Orange peel sun.
Purple silhouette hills.
Blue cotton-candy skies.
Cut every which way by gold film.
The sun finally sinks
down onto the purple hills,
resting itself for the evening.
Once the night comes
I see the cynical nihilism.
It comes out too.
Nightmares grow,
like wild weeds.
I can hear their trilling.
The trilling has its own color.
Crows don't fly near it.
You feel it's brown
leathery texture rubbing
your inner-ear drums.
It's terrible.
Our only reaction
is to keep our eyes open.
Praying that the colors
of orange peels will come back.
It's warmth, lost in the evening
Only to come back again.
Showing posts with label authors. Show all posts
Showing posts with label authors. Show all posts
2012/06/04
2012/02/27
2011/11/11
2011年11月10日 Eating alone
I hate eating alone. Look at those two over there.
Look at them.
I don't like how they stop smiling
I don't like how they stop smiling
when they look at me.
Reminding me that I'm eating alone.
Are they frowning at me
Are they frowning at me
because I'm sitting alone?
I hate this.
Why did they bother?
To stop smiling?
The food is tasting less and less
like food everyday.
Would company change that?
I hate sitting here,
I hate sitting here,
this is taking too long.
Take a bite.
Okay.
Now, get up
Now, get up
and walk around.
Okay.
Eat and move.
Eat and move.
Wait what? That's what people do
when they're rushed in life!
Sit down
and enjoy the meal.
But I'll be sitting alone.
Oh, I hate this.
I need to distract myself while eating.
Huddle in front of the computer.
Huddle in front of the computer.
Huddle in front of the TV.
Don't waste time thinking
Don't waste time thinking
about the food you prepared,
it's not going to give you any compliments.
Wait who is that?
Wait who is that?
Isn't she in your class?
I bet she's a bitch.
Look how she doesn't smile.
How can she look unhappy
How can she look unhappy
and look so well?
I bet she eats alone too!
Maybe not in person,
but certainly
in that ice-box,
called a heart of hers.
What about your ice-box?
I keep the liquor there,
it keeps me from thinking about
being alone.
Oh! But what to do?!
I'm here outside alone!
Children are coming!
Watching their incredulous faces mutating
Watching their incredulous faces mutating
at everything they look at!
It distracts me so!
This is wonderful!
I can see the magic
it's on their faces,
and I can looked incredulously too!
Oh, wait now, wait now! Don't go! Damnit, look how they
all hold hands with nice uniformity,
as if they're little ducklings following a mother goose
who in actuality is a semi-chubby hipster, leading them away.
Oh damn it!
You're alone again.
Stop thinking those things.
Parve tuna,
talk to me.
Relish, you too,
talk to me.
You taste kind of sweet.
But now, bland.
No, you're bland! And the banality
of your incredible ability to ramble
is giving me mercury poisoning!
Why couldn't I be a carrot?!
Silence relish!
Oh how I relish,
in silencing relish.
Eating alone, oh,
I hate this.
I have to sit alone
to eat alone,
and live alone
to eat alone?
How can anyone do this
for such a long time?
How can anyone
want to do this?
Who is that, over there?
Who is that, over there?
Why do they look on
the ground for such a long time?
Has their neck broken
Has their neck broken
into this downward position?
Did they cower
for such a long time
it is now stuck?
I see a woman, or girl rather,
I see a woman, or girl rather,
with blonde hair.
It looks like fine strands of silk,
evenly cut. Oh! Oh!
I would skip eating lunch
I would skip eating lunch
altogether to touch
and compliment it!
Wa-wait!
Her eyes look down,
but they look forward.
How do you do that?
Why do you do that?!
Why do you do that?!
I suppose she is,
eating lunch alone too.
eating lunch alone too.
2011/10/23
2011年10月22日 The nights on Night
Maybe tonight, I will go for a drive? And take in the Night?
It calls me these days. It misses me, and I miss it.
It asks me not to drink. It asks me not to smoke.
And so I try to do less. And I try to do none at all.
And nothing is easy when you do it alone, nothing at all.
Sometimes it asks me things, and tells me things.
