self-directed poetry

Three lines in a spiral-bound notebook point to the same conclusions criss-crossing my personal stratosphere. I place them in my mouth until the words, sour at the back of my throat, begin to dissolve. When I swallow, it's the sweetest poison; and syllables fall from my lips, unbidden, ripe.

recall midnight ( Read more... )

I imagine a flurry of fragmented images pouring from the sky and blanketing themselves across a continent shared by only me and you. With such a spectacular assortment of silver baubles and crystalline shards surrounding us, surely we can piece together what remains of a puzzle begun long ago before either of us were self-aware. It's a spun web ( Read more... )

a confession

While you slept, I ran my fingertip across the thin chain that shackles my aorta to yours. Quietly, I attempted to snap it in half, to detatch that unwanted bond, but it was futile to try; to remove it would be to remove my own restless heart.

It is said that a good woman and a good book are both good to have. You can put the book away on the shelf to read later, but never put away a good woman, for she will not be there for you later.

Lee Butler

Sparkling cold, I shimmer shimmer glimmer in the moonlight. Eyes of diamonds glance furtively through the falling snow; can you find me? Like a shining beacon on a icy, turbulent sea, I glow brightly for you to find your way through the winter landscape. (My love, for you, I'd give anything ( Read more... )

artificial humanity ( Read more... )

restart ( Read more... )

Monsters ( Read more... )

sight without seeing ( Read more... )