I hate the world that makes us paranoid. That which destroys our capacities.
We are built into our words and our fears. They hold us without letting go.
Yet, we are not warm. Trust, a fearful disguise. Sometimes so sincere, it hides in smiling eyes.
But we don’t. We cannot love, can we?
When all we need was never ours
for the having. So I may say that I yearn, and I need, with all the brazen deepness of my soul,
but it all means nothing here, even on my lips.
Because you cannot taste them. And I have reconciled the lie.
We bed our sins down softly, with inscribing fierceness.
Just enough, until the doubt of ourselves sinks itself in,
because we know no different.
Love, being that thing we could shelve.
Except it is the reason we live, and so it cannot live by a deny.
I tear these words into pieces, by the simple click of delete.
For what else can matter here, but the defeat of such speech?
Never undermine the power of a single, lone word. Even an emoticon conveys message. Every single utterance carries meaning to our recipient and thusly whoever that person reflects that linguistic force onto in dialogue next. Language was and is always “the things [we] carry”. We are never alone, or outside of our speech. Our utterances live on, especially after we meet our deaths. Depth is thought alive, forever alive. @axb21: “Textament.”
Give me the whipping breeze against the scraping mountain boughs, and kiss my eyelids (oh you did) with the sunset who names into twilight. When two people see one another as who they are to the other, they embody a mirror. Only through an other are these parts of us visible. Light haunts the shadow that lines my figure on this walk. It is permanent impermanence, your most tender grace captured in touched silence. I am alone now.
Resolve should be sublime; it should terrify the self; it should tremble the ground inside me. It should make me who I am.
I am a stealer of the ocean. I am a keeper of the telling tide. I am the Pacific’s letter coiled safely in glass-blown dynamite.
agency is a dirty word. cover me in it. both control each other. control is a relationship, acquiesced upon. put your mouth to my ears so i am deaf to everything but your kiss. @TinyNietzsche: “Lose the ties that bind.” spoken like a philosopher, felt like a hand. you are undulating reprimand. we thought less of the moon because it wasn’t the sun. then some of us reminded the others: we see more at night. @the_1st_rule: “exposure.” every dream is a speech forever unspeakable.
separation, the figment
tidings another word in place for another space.
is it rupture?
vices of the tongue
we cannot answer with certainty
to agree with that is not conformity
if but to say
saying as saying goes
we make itself anew,
haunts their need for the outside
all need wrapped in a smile
“i do not know of [this] that you know.”
but i’ll tell you later, when i speak with the other, that i have read
i understanding better then.
we make it each day
a moment, you said once.
a moment always living
whether or not we are not
it is right here. touch, a reminder.
faces only we can be
the only possible i accept
still. races down my intent.
libidinal, the only true rhetoric.
Then there is, and it is. If an ‘is’ could be an ellipsis drawn on the ever-dawning of time.
a word written on my being.
my being, one unwriteable word.
you hear my fingertips
the taste of language.
to feel another speaking
hear one another dreaming
the touch of thought
why else, do you wonder, we react to words?
For the nothing of them.
we make them into themselves
an etching palate
did i miss a spot?
i tremble in your tone
it makes me who i am
brevity is the graceful assault of the genuine
a voice grasping me at my sides
the endless drawing of a piano’s imagination
share it with me?
Rusty: “Love is having an entire conversation with one look.”
let me stand nude in your narrative
poetry is the caressing of my inner hymns
bitten, until it begins
you are the translation
scribing the curves of my shoulder blades with your palms
kiss your story down my spine
warming internal, eternal a spark
leapt upon the darkness. I held the
line where light met night in
in the night, the lines between us
became the texture we write
ourselves by. the space we are
lips extinguish what burns the
dawn. in nothingness, that is what
you, once a mere poem breathing
into broken lines, now a power no
hands have held.
writing the same poem with the same results.
wind calling in absent
letter of resignation
taking up residence in the unseen’s darkness
arms wrapped around a tree’s shuddering entrapment
leaves leaning against my face with empathetic absolution
walk until daylight
it may never come.
Evening takes its final glance.
I don’t own anything.
I own nothing.
The most expensive possessions are what doesn’t exist.
keeping them close
a smile to the insulting
and puppy cuddles.
there was no knife on my person.
you bring the music with you?
it’s all in second-person, but nothing always matters
The story needs you.
I’m a poor substitute
them knuckles be light.
two narratives, one story.
eternal protagonist, and the most loyal of best friends, back again.
sometimes it’s nostalgia.
sometimes it’s that thump thing.
time for those bones
the man on the bridge, under the aged streetlight, a cracked photographer’s lens, purple imprint, he has heard me every time.
he came looking for me, promises in hand, written by a many others’ pen, made anew in a voice I had already known…
the voice so nearly a memory, tears running slowly down my cheeks.
he sent me into the night
and I’ve spend my ever-since searching to pay him back.
the way we can love paths we never cross
because those footprints carry the purist of hearts
I’m a thousand hugs away from you
there have been friends, and then there’s you
we know well how to hold on to escape.
because it’s dark green.
Saying any language has no flaws is resigning ourselves to finality, death.
Languages are as alive as we are.
“Taste my language”
words go through me
stopping only when they reach the place in me where they’ll never leave.
internal, my heart. unreadable, as fiction.
@shynymoo: “Echo and Reverberation”
read your way to me,
write me toward you.
~@leslieheme: “I wish it was you.”