And yet, it leaves with the coming specters of colored dark shades.
It leaves with the purple, and the marmalade colors of orange in yellow.
It leaves with the pink. Oh the pink!
It's so pretty in pink. But it leaves me at times
To deal with itself, in the night. In the dark
Just as I deal with myself.
Could I bring tonight to Night?
And the Night comes for me everyday.
And sometimes it wants to talk to me without words.
And I talk to it, with the windows down and the radio on as I drive.
I looked at the stars, and I saw three of them.
I knew the Night was calling.
I knew the Night was young,
And yet as soon as it would begin
it would be old. But as it got old,
I loved it more. I loved its sincerity.
And I did not want to go away.
I did not want to go back to sleep.
I prayed for wings.
I did not need the sleep,
the wings, ideas of escape.
I could put on airs about myself and others with words.
I could hide away in the night. I could hide in the day.
The Night could hide away in the night. It could hide away in itself.
Just like I could. Just like we could.
But when it was done. And I step out of the car, I would still hear,
I would still hear the Night and see the night.
And I would still be myself.
And myself was telling me to do another lap, to continue driving.
To continue thinking.
To continue wondering about the maker of the night.
The Night and I thought about God, who created the light.
Maybe the Night and I will think about it together tonight?
Maybe we will say nothing.
When I step out of the car, and I walk inside
I forget sometimes that I take the Night with me,
and that very night follows me inside.
Follows me throughout my day. In the day even!
I wonder if the Night took a part of me?
I suppose that's a thought for another night.
On another drive. Onto where the tears of bourbon,
and where the breath of cigars, could not come.
It would be where we allow
the other things, the following things
to wash over everything else,
pulling the towers of knowledge into the sea,
only to push back debris.
We'd never escape the water, and
these feelings of spiritual issues and pain.
And to escape would be no different
than crying in the rain. Wouldn't it?
But I wasn't alone, not tonight.
Not tonight, as I stepped out into it,
looking up.
It calls me these days. It misses me, and I miss it.
It asks me not to drink. It asks me not to smoke.
And so I try to do less. And I try to do none at all.
And nothing is easy when you do it alone, nothing at all.
Sometimes it asks me things, and tells me things.
And yet, it leaves with the coming specters of colored dark shades.
It leaves with the purple, and the marmalade colors of orange in yellow.
It leaves with the pink. Oh the pink!
It's so pretty in pink. But it leaves me at times
To deal with itself, in the night. In the dark
Just as I deal with myself.
Could I bring tonight to Night?
And the Night comes for me everyday.
And sometimes it wants to talk to me without words.
And I talk to it, with the windows down and the radio on as I drive.
I looked at the stars, and I saw three of them.
I knew the Night was calling.
I knew the Night was young,
And yet as soon as it would begin
it would be old. But as it got old,
I loved it more. I loved its sincerity.
And I did not want to go away.
I did not want to go back to sleep.
I prayed for wings.
I did not need the sleep,
the wings, ideas of escape.
I could put on airs about myself and others with words.
I could hide away in the night. I could hide in the day.
The Night could hide away in the night. It could hide away in itself.
Just like I could. Just like we could.
But when it was done. And I step out of the car, I would still hear,
I would still hear the Night and see the night.
And I would still be myself.
And myself was telling me to do another lap, to continue driving.
To continue thinking.
To continue wondering about the maker of the night.
The Night and I thought about God, who created the light.
Maybe the Night and I will think about it together tonight?
Maybe we will say nothing.
When I step out of the car, and I walk inside
I forget sometimes that I take the Night with me,
and that very night follows me inside.
Follows me throughout my day. In the day even!
I wonder if the Night took a part of me?
I suppose that's a thought for another night.
On another drive. Onto where the tears of bourbon,
and where the breath of cigars, could not come.
It would be where we allow
the other things, the following things
to wash over everything else,
pulling the towers of knowledge into the sea,
only to push back debris.
We'd never escape the water, and
these feelings of spiritual issues and pain.
And to escape would be no different
than crying in the rain. Wouldn't it?
But I wasn't alone, not tonight.
Not tonight, as I stepped out into it,
looking up.