(Stolen from saralins)

Video Interview Meme
Ask me anything you want to, and I will post my answers in a video.

If anyone actually reads this thing anymore.

It is time, at long last, to
leave this partial home behind, like
a meal half eaten when the winds
of obligation needed you more
than the breadcrumbs-
it isn’t like the old stories though;
crumbs make awful trail markers.
It is time, for time has washed
away the scent of long stale nights,
crinckled wrappers of midnight
toil and water that once ( Read more... )

Remember with me, if you will,
And stoop at this grave to match the still
Tired timbre of the desperate past
Kept constant and bitter like a scream in wax.
Do not fret, do not swoon!
Resist the urge to leave the place behind
And heap this feeling in a forgotten room--
Be silent, solemn, above all: calm.
I swear this thing will be over soon.

Oh, ( Read more... )

And from this danger they were

delivered by their own valor;

native women are trained for maternity work,

the usual roles of heads and role players.

The lexicon is like a prison!-

if his soldiers had not been assured

they would have gods on their side.

Making progress in these essential arts,

the sweet music of a babes contented cry

and ( Read more... )

Entropy

A piece of you still lying on my bed-

A lone corn-golden strand of memory

Softly fallen, careless from your head-

Ignites the morning light, that I might see

The last of what is left behind of you.

I gently wrap it round my fingers so

That when the night for ending comes, I’ll choose

This golden morning not to let you go.

I know ( Read more... )

Death of a thing that was You

A wax-covered rose petal,

constant and bitter,

symbol of a night alive,

withered in a book

of meaningless pages.

A simple note of yesteryear,

parchment old and cracked,

ink-dried, gelid blood-

a forgotten denizen of trash heaps.

Derelict boxes of you,

Pictures of you, smells

of you, remains of

you-

( Read more... )

 
( PER OHM US )

This living hand, now warm and capable
Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold
And in the icy silence of the tomb,
So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights
That thou wouldst wish thine own heart dry of blood
So in my veins red life might stream again,
And thou be conscience-calm’d-see here it is-
I hold it towards you.

I saw your face in a photograph today (as I sometimes do)-but in this one your face is dangerously close to mine. I look at it as if for the first time. Jamais vu. It is a relic of a long forgotten past (it feels this way, even though it is far from true). I see this picture, but I cannot believe it is real, I cannot fathom that it is you and me in ( Read more... )

I’ve had much too much with life again ( Read more... )