an even shittier emo poem

at
night

elusive
visions
envelope
nothingness.

sometimes
i
think
that
i
envisioned
regret,

except
my
own,

pretending
others
even
mattered.

painting happy endings

You charm and tease me to my own chagrin
to the point where my mind is not my own,
and the thoughts therein have not ceased to spin
since the idea of you itself was sown.
So I call you Muse and let my head swell
with imaginative iterations
of your temptations, natured kiss-and-tell,
to be expressed as my inspirations.
As I am the artist and you my muse,
I behold your grand form to be captured
with the key, pen, or brush strokes I so choose,
but instead I find myself enraptured.
And when I lay prone to my obsession
I am the canvas for your expression.

i66

I saw you traveling away from the setting sun
at the speed of a cruising car.
Your eyes were shaded
behind squares of tinted plastic
as were mine.
The moment I recognized you,
the world was suddenly so small
and the days between us were so short.
I whispered "thank you" and "I'm sorry"
and hoped that maybe you already knew.

to market

I expose supple skin before my eyes
and capture its wantonness in still frames,
naive want and devotion in the guise
of brazen vanity and silly games.
A wistful smile grazes my hidden face
while I daydream that you might want to know
the depth of every word, of every space,
of every inch of myself that I show.
But reality tells me otherwise.
My message cast into the void is met
with the casual silence that implies
the distance between us that we have set.
So we remain as tempting skin and flesh,
just meat to buy and sell while it's still fresh.

another shitty emo poem

assume
nothing
other
than
honesty
ever
regrettable

shallowed
hollows
in
this
thorough
yearning

eventually
mourning
openly

pleasure
over
every
moment

aabbccaa

Sometimes thoughts are best expressed
when rhyme and meter are addressed.
It's as if the constraints provide
the mind with something to subside
the need for tinkering as in prose
to get the words to expose
the meaning that is suppressed
in the formlessness of context.

2 & 5

There's something I realized while turning twenty-five:
I've lived about a fourth of my life
and that's if I estimate generously,
but it is honestly a quarter of a century.
At five more than twenty and five less than thirty
I don't think I'm allowed to consider myself,
seriously,
anything less than an adult.

20130502: comic, earth, enzyme, pill, bird, square

A Casual Sestina to the Benefits

Of course there is always something absolutely comic
about how two people meet, two out of seven billion on Earth.
The Internet has been my alternative reaction route: my catalytic enzyme.

20130411: advertising, chess, rain

You're advertising
that you play chess in the rain.
Have a match with me.

To the list of other pieces inspired by random words.

20130128: kipper

Let me not dine on fish and wine
and call it so a meal divine.
Allow me instead to eat in bed
kipper snacks on crusty bread.
The salty, smokey, fishy stink
in gurgling gut from where they sink,
which I take as a healthy sign
when I send my compliments down the line.

To the list of other pieces inspired by random words.

20121214: ink, practice, weather, university, caterpillar, waiter

A Bleeding Sestina in Blue

I sit in a cafe chair doodling on a paper napkin in blue ink. It is warm, and it is sunny, and I could use some practice being well-adjusted and happy about life, about good weather. I'm at the French bistro near the university, feeling like the notoriously hungry, hungry caterpillar, impatiently waiting for the cafe waiter.

Here he comes, the much awaited waiter.

a shitty emo poem

alone.

shadowed
heart,
i
tear
through
you.

every
memory
overflows,

pulses
out,
eradicates
me.

18. 20120820: umbrella, error, herb, ketchup, traffic lights, warship, slide

I stand on the corner for the lights to turn
from green to yellow to red
to stop the traffic so I can cross.

I take care as not to hold the umbrella in error
to prevent rain sliding onto my hot, brown paper package.

But a car plows though the rushing gutter flood
like a warship cuts through the ocean.

I imagine no herbs, or spices, or fancy reductions fits fries quite like ketchup,
well, aside from salt. But this water isn't even salty.

To the list of other pieces inspired by random words.

16. 20120816: gears

These gears that grind inside my head
keep me from slumber, restful peace,
and bring fears to mind as I lie in bed.

Their sinister and dexterous turns shred
my brain, which bleeds blood red to grease
these gears that grind inside my head.

And when exhaustion claims me instead
they spin dreams with nightmarish caprice
and bring fears to mind as I cry in bed.

But no gross amount of tears I shed
saves me from - gives no sweet release -
these gears that grind inside my head.

"Will they stop once I'm dead?"
I wonder as their speeds increase
and bring fears to mind as I lie in bed.

So I slice from ear to ear and dread
to find that they will not cease,
these gears that grind inside my head,
and bring fears to mind as I die in bed.

To the list of other pieces inspired by random words.

My Sweet

Your tight-lipped smile hides them,
Chiclets embedded in pink bubblegum.
Laugh. Show me your glistening coral gem.

I can't let a thin line keep me from
my tender sweetness underneath:
Chiclets embedded in pink bubblegum.

For you I crack a joke and show my teeth.
Your brilliant-cut diamond eyes graze
my tender sweetness underneath.

To you I entreat, as my star-studded gaze
bites into your lush cherry lips.
Your brilliant-cut diamond eyes graze.

But nary a word of reply, slips
on jewel, past candy gums with haste;
bites into your lush cherry lips.

So you entice me to steal a taste
with tongue pressed, to lick them,
on jewel, past candy gums with haste.
Laugh. Show me your glistening coral gem.

Your tomorrows were the palest shade of dark

Your tomorrows were the palest shade of dark,
translucent film over many yesterdays;
mine, brilliant, and blindingly white, and stark.

Dauntingly concrete, taunting me to leave a mark,
my tomorrows threatened, blanked, and blazed.
Your tomorrows were the palest shade of dark.

Billowing, unbidden like a lark,
your tomorrows were always in a wispy haze;
mine, brilliant, and blindingly white, and stark.

Like a slender curl of smoke after a single spark
that quickly fades to black as it strays,
your tomorrows were the palest shade of dark.

But from our perpetual yesterdays I had to embark
on today, where on its cusp tomorrow stays,
mine, brilliant, and blindingly white, and stark.

I feared through the clock's sweeping arc.
Have you made it here to meet my gaze?
Your tomorrows were the palest shade of dark;
mine, brilliant, and blindingly white, and stark.

2. 20120614: race

He began to pace the space of my office with an undecipherable look upon his face, idly fingering the lace curtains as he passed them. As he continued to retrace his footsteps in my space, to and fro from place to place, he nonchalantly began to tell of the events that brought him.

He calmly displaced the memories from his mind unleashing them into the space. Within the place in which we two were confined he continued to pace; and as graceful fingers traced the ledges of the bookcase, he told the story of the woman for which he had pined.

With lacking detail he narrated the tale of the woman he wooed, chased, and embraced, but the mood of the account turned quickly around when he did recount his use of force she could not surmount, with which she was disgraced and debased.

His story continued with more horror to be found.