sorry bunny

sorry bunny

Friday, December 27, 2013


step one: go in the kitchen and get a cup of coffee

step two: sip on coffee

step three: while sipping on coffee imagine that from your heart/chest you are releasing everything bad that has ever happened to you

step four: free write

even as i stand in my lair . wet and full of equipment.
i hold one sword above my head with both hands waiting to swipe and pound down on anytone who comes down the steps
this in not okay. upsatirs there are many ladies there . ladies in waiting . waiting to be taken to the dungeon. waiting for me. waiting for me to slay them.
it's not fair.
they don't really know.
i told them it was all care bears and gummy clouds.

they are children.
theya re waiitng.
fro the death
death seemed like so much fun.

a hope and a bead.
of sweat,
wraps slithers down around my waist, leg, ankle, inbetween my toes
hits the ground
turns the ground into ice
i freeze
hold still
arsm still raised and under arms bare to be seen
up the steps freezes

and around the corner slams the door shut with a cold whip of frost

the children. the ladies. watch silently, as a blood thirsty chill rise up in them.
they run away.
it is daylight now.
it is warm enough to walk outside and they run to the fields and lay ont he ground and embrace the sun and smush their faces in the dirty dusty dirt

never looking back
now able to see how good it feels to be lit up by this celestial fire.

and ravage the earth therafter, free.

if i died they'd be dead, if i lived, they'd be dead.

so i lay in out of motion dressed in isa

my gourd my gorge
in this abyssmal celbritude do i lay?
where is my picture?
is this the kind of freedome i wanted always to staring at myself in insecurity?
or is this massive security enough to breathe?
no, i dont think i can when i'm this cold when my lungs are no longer wet but our solid

in the future, i imagine,
I imagine
beautiful flowers and children and I am one of them. we wear glossy flowers on our heads that fall off and become stickered to the floor and the sun eevry now and then bends down to kiss our foreheads
at night the grass wraps our arms around each other

my only lover might be earth
my only mother might be sun
my only brother might be water
my only self might be the sky
the sssss

damn breath.

Thursday, December 26, 2013

what must fade falls in place

honestly october
december is where it's at

let's look at some solstice history!

(broken heart but not anything. not broken. nothing. such happiness. in ...)

oh nevermind

bruma bruma bruma
brooja linweed
single pattern fake father

they said that when
oh when

i guess i'll try

Monday, December 23, 2013

death winter scales IM A SNAKE

to my friend will:

it would be easy to talk to you
but your face looks like a monster in my memory
it's not even you
i'm not myself

you're a memory

i wish i could talk to you, but  there is nothing
nothing inside my chest
no fire
no wind
just some coals

there is however something in my belly
that burns blue light

i don't know what it is

and when i open my mouth
i feel inescapable air
throat implodes on itself
i have nothing to say

but i wish we could talk

there would just be nothing to say

because nothing happened
and there is no fertile ground for understanding
when i walk across
it dips into the soil


white mallowness

no form


my breath for you is gone, as if it never was
and winter frozen words


perhaps to be reborn in spring

until then
only the slump of a fading sorrow, that screams
at least not enough to breathe

if feelings could speak they'd say nothing
because they are made of nothing
and one cannot hold up something so ethereal
as an invisible FUCK YOU
with no front nor back
no sides
its form conforms to too many thinkings
and loses reality
there are no words

and these swords are made of dreams
so even as they are sinking never appeared
to be
much like this whispy weather anyhow

Saturday, December 14, 2013

frilly stain

frilly stain: it's okay
frilly white, nO, stained white- under-shirt, dress, ballerina wrapped lacey nightgown covering a ball of red fabric, covering a ball of indeterminable size and texture.
and they hold it in them arms, with their fingers clasped.
i mean it.
broken fingers backwards on conrete, winter dry skin itch, cracked lips....
i can't hardly open wide.
meadowy music in lime green light comes through the window of white/cold/branches. and makes stale the air, in such sharp contrast, with the mundane acts that come and go through the apartment.
nothing is happening.
freeze. _________. FReeZe. I SAID FUCKING FREEZE.
goddamn professional asshole. professional hole-in-the-heart/hole-in-the-head/in one, that breaks when it falls. lotsa tiny pieces. sugar crack fairy.
the pencil lays very still. it is long, and placed parrallel to the edge of the chair/desk/screen. i play with it. with my mind. it moves. it rolls off. it falls. makes a sound. this is enjoyable to me. i pick up the pencil and place it on the chair/desk/screen again so it is parallel to the edge but doesn't roll off. i use my mind to do that. it falls off. i do it again.

Text: is so texture screams VANITY screams.
just screams. indistinguishable sounds. creatures scratching at the inside bones that face yer organs. crawl up against yr lungs and beg for forgiveness. NO NO NO.
just stay the fuck put away.
here's some water. yeah i'll feed you in the evening. we can go out for a walk later. and you better shit this time, i don't want to see that crap inside again.
Text: is the blessed divine watering of these fingers. self-heal-all kind of water that in its flow outward, creates a flow inward. like making string and singing.
breathe in and you breathe out. it's all the same.

Please. Believe me. When I say how bad I need you to forgive yourself.
How bad I need you to see yourself as I see you. ALL BEATIFUL.
How badly I need you to bare yr soul for everyone to see.
No mark can cause shame.
even lies now, i understand a bit better. a bit. for this beggar.

i beg you.

it would help me so much. to see you shiny.

like running through cracking and flaking off shingles of reality visually fielded
in multi-color glow.
so thick and colloidal. so burdensome on my chest.
with every shame and embarassment you feel, another layer of mica is added on. and ya it's all shiny opalescent and see-through. but after so many layers.. it cleaves so deeply. rough cut.

it's okay.
i mean it.
she takes the red ball and holds it close to her chest.
she licks the red ball, and the fabric falls to the ground.
it is hollow and made of cardboard.
not so smooth or rough.
and she holds it to her chest.
hoping it will scratch something inside
said, frilly coffee-stained white, so solidly