Poll: jadis, si je me souviens bien...
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View poll results: jadis, si je me souviens bien...
1 14%
1 14%
4 57%
1 14%
3 43%
Voters: 7.
4 days / do not vote for your own / multi-vote / top two go through.

I'm so young I'm nearly dead
Like I was before I was alive
Or was I just waiting to be alive and breathing or
Dead and dreaming. She's dead on the inside.
And she's so much like my mother which scares me
Because my mother is never well, and always tired.
And she suffers from chronic fatigue in the same way
Indian people with no jobs suffer from chronic fatigue (excess benefits).

I dream of sleeping with other women. Well,
One other woman. The woman I thought I wanted when
I didn't think my girlfriend would ever take me. But,*
I know that this other girl is a bit of a slag so I know
She's up for it and to be honest, bet I could get some action off her if I wanted.
But I won't. And i'll go on how I am. Consistency is scaring me.
But I like minimalism. Consistency is the spice of life.
In consistency grows texture, lavish like Marie's hair. I don't love Marie.
Philip Glass is friendly with Ravi Shankar. I wish I was Philip Glass.
And I thought listening to his work would really help me write something like
This but it hasn't. Floe '87 doesn't help at all. Write that down.
Never write what I say down. Hold it up to a light and examine it. Please.

For all your here and all your
up down and grass-covered
dirt tries to breathe candy coated air,
how the birds forgot to sing last morning
and how the icebergs lost their hearing
is the shackles growing like vines
'round your waist.
being human ever hurted anything.

calm like a bruised ego

calm like an electric eel
weeping lightning bolts
squeezing the energy out of me
through her tail
weeping blue streaks down
slithery cheeks
sucking all the life out of me
calm like an on-fire fox
the dots connected withr a flame
an orange tail, cheeks red
skin burning with the smell
of an overcooked madras
calm like a drowning bat
small black dot in a deep black pond
lungs full of overxcitement
breathing where you shouldn't breathe
wings still and dead but desperate
sonar like a whale
calm like a shot dove
peace twitching
falling flat and face first smack,
the barrel under your chin, snug,
the cases drop in the blood


Painted on wax lips and eyeballs,
taste the tension as it all melts away,
my fingers are bleeding from turning the pages,
the white pages of this empty phone book,
cut the grass and trim the weeds,
make sure this uniform fits,
littering all destination,
upon the head of common sense,
your dreams aren't paying you minimum wage,
your paying them for a free escape,
eyes waiting on the minutes,
passing until were free to be blind,
I don't know what to say,
but darling let me do the talking,
I can't find my legs,
darling let my mouth do the walking.


bandaged knuckles, brittle teeth,
angels don't live like us.
too sweet when she's beside me
when her knee brushes against mine
and i'm in high school again.
freshmen tears like the night
she pulled her knee away
and the night she pulled her words away,
was never heard from again,
but only when i write and i try to remember
exactly what her eyes, nose,
exactly how her lips looked
and exactly what her hair smelled like.
she told me once that her hair smelled the way
that she imagined a gypsy would,
i laughed at the time but now wish that i
could know for sure,
instead i'm just bandaged like everyone else
with our toothless sneers
and thankful that she doesn't live like us.