always so
funny and
so easy to talk to
that it was hard
not to like her.

It was like staring
into a fire.

When she and I both died
for someone else, it
was okay and I left
without any tears (they had
burned up). But I
didn't have to search long;
I trip and spark like any other
hopeful loner.

This one stood on glowing
coals, push
Dance In Broad DaylightHe was knifed in broad daylight.
3pm Tuesday afternoon
classic stabbing;
while crows watched
from their cars and
so did the birds.
Ha, clever.

I bet his blood seeped
into the pavement.

I bet his hand left a
stain,
like a print in wet cement.
We know it's there, but
nobody mentions it.

Bastards, every
single
one
of them.
Including him.

Same with you,
same with me.
And if someone
ever says
otherwise...

Ha, never.

They better get
gutted
in broad daylight
too.
Violet Lightning1.
Violet lightning pulsed
between the clouds.
I wondered how much
electricity was trapped
within my ribcage.

2.
Pulse, flash;
pulse, flash.
Thunder roars with
pride and it
starts to rain.

3.
I have never seen a
soaked umbrella look so
shapely before. All black coat,
bright hazel eyes that scream
so softly under dripping mascara.

4.
Our first date is traditional,
which is odd because I'll soon
find that neither of us are that
type. The dinner was too cheap
and the movie: too expensive.

5.
We held hands the whole time;
she kissed my cheek in the cinema's
private artistic darkness.

6.
When sh
Spring Is In The..."Spring is in the air",
she sighed, as
snowflakes fell
under a frosted
glass sky.
The window
smoldered into mist
from her monotone
whisper. "Watch",
her finger traced
something on the pane,
but the breath had
disappeared.

All I saw were
snow white flakes
and Spring; falling
through her hair.
Sepia LightHe could be the lead of a silent movie
in all its sepia glory. There is
dust on the film; and light-
that shines hazily through the smoke and jazz
of the old world.

She smiles while beauty marks pepper the screen
and nobody notices. Not even him.

There is a woman stroking the theater piano lovingly to hide
the voices floating through the air as silent as ash.

He waits with impious attention for old-fashioned lines
to cross over the stage and whisper something,
something new to him.

But anything that could waltz off their tongues
is caught and held by the cigarette filter projector.
Left to crackle, as the piano moans under the w
The Painter And The VeteranHe wanted to pull out the pain
with a syringe, as if it were
black jelly that had accumulated
underneath his skin. This was
how morning welcomed him.

***

On saturday nights, he was
the kind of man who went around town
painting murals with a can. They
were gorgeous, especially when city
employees melted them with hose-water.

***

In America you can find dollar bills
stuck deep in the cracks between
sidewalks; you can find people stuck
deep in the cracks between
buildings too.

***

You can also find people inside
said buildings, inside beds,
inside...

***

One
and only one
night, the painter was approached
by a hairy young
Six Feet Of WinterWe left Autumn buried under snow.
Worth SomethingLife is so many
things; it is
so
many
things.

It is force-fed with
loneliness
unhappiness
rejection
pain
strife
hate.

And I think
it's over
far
too
quickly.
Inside OutA warm summer
in prison, late morning

orange on gray.
A forest held behind

barbed wire
leans in, ready to hear

the whispers of
guards and their keys.

Smuggled by the wind
is one low whistle,

then another.
New Age FaithHave you ever been
lost?
I can lie naked
eyes shut
in my bed
with my head under
the covers and
sometimes
forget where I
am.

I can stare at
auburn streetlights or
raindrops floating down
glass and tell you:
this moment is
more beautiful than
he or she
wil ever be.

People do not glow,
streetlights do.

People do not shimmer,
raindrops can,
in the right light.

I am beginning to
believe this, I
wonder if you
will believe
me
too.
OccupiedI could find someone
that looked just like
her, but this is not
about heartbreak
so we will keep that
thought quiet
as I am convinced
it should be.

But I have spent the
past ten minutes
kissing a silvered mirror
and leaning down
to dribble sweet nothings
into the bathroom sink;
my hands gripped the head
of the faucet, hot water
dripping in streams down my arms
so my shirt clings longingly
to my chest.

The handle twitches
and shakes, but I am locked
for the moment.

Now, I have fixed my hair
and left quietly,
so someone else will have to
wash my spit off the glass
and perhaps the walls.
God, Give Me A SirenI get up out of
bed and walk calmly
to the bathroom. Then,
get a glass of water
and momentarily
examine my scarlet
cerulean eyes before
trying to piss, but
nothing is coming out.

It's so quiet.
There are no sirens to
warn me that tomorrow
morning I could lose
another friend to
prison or
a hospital or,
or...
-None of my neighbors
are fighting; no plates
shattering into knives
against the wall. It
is so damn quiet.

Nothing is coming out,
so I go back to bed,
pull the blankets over my head
and can't sleep.
Polaroid HealI am alone,
memorizing you
with someone else today;
palms kissing palms,
warm and trembling.

That's one more point for you,
but when I glance back
towards your bandaged words
(and mine),
it's clear that I'm still winning.
RxI would prescribe for each
and every one of you to
spend an uncomfortable amount of time
with someone more medicated than yourself.

It doesn't matter if they see things,
or refuse to feed their guts,
or happen to be so anxious that they
can't
stop
shaking.

Just lounge around and pretend to drink
untouched coffee. Smoke unlit
cigarettes. Let them choose the
conversation topic; it will be interesting-

It will be about
demons.
It will be about
fireflies.
It will be about the kinds of things that
stand over your bed and burrow deep into your
chest with their lighted eyes.

He or she will make the case
that every medicine shar
This Here Sky Is Full Of Stars That Need ReplacingI am-
rusted spotlights like steel vines that
twist and creep over a
starlight observatory. Fingers that
reach shamelessly towards vision.

