The Wind makes Short work of Thin Trees

making short work of tall trees

the wind fells by the dozens

the soil is too soft, the roots too shallow

and the landscape changed again.

pow.

it's then that it hits home hard

that the changes aren't sporadic, it's constant.

change and unpredictability are the only things

that are constant and predictable.

pulling, pooling, heating, heeding.

Unnumbered

i can see them, the ghosts in the trees
hungering, drooling, stinking of blood and sweat
knowing i will approach.
waving in the wind, holding nostalgia hostage.

the ghosting errors that bring memories to
the front in fragments that do not fit together,
forced together with glue.
the good old days, regardless of how good they are,
viewed through rosy goggles ad imagined to be perfect.

the ghosts sit
and wait for me to near them
they wait for me to hear them
they wait for me to fear them.

it happens so fast i can't see that their hooks are already in me,
pulling at my brain, reheating my memories, draining me dry

Cure

Cure: Just Like Heaven

  

  

  

Ache;Emilie

this is a video of a great short-lived band called Ache;Emilie. Apparently this is an acoustic set they did a year or so ago.

ache;emilie

XII

perfect songs of past regret

future full of promises/

and mistakes I’ve not yet made

this ink i write with

will cover me someday.

CVII

how could i not have seen it?

i see it now only a bit clearer.

Its the same colour, only slightly different

shape. cooler and streamlined.

taking its place among the stones.

short, short haired and pretty

just like the formula dictates.

happy, slightly peppy, and full of

a bit of vinegar. wow.

also true to the formula

the 'L' word followed, save

save for an unexpected extension

of time between events.

Like the others before.

so predictable.

kicking stones and skipping stones,

a series of stepping stones to

another level of the same old

run- down inner city park.

hold your head like it's

the cutest little masterpiece out there.

a play on light

and you're even cuter naked.

a play on words and you're less than nothing.

the way your body moves when disoriented.

the way your eyes catch fire when angry.

the way. the path. the road traveled all too often

without end. why isn't the loop foreseen?

drag on. dragging.

dragging me on and on and on

and off. and on when you feel ok with it.

holding me in limbo

with your mood swings and your

pseudoscientific explanations.

CIV

walk on home, just like a thousand times.

just like a thousand times before.

the end is where you start. just like

a everytime, just like everytime before.

it's late.

the longest day in your life has just begun.

again.

LXXXXII

the clock is broken arms. the time is lost in the night.

the trees

have left and gone.

nothing that is left is right.

the time has made it impossible to remove.

like caryatid columns stuck in the doorways.

the tar of calcification grows around the wound

until the void is as much a part of the whole as

it is empty.

tick tick tick you smile

tick tick tick you grow old

tick tick tick the blood loss makes you cold.

LXVIII

it sickens me to my mouth
"you'll get over this, you'll see."
"you'll change. i was like that, too."
fuck all.
saying my stream of experiences are
un- unique and all already played.
what good is choice in my life
if the ending is ultimately known?
what use is experiencing pain and despair
and hardship if it doesn't affect the outcome?
all those hours hoping i was right about the after- life
and all those times
i did right when no one was looking.
we already know who wins.
my life is a pre- viewed
vhs tape.
choice is shit.

XXXXIV

sift away the dirt and pull down the webs
the old me is coming to visit and is hungry
the me that was
knows only love disguised as something else.
this me that was
was the wolf guarding the henhouse.
this us that was
was the bomb in the hand of the pacifists.
full of contradictions, rife with failure.
this you that was
is the same as now
attracting flies and smelling sickeningly sweet,
i’m destined to cave in on myself.

self implosion, self exile, self centered.
self centered? no- there is no self here.
the us that was wasn’t
the you that was wasn’t
this me that was doesn’t seem to die.

a terrible dream i can’t wake from
the point when
i’m under water and drowning.
the point where
I was flying and start falling,
the point where
i’m in school on the first day
and i’m naked. no one is laughing at me,
everyone’s throwing boulders at me.
i stand still like the kid in dodgeball games
pissing himself
in fear of getting hit again while
laying on the floor screaming,
clamoring for my broken glasses
i’ve broken a hundred times before
and my dad beat me for it
every single time.
rough.
this is so stupid. this is beyond pointless.
these words don’t bring me reprieve or revenge,
or respite. no rest for the worthless.

XXXVII

this-
this is
this is damage.
this is damage control.
this is the us that we weren’t.
this is everything i can’t be
you, painted blue in a field of black
blink from out of existence
i know you’re there. you’re with the others
like (a)trophies, like lion’s heads on my wall.
but all in reverse. the opposite of pride.
the negative lions, the shame, in numbers.

the eternal smog, choking and stinging,
the rocky path; everywhere is uphill.
love sickness, this black thickness
behind the door i can never reach
between here and there between then and now
between the roots and the soil
between the soil and the air
between the air and space
between the stars between the lions
they are my lack of pride

XXX

gift wrapped in a plastic bag.
my body goes underground.
my lungs which held my breath
my heart which pumped our blood.
these eyes that never
closed.

this mouth that took it all in.
these arms that held the stone
these hands that held on too long
these words that linger
this skin that stretched over
my bones
these legs that stood up for hours
these ears that always burned.
this is the instant, final replay
this is the revenge I take
on me.
this is my getting kicked off
my own team.
this sound of dirt falling on my own box
is the last sound i’ll ever
hear.
this sound is deafening
and i’ll hear it forever.

XXIX

sheepishly and now foolishly

i write songs to you

you cannot hear them, you will

never read them

i sit, then, and wish that you

could somehow pick them up,

like the scent of petrol at

a filling station. like radio waves.

these words are made from thoughts,

thoughts that scream in little whisps

of black ink. screaming loud

and temporarily relieving the

pain of the heat of the fire of the

history we have.

this history you won’t study.

this history book i

can’t put down.

this book is a swamp

of black ink

and i can not

stop writing in it.

XXVIII

to find the one who’ll listen with all their senses

is to find the needle to bleed me as dry as dirt

the city is full and bursting with a hundred million

empty souls all lying to each other. Lie to me again and

boil my shell

my wall

to climb my flag to fly

my penance to exact.

building noise gaining power you cannot see me

shafts of light penetrating the fog bank

i’m holding on

i’m holding back

it all blows by me as i walk by blind

everyone is black everything is black

the ashes cover everything

i am full to bursting i cannot sleep i cannot sit still.

XVIII

you’re the greatest mistake

i think i’ve ever made

i should never listen to me.

all of these words are useless

nothing prepared me for this.

alone. lonely. without. all around.

the brain says to pack up and go.

the heart says to hold the weight

over my head. pain(t) my face red.

the color of emotion, the lines

crossed out.

deletion, elation, emoting relation

black.

XIV

everyday is winter

time is spent

pining for loves that i don’t want

wishing for attention that

i don’t want.

reaching for a poison

dying.

my strings

are

loosening.

IV

black sunflowers.

the scent triggers the memory and the room spins

loss of stabilisation and my face hits the floor

the blood, the tears- begin to spill across the floor.

you held me so close

and kept me so far out of reach.

you had it both ways while i had none.

long after the 

fireworks and thunderstorms,

the forever-night sky

is cold and silent as death.

-e

III

knocked me down and held me down.

tied up, locked down

bled bone dry until the muscles dissolve.

i thought i had been waiting all my life

to fall in love with a girl like you

now i have given my last drop of blood

in self-penance for being so wrong.

when the door closed it never opened again.

when the lights went out, a little light

went on telling me

i lost

and telling you

it was time to move.

-ɘ