the city moves toward the fog,
our horizon in the suburbs,
leaden, steaming, beneath clouds
lengthened by the setting sun, torn
by slightly violet colors,
verdant violet reddened.
the twilight expands.

the friendly avenue
shows us a more human planet,
hurls treasures at our eyes,
immerses us in summits.
And the noises converge, subside:
murmured amalgam
pending.

strident outburst.
dreadful little motor vibrates.
...And one again the vague chorus resumes,
favored by the low tone
of streets
open to the skies.

Beneath the last reds
in grays, greens, thin mauves,
i feel the lights the city
projects toward me are mine.
Much imagination envelops everything,
and that enormous machine lifts us high,
inseparable now from our days

too many side effects.
spinning
spinning
spinning

take apart your head,
chew it up and swallow

well, alas the day has come.

i knew it was coming, but i'm truly shocked.

my mother has found my messy life's secrets.

you will find me in a cage locked away in the forest behind my house- no ciggarettes.

we want so many finches. ):

ps.

wrinkled hands on dried flowers
cold water ripples
lips on eyelids
parachutes falling
whistled words under bed sheets
smoke curls disappear
chapped lips bend
ink stains burn
empty envelopes fold

(words repeat in my head)

when you realize everything is perfect, you will tilt your head back and laugh at the sky.


too long for a tattoo? I want it.

darwinism

my great-grandpa is quite the gentlemen.

-c

i wanna' be a kennedy?

red lipstick

if i love You
(thickness means
worlds inhabited by roamingly
stern bright faeries

if you love
me) distance is mind carefully
luminous with innumerable gnomes
Of complete dream

if we love each (shyly)
other, what clouds do or Silently
Flowers resembles beauty
less than our breathing

Charles.

soft-spoken and broken-winged,
i'm charlie.
anxious, fragile, and floating,
i day dream.
keys, buttons, cardigans,
collars, and polaroids.
i am mismatched.
burning, twisting, and falling.
i am filled with inspiration.
rippled water, neck aches,
silence, street lights,
and waiting rooms.
i hear a buzz.
words written on backs of hands,
failing lungs, and tired eyes.
i'm awake.
i repeat.

Siobhan.

i am Siobhan, and i am here. Where is here?
i am, and will be gone until you call my name, over and over, until it doesn't make sense anymore.
i am an abandoned house with an unlit staircase, and screeching rats.
i am driving till i run out of gas.
polaroid dreams, and film cartridges unused, unspoken.
watches with no hands, and smiles as red as blood.
i am scratching, and reading until the sun sets,
and watching the sun glisten on this frosted windshield.
smokey lungs, and happy shouts.
childrens jackets button up and cover my pallid skin.
happy, sad, running, falling, breathing.
i am here, perhaps.
But where are you?