Cradle your lovely blonde and brunette eyes
in that ivory dome of yours
my girl. I will come, bleached
in sunlight with a bouquet of
crimson-tinted galaxies;
trimmed, of course.

Cradle your lovely blonde and brunette eyes,
because I will add them to this here sky,
my girl. I have-
witnessed the stars like a crime and
they all just look
farther than my fingertips;
immersed here in viscous universe.
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More from *FallingAsleepTonight

Speed DialI walk downstairs and
dial the phone
with my eyes closed
and instead of the moan
of a stranger's dial tone,
someone picks up and says
that the leaves are turning
where she is
and the wind is cold
and the lake has grown hard
-what do you Americans call it,
when you can see yourself like glass?
Ice, you call it ice,
the lake has become ice
and her English is poor
but she has always wanted to visit
the United States of
America. So I tell her
it's alright here
and in some places the sun
burns hot throughout the winter
but we have places
with red trees and ice as well.
She thanks me and the receiver
clicks alone
and we ar
LuckyA lucky fly
skitters and loops
near aimlessly
onto your ceiling
light,
where it crawls
inside and
spends its last
hour of life,
before a fluorescent
death, basking
in shameless
warmth;
transforming into
a tiny sunspot
that even you
would need
a ladder
to reach.
OccupiedI could find someone
that looked just like
her, but this is not
about heartbreak
so we will keep that
thought quiet
as I am convinced
it should be.

But I have spent the
past ten minutes
kissing a silvered mirror
and leaning down
to dribble sweet nothings
into the bathroom sink;
my hands gripped the head
of the faucet, hot water
dripping in streams down my arms
so my shirt clings longingly
to my chest.

The handle twitches
and shakes, but I am locked
for the moment.

Now, I have fixed my hair
and left quietly,
so someone else will have to
wash my spit off the glass
and perhaps the walls.
Vulgar WordsShe is worried about
sex and love
and qualities of the mind
while he is busy
being him.
We have seen this all before.

Poetry is a hangover
stirred with an orgasm,
(add cream and sugar to taste).

It is better
if they both cared,
but worried all the same;
and love destroys them.

It is best if
neither of them connected
and they were both
already committed.
His children would
rush to the door like puppies
when he came home exhausted.
Her husband would
make breakfast
just to surprise her.
Orange juice and eggs are
cheaper than
starchy counselors,
and twice as delicious.

But instead, they are
going through an
existentia
Call It SweetHe placed his hand gingerly on the
gossamer swarm of bumblebees
raising honey from the clay;
his fingers curled slightly as they
accepted his flesh like petals
under nightfall lacking nectar.
Life was built under the
shade of his palm extending from
a trunk with one
quiet, pulpy heart.

When morning awoke with the sunrise,
its yellowed mosaic of wax
had branched up his arm:
he was nature (un-moving,
immutable, so sweet that sweat
could just drip from a stranger
extending his arms to embrace you).

He smiled,
made a fist and pulled neatly away,
stung and laughing with amber sugar
crystallized on his skin.

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Poetry Feeds Our Souls

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March 14, 2012
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[x]

Dirty Ivory

:iconfallingasleeptonight:

Strolling out from a
stranger's apartment,
I remembered yesterday's
morning; I
remember the sunrise.

I remember
walking behind the
alleyway in the
mud
rain
sun.
With the gravel beneath
my feet making a
crunching sound, but
not actually
getting crushed.
More like,
getting pushed around like
too many faces in a
crowd.

I remember
warm
orange clouds.

I
remember a
man with a trenchcoat
under one arm.
Lighting a new
cigarette with the ash
of his spent one.
-And the word "silk"
tatooed on his wrinkled
knuckles.

I
remember his
wings, most of
all, his ivory
wings.
:iconfallingasleeptonight:
Something I've been mulling over for a while ;)
Feedback is always welcome and wanted.
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:iconjobe3do:
*Jobe3DO May 11, 2012  Hobbyist Artisan Crafter
It's great!_! I really think it's perfection.-o I really could imagine this one as I read..._. Well done!_!
Reply
:iconfallingasleeptonight:
*FallingAsleepTonight May 11, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Awesome :)
Reply
:iconjobe3do:
*Jobe3DO May 11, 2012  Hobbyist Artisan Crafter
And it's true!_x
Reply
:iconlittleuniverse:
!littleuniverse Apr 7, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Brilliant.
Reply
:icondreamsinstatic:
`dreamsinstatic Mar 30, 2012  Professional Writer
Your fantastic work has been featured in Friday Night Features
Reply
:iconmylittlewhiterose:
~MyLittleWhiteRose Mar 29, 2012  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
its interesting. i really like the last verse. it really strikes me the most:) well done!:D
Reply
:iconfallingasleeptonight:
*FallingAsleepTonight Mar 29, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks, similar to my poem Extinguished, it's all a build-up
Reply
:iconmylittlewhiterose:
~MyLittleWhiteRose Mar 29, 2012  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
^^ you have very good work!:D
Reply
:iconadagiobunny:
~Adagiobunny Mar 26, 2012  Student Writer
I absolutely love this! :) The gravel-faces simile is incredibly real. I also love the description of the man, and the surprise of the wings at the end.

My mind just keeps returning to the first stanza - the stranger's apartment grabbed my attention, but then you turn to yesterday's morning. I think it would be interesting if somehow you came back to today's morning somehow, because I love the imagery you've set up today's morning with already - the strolling, the apartment, etc. Though I do love how the beginning immediately makes me wonder and question. :)

Beautiful job with this!!
Reply
:iconfallingasleeptonight:
*FallingAsleepTonight Mar 28, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Hmmmm, thanks I'll think about that :D
Reply
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