Happiness Kills

repost from blastedgoat

I was playing around with a few lines I found in an otherwise blank document. I was taking notes on a conversation I had with a poet friend of mine named David. All I typed was “poets listen to long playing records of words” and “happiness kills creativity.” Enjoy and look for some edits more than likely… I must like you all, you are seeing my first draft!

“Happiness kills creativity,” he claimed.
I never got the point of using said
when one wishes to be more specific,
be more specific.

Don’t get long-winded,
forgetting your point
in the first place.
Poets listen to long playing records
filled solely with words,
no notes, except
the long pauses.

Slithering s’s complement
that constant cadence
of c’s and k’s.
To say nothing of the nuance
of n’s softening her hard consonants.

She never said a word after that.
When you want to be more specific,
be more specific

She doesn’t utter a word,
but they flow from her clicking fingers, tonight.

based on a conversation quite a long time ago with DRC.

Capturing Parallels

Pretending nothing happened?
Telling lies for we must not tell the truth?
Every time you accidentally mention my name,
brush me off your shoulder, edge a little closer
on a floral couch…

When I rested my head on your shoulder
on the train I wished you were mine again.
Even if you were disguised behind
a handsome strangers eyes,
the softness of your shirt gave rise
to the silentest of cries.

I could not believe that this dream
was sure to leave. I look for you night
after night until I get your face just right.
It’s comforting, there is no ring.

Sometimes, these strangers speak what you cannot.
Sometimes I think: I think, you like him, I think he likes you.
Thanks, smiling foreign dude!

A butterscotch shot, you’ll feel it in your sleep
with no hint lingering on your waking kiss.

I roll out of bed and try to remember
if I was dreaming of now or September,
under oak and apple trees
while we run from cops, skin our knees.

If this were the last moment of my life,
I would be sad. Accepting that this moment,
aside from all the noise of machines in the distance and
the strange fellow with the grey hooded sweatshirt
that just walked by is perfect:

I am sitting in the shade. I hear the spinning spokes
of a ten speed bike as I want for the clock to strike
the afternoon with four loud booms.

Chimes that string the leaves together
only so they can grow weak and detach…

I am sitting in the shade I hear the spinning spokes
of a ten speed bike as I want for the clock to strike
the afternoon with four loud booms.

Chimes that string the leaves together
only so they can grow weak and detach.

Bleed Through

Does it bleed right through from me to you? Are my thoughts placed flat or running like a racing rat? Do you notice the absence of incense or the abscess of stress that grows in a knot in your gut? Does it bleed through a white shirt? Gory tie dye design, screaming circles of deepest red. Finally spiraling out, flickering off, going to bed.

Maybe Strange

It’s so strange how
you pound in my head
when you’re not around.

Wish I could see you,
do you think more of me?

Just wait, think and wait.
Patience, I will sit and wait.

Every time I think it’s over
I come over and end up all over…

Laughing, touching, all that’s required is here,
in your face, smiling and unafraid.

Maybe this time.
Maybe this time.
Maybe this time.

Maybe this time

I’m ready this time…

All we are, moments tangled in time,

I only think of you.

Can’t get us off my mind,
how strange…

Mind Erases

My mind erases all negatives, film splits me down the middle. I’m capturing a cure, killing inhibition because within these walls on these floors habits seem to die so hard.