She really is impertinent, isn't she?
"Can they get past the Secret Circle?"
a tremulous voice in my head inquires.
*~***~*
We don't have a secret circle, dumbass.
*~***~*
We don't have a secret circle, dumbass.
Icarus
I fly for the sun
only to burn
and
when I awake
I return a prodigal.
The most rare second chance is given in the form of a kiss,
and I must promise to behave
but
I am offered the choice
to fly for the sun again.
And I scream my reply,
a flagrant
"fuck yes".
I love the way I burn
so bright, horrible, and hot,
only to plunge into the ocean.
A grave of shifting gray,
cold,
and all alone.
only to burn
and
when I awake
I return a prodigal.
The most rare second chance is given in the form of a kiss,
and I must promise to behave
but
I am offered the choice
to fly for the sun again.
And I scream my reply,
a flagrant
"fuck yes".
I love the way I burn
so bright, horrible, and hot,
only to plunge into the ocean.
A grave of shifting gray,
cold,
and all alone.
If our buildings were gods
how capricious life would seem.
A dance between the legs of the ill-tempered
would rip the world in two.
A dance between the legs of the ill-tempered
would rip the world in two.
It was a beautiful day to die.
Perhaps she should have been alarmed that she had this thought at least once a day. But then, any day could be her last. Death was to be expected, welcomed with a sleepy sort of joy or fear.
And it would be so easy to just drift into oncoming traffic, into the path of a semi or a train. So easy. Then it would all be over.
It would be still.
There would be nobody to disappoint or try to please. There would be no constant ache behind her eyes or nagging hunger in her gut.
It would be quiet.
And just a little too dark, like the day that she died.
And it would be so easy to just drift into oncoming traffic, into the path of a semi or a train. So easy. Then it would all be over.
It would be still.
There would be nobody to disappoint or try to please. There would be no constant ache behind her eyes or nagging hunger in her gut.
It would be quiet.
And just a little too dark, like the day that she died.
My mother tried to set me up again today.
That poor, poor boy is so lucky I am not even a little interested.
What's this silly rush to get married, anyway?
What's this silly rush to get married, anyway?
Flashcards for Carter
I am going to make little laminated "What to do in certain emergencies" cards to go in the glove compartment of my future hypothetical daughter's car. Think about it. They would be so useful, wouldn't they? Especially when you are in an emergency and you freak out and then you remember you have a little manual to follow and you can calm down long enough to deal with the shit around you, right?
Adam
Your songs are a challenge to my soul:
To never let my art become stagnant,
To always be alive and growing,
Stretching to new and better things.
Challenge accepted.
I will be alive in an aura of purple.
I will accept love and joy and happiness
So that I can give them away again.
And we will be remembered.
I will finally
not be
alone.
To never let my art become stagnant,
To always be alive and growing,
Stretching to new and better things.
Challenge accepted.
I will be alive in an aura of purple.
I will accept love and joy and happiness
So that I can give them away again.
And we will be remembered.
I will finally
not be
alone.
Spiral
I drift in a frozen coma of gray:
A watery well
closed and dark behind my eyelids,
sweet and light to my unseeing eyes.
The innocence I lost is
fl it ti n g
between my fingertips.
But my arms are rigid and white,
my fingers a beautiful sailboat blue,
unable to grasp a precious second chance,
unable to adapt by mutilation.
I float in the cold,
dead
quiet of the sea.
I have never been so lost.
A watery well
closed and dark behind my eyelids,
sweet and light to my unseeing eyes.
The innocence I lost is
fl it ti n g
between my fingertips.
But my arms are rigid and white,
my fingers a beautiful sailboat blue,
unable to grasp a precious second chance,
unable to adapt by mutilation.
I float in the cold,
dead
quiet of the sea.
I have never been so lost.
New Musical Idea
The U.S.S. Enterprise
a comic opera modelled on the work of
W.S. Gilbert
and
Arthur Sullivan.
And there could be different acts for different Enterprise crews and shit.
a comic opera modelled on the work of
W.S. Gilbert
and
Arthur Sullivan.
And there could be different acts for different Enterprise crews and shit.
