The beauty of melancholy can never be seen by anyone but the host of the melancholy. Melancholy is such that it is held inside us, only to sparkle in the true beauty of its essence in pure isolation. No one will ever see or feel the moments I spend while pasta is boiling, smoking cigarettes, drinking red wine, reading the greats and listening to the classics. This perfection in beauty can only crystallize in the utmost isolation, the most perfect moments of loneliness. When I feel most beautiful is when I feel most alone. Sorting photographs and counting the colored leaves, I feel as though the world was designed as a habitat for my longing, for my unwillingness to comply.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Sunday, October 14, 2007
twilight of the years
The last girl I made love to
Is still missing at sea
Her father never blamed me
As I begged on my knees
She had a swagger to her
Like linens hung out to dry
She moved with the wind gusts
And winced when the wolves howled
We'd play out by the gallows
And she'd mock all the traitors
Right before they were to die
I heard her curse the almighty once
With her hair all up
And her skirt beginning to un-hem
Her boots had no scuffs
But you wouldn't believe me
If you saw the way
She used to kick the rocks
_virgil cross
Is still missing at sea
Her father never blamed me
As I begged on my knees
She had a swagger to her
Like linens hung out to dry
She moved with the wind gusts
And winced when the wolves howled
We'd play out by the gallows
And she'd mock all the traitors
Right before they were to die
I heard her curse the almighty once
With her hair all up
And her skirt beginning to un-hem
Her boots had no scuffs
But you wouldn't believe me
If you saw the way
She used to kick the rocks
_virgil cross
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
I am no horseman.
the murky
stagnate water surrounded him
on his descent to the lake bed
the rush of aquatic envelopment
exhilarating
and nearly washed the shame
moss and dirt
from the rapidly sinking rock
who knew that life on the surface
was no longer possible
after seeing the clapping arms
smug smirks
and contemptuous snarls
of scissors
as he explained why paper always wins
________________________________________
there is a playground
where no kids laugh
no moms smile
and no dads come back
and I embrace the silence like
my faceless future wife
and let my aching feet
carry me
through the birds and the bees
who’re swarming and
stinging and clawing
with needles
and talons so darling
darling
darling
darling don’t turn around
don’t look behind you!
darling don’t turn around
or god’s glare will find you!
stagnate water surrounded him
on his descent to the lake bed
the rush of aquatic envelopment
exhilarating
and nearly washed the shame
moss and dirt
from the rapidly sinking rock
who knew that life on the surface
was no longer possible
after seeing the clapping arms
smug smirks
and contemptuous snarls
of scissors
as he explained why paper always wins
________________________________________
there is a playground
where no kids laugh
no moms smile
and no dads come back
and I embrace the silence like
my faceless future wife
and let my aching feet
carry me
through the birds and the bees
who’re swarming and
stinging and clawing
with needles
and talons so darling
darling
darling
darling don’t turn around
don’t look behind you!
darling don’t turn around
or god’s glare will find you!
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