the fireflieswarm nights openthe fireflies
themselves at my feet,
and beat an even rhythm
in the floorboards, the fireflies.
on these days we converse entirely in motion -- waking, walking,
wordless.
useless in the face of fear and possessed of a secret desperation, we await the arrival of the Good Life.
no, not this timemy hair feels dirty like cheap plastic grass and your voice making its way to me through the haze of burning houses and high notesno, not this time
isn't desperate in the slightest. we lie on painted picnic tables pointing out constellations, slowly finding smiles in the stars:
i want to cry, because looking at you all of us, shining under this february sky and pools of yellow streetlight
i am the happiest i have been since a scene like this months and months ago when the air was hot and deep breaths took in the scent of rain, when we were into
Good Reasonswhat didn't you know, before you pushed off from the edge, and told everyone you were thrown?Good Reasons
you wore a rustling dress, the sky wasn't dark enough:
you wanted poetry that would go through you.
you learned your lessons like a good girl, learned once that you are too lovely
to be mourned properly, but not that "he did it" is never a good reason
although, come to think of it the stars would have been too quick to slide, even had you looked--
oh, all he ever did
Rupert
summer!
Excited
--
finish
we are like roses that have never bothered to
bloom when we should have bloomed and
it is as if
the sun has become disgusted with
waiting
charles bukowski
--
'a prize for your ears called love'
xo!
--
let's go play on a baggage carousel
--
"in america as the media hushes
millions of eyes float to the marble
of time where a stroke causes a collapse"
- splinter (wallpaper)
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