Words of a Former Anarchist
We will take our first step towards recovery,
Our first step towards a semblance of peace,
The next stage in our evolution
is within the reach of this generation's youth
And
It will be our last chance before our promises are forever broken
and we are going to have peace
or we are going to die trying.
Our first step towards a semblance of peace,
The next stage in our evolution
is within the reach of this generation's youth
And
It will be our last chance before our promises are forever broken
and we are going to have peace
or we are going to die trying.
The Itch
I hear him coming.
His servants betray him as
the darkest of chills in the night,
the silence that follows in his wake,
and the whisper of a tear
that has no meaning.
I run for freedom, but he follows
hidden in the ache in my stomach,
the treacherous thoughts that never sleep,
and the tall, thin shadow behind my door.
He waits for me to beg him to stop.
I realize now that I can never be free
from a childhood promise made in pain,
an unbreakable vow wrapped in sorrow
and understood by none.
I hear him coming and
I am alone.
His servants betray him as
the darkest of chills in the night,
the silence that follows in his wake,
and the whisper of a tear
that has no meaning.
I run for freedom, but he follows
hidden in the ache in my stomach,
the treacherous thoughts that never sleep,
and the tall, thin shadow behind my door.
He waits for me to beg him to stop.
I realize now that I can never be free
from a childhood promise made in pain,
an unbreakable vow wrapped in sorrow
and understood by none.
I hear him coming and
I am alone.
Sometimes
All I want to do is rinse my tattered skin clean,
put my heart back inside my chest.
I want to watch my scarlet cries for love swirl away
into the icy, gray depths of the sea.
Because they never really last anyway.
put my heart back inside my chest.
I want to watch my scarlet cries for love swirl away
into the icy, gray depths of the sea.
Because they never really last anyway.
Jen: a love song
There are many things I want to say to your crimson face,
starting with the words of a rite I wager we both know well.
The fractured shards of evil in your soul beg me to chase them
into the pigs on the cliffside or back to the heat of hell.
But, alas!
You must keep them all inside.
For there is not enough time to perform our little exorcism.
Instead:
Keep your stupid comments in your pocket
and we'll get along just fine.
For although my love for you knows no bounds
you're just too annoying
for me to deal with right now.
Mmm'kay pumpkin?
starting with the words of a rite I wager we both know well.
The fractured shards of evil in your soul beg me to chase them
into the pigs on the cliffside or back to the heat of hell.
But, alas!
You must keep them all inside.
For there is not enough time to perform our little exorcism.
Instead:
Keep your stupid comments in your pocket
and we'll get along just fine.
For although my love for you knows no bounds
you're just too annoying
for me to deal with right now.
Mmm'kay pumpkin?
Hearken to the decree of our mighty Queen Winter:
Color,
the brightest regent
of our great Mother Earth
is to submit himself
for punishment,
For he has forgotten his place.
As it pleases her majesty,
He is to be banished,
Dismissed like a belligerent child,
Exiled to live the prodigal life
he extols from every autumnal hilltop,
every city street corner
slick with red heat,
and every drug-induced dream.
He is to be disinherited,
his open and rash words blotted out,
their fluorescent poison
flushed from our great kingdom.
For his songs scream the heresy of life,
and his dancing steps disrupt
the linear progress of our nation.
A patchwork whirlwind of life
Never bowed to anyone.
The joy of a feverish love
Never led a sinner to purity.
The Queen of all that is white and gray
has decreed that he should be forgotten.
So let it be.
the brightest regent
of our great Mother Earth
is to submit himself
for punishment,
For he has forgotten his place.
As it pleases her majesty,
He is to be banished,
Dismissed like a belligerent child,
Exiled to live the prodigal life
he extols from every autumnal hilltop,
every city street corner
slick with red heat,
and every drug-induced dream.
He is to be disinherited,
his open and rash words blotted out,
their fluorescent poison
flushed from our great kingdom.
For his songs scream the heresy of life,
and his dancing steps disrupt
the linear progress of our nation.
A patchwork whirlwind of life
Never bowed to anyone.
The joy of a feverish love
Never led a sinner to purity.
The Queen of all that is white and gray
has decreed that he should be forgotten.
So let it be.
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