Tenderi remember you.
To-Do List: September 201402-09-2014 Eight year old jealousy15-09-2014 Condoms and mushrooms19-09-2014 Icecream tips30-09-2014 Take me off your roster, I can't come out to play30-09-2014 She's not the kind of girl who does things in halves30-09-2014 Is not afraid of blood tests and enjoys black jellybeans
To-Do List: August 201408-08-2014 4am thumb wars08-08-2014 Red wine brush18-08-2014 Tell your mother i'm sorry
To-Do List: July 201415-07-2014 I think everyone's felt like they've wasted so much time
To-Do List: June 201406-06-2014 Listen to your feet08-06-2014 Nobody knows what a dinosaurs penis looks like08-06-2014 Cats, cuts, chai lattes and croissants
Ciclical movements1.starfill e dpossibility2.laughter bringanything3.only you4. breathecstatic thing5.rainlike sobetweenme6. trusteachhand7. whisper moreabouthim8.feel rainbow today9.little moment s sing10.theylike warm blue sky11.comfortessential12. surprisehopeand wonder13.see a positive happen14. todaycan bloom15.givebetter16. and let's find happiness
To-Do List: May 201402-05-2014 Inner city sea birds09-05-2014 I feel like i've made a decision i'm just not sure what it is yet22-05-2014 Coffins always look so small27-05-2014 Figuring out what to do with the rest of d's life.
To-Do List: April 201412-04-2014 Half moon coffee19-04-2013 The only thing i'm bad at doing is doing the things i'm good at
To-Do List: March 201404-03-14 Capital letter kisses20-03-14 Acid and blues21-03-14 Good smelling people22-03-14 The heat from a train29-03-14 And off the train goes into the universe29-03-14 Backyard conversations
i. my little pigeon,you walk the line betweenreality and imagination, strayinginto the unknown and bringingback little pieces of wonderwith you when you return.ink drips from your fingers asyou smear words onto pages,breathing life into stiff piecesof paper torn from your notebook.coffee may be where i foundmy home, but it's tea that runsthrough my veins. i could braidyour hair for hours, letting the silkystrands run through my fingers likeyour words run through my heart.we can walk into the sunrise together,holding hands and laughing. i will sharethe sunsets i hold in my tiny palms,and you can share the stories you lockin your heart. i want to travel the worldwith you, pointing out the little quirksthat make up people and stumblinginto adventures behind little shopsand backwards alley ways. i hopeyou remember your handkerchief,or we might end up flying there andback again in the blink of an eye.
Call it Fallthere's a soft kiss ofmedium-rare sunlightin the barelybroken bonesof this October dayjust warm enoughto think that summermay have stasheda day or twoin our pocketsbut each tomorrowreminds us morethat it didn'tthat this autumnknows little lifeoutside its barrelof choking appleswhere yellowjacketsbore, conquer and,still sweet,curl into a coolslow sleepof frozen dreamspaused in dawn'sblanket of frostthese short daysunder long nightscount down toa new beginningof the enda dark springof bright blushand angerthat will burn this forestnot down, but nakedand we call it Fallas if there's a misstepor slip involvedas if we make a choiceor skip the chanceto not veerfrom daylight's trailonto these our printsso well worn and re-worninto timetwo human sets enterand where it goesfrom theregets lost in thecrunch of leavesbeneath usour moon stays lowgiving trees new lifeand wind carries crieslike song, for miles
decodei pinedunequivocallyfor the quillin soft shadows:the swallow's smileand toothyflightthe curveof treebowsrotting-freshto planta buduphigh andhemlocking-mebetween a dreamand sleepand sleepand sleepyou musn't worryI have foundan ink-sourcethus:a quibblingcreek -my soul!It willblossomlike poppieson the pagebefore me,myfingertipthe pen
Empty But Alivebreathing you in, octoberi taste the numbing agentseven on the very surfaceof your conspiracy, thisprepping of the patientthis unworking of the earthsealing it as-ishardening the sitesof future graves, forced shallownot harvesting, just weakeningarranging late-year stacksof blurry panic, while disablingthe defensive responseso much decline to wagebefore the winter killsoctober knows i'm a foolfor the dark underbreathof its dead open airthe howl of the breezethrough its night fields, emptybut alive, and so very not emptyits rhythm of silencebetween barks and callsstalls my heart mid-beati used to pray for its enginesto restart, before it hit groundbut now i realizethat there is no floorto this dreamand no bottom to this fall
ten.why don't we sit underthe hangmans noose;contemplate lifefor a bit.watch the crows hustle aroundthesefrayed ropes, and listen to thewind rustle dirt'sleaves.there's a cool breeze comingthrough,almost too cold, its...bitter.so let's just walk away and seek thewarmthunder these charcoalfeathers.[its a comforting feeling to have life, anddeath in your control. ]
Think on PapaThe crickets breathe softin the dampened leaves,and the wind smells of winter(but only under the moon.)Nights like these make me thinkon Papa.(We would climb into the minivan,the air would smell this wayas I turned to see his silhouetteat the window,reading in his plaid armchairwith the paper in his lap.)Odd memories.Not what I think I'msupposed to associatewith late grandfathers,but I find myself yearningto drive to his headstoneand whisper to his ashes,thatturkey smelled better in his kitchen,a spice we didn't have perhaps.Every broom resembles his mustache,and I read misheard lyrics in his voice.Second-hand stories are sustenance to his memory,humorous annotations to mydictionary definition of his person--Papa (n.)Dad's father--deceased, 2004. (Heart disease)Made you hotdogs and mixed fruit cups,(in which you lost your first tooth)sometimes noodles with butter and cheese.thought the mole on your face was chocolate (twice.)Sneezed louder than the engi
Not TweetingI was hereway beforethose twits were.