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Lit Thumbs:
couldn't bluei draw a picture of
tomorrow morning:
a man in a silver box sells
75 cent coffee and bad bagels.
his shirt is the kind of blue no one ever
tried to name a crayon after.
dust-plastic blue,
tried to love you
(couldn't)
blue.
and the morning is that same color,
the color of canned lightning-bugs and
unfiltered cigarettes and desire,
because that is all you
draw with couldn't blue.
i pay him 1.25 in change and purse-lint
so that a fourth-world factory can make more
silver boxes to sell more things
more stale blueberry muffins.
and he will keep gathering change
in 75 cent purse-lint increments
in the small sinking townships of
all the couldn't blue mornings.
and he will keep gathering the
ugly colors of
another side of desire
and he will wear those colors
on a shirt
those colors no one
liked enough
to name.
Train Under WaterBrother,:thumb252892377:
I'm writing to tell you I'm dropping out of college; I haven't told anyone. I'm twitching, Michael. The hunger came back a few weeks ago, and I'm not sure it ever left. Regardless, it's crying now, and I need to go. I need to keep moving on. I'm leaving for Chicago tomorrow. My train takes off in the afternoon, and when I get there, I'll leave again. I want to go somewhere new, Michael.
I want to go somewhere I have never seen before.
Now, I know you have to be worried, but don't, Brother. Don't you be afraid. I'll write to you wherever I go. I won't leave a return address, please don't try to follow me. You can't, Michael, you're too smart. Your place is here among these people; and mine is out there. You're meant for your books; I'm meant for my trees. I want to roar from the woods with a pen mightier than He
Inner-scopea single poem
I'll never stop revising -
myself
October '11
Gas Lamps and Ghost LightsThere is a stretch
of road just opposite
of my street that had
been paved over
the reserves of an old
graveyard. The bodies
had been moved be-
fore hand, but the gravestones
were left untouched on
either side of
the new avenue, the
workmen too frightened
to brush the mar-
ble. When all was done, there
had been rumors that
the graves hadn't
really been empty and
it was briskly a-
greed that the road
was bad luck. I never
believed it for a
second. In pass-
ing, I noticed that the
headstones were all most-
ly blackened with
age which matched the pavement
eerily well. Most
were overgrown
with a dying brown i-
vy, the weed spreading
like a disease
from weeping angel to
mausoleum to
cross. Woods of tall
evergreens towered o-
ver everything and
on sunny days
offered a cool respite
from the heat. On rain-
y days, they o-
vershadowed every source
of light, darkening
the road below
with strange shadows.
ConfessionLips met in clumsy haiku,
against each other, pressed,
the way the earth touches the sky,
soft and whimsy as the dusk.
Tongues painted passion-
sunset colors,
halcyon atmosphere, infused,
-upon every awaiting space offered.
Metaphors dotted the hallows of limbs and tasted like the seasons-
a bursting and vibrant spring,
a hot and passionate summer,
an adventurous and teasing autumn,
a cozy and comfortable winter,
-all at once.
Skin smelled like Frangipani, an offering-
blossoming with intensity as the sun draped itself in twilight's shawl,
-and felt like a brick wall crumbl
turning over bucketsperhaps it isn't beautiful,
lying halfway underwater;
pouring your palladium hopes
down your hands
into buckets
looking full of shale and broken glass
half lighting whiskey-paper on fire
with that sun tossing in your chest
and all of you rattling
in this thin-skinned pineapple percussion,
the things you're so very sure of, sweltering under
callouses, under sea-
a kaleidoscopic mass of stinging cider-riviera
twisting into your human frame;
but when i say something of protests
you break in,
with too many pinecones waking in your chest, saying,
how lucky how
lucky we are
to be alive to be
living
HistologyThe curvature of a thumbprint:
each line a fleck of space, time,
traversed like a galaxy, a sea
of scars. Home-grown: the touch
of it an opiate, silk as sedative
but broken. Imperfect,
like nail-marks, cut cursive
into floorboards, where I caught
light by its ankles and dragged it
back to black. Uprooted it to pitch
like the closing of a fist.
Starting Over, Growing UpI was sick of the pink,:thumb278268335:
It was on every wall,
And every accent color
Was more pink.
I wanted white
A clean slate
The color of a new life
A new beginning
I asked you to help
We wore old jeans
Ripped band shirts
Nothing we minded ruining.
Me, being cautious,
I let you go on the ladder
And rip down the lights
A pink chandelier
We stripped the walls
And brushed over them
Using a massive paint roller
We turned the walls white.
I threw out the pink bedspread,
Tore up the pink carpet,
Ripped down the pink blinds
And pink valences.
Three weeks later
We sat back to back
In my new room
All white.
This was a beginning
The start of a colorful life
One lived in the bleakness
Of the every-day world
This blue text is a link!
Blockquotes
couldn't bluei draw a picture of
tomorrow morning:
a man in a silver box sells
75 cent coffee and bad bagels.
his shirt is the kind of blue no one ever
tried to name a crayon after.
dust-plastic blue,
tried to love you
(couldn't)
blue.
and the morning is that same color,
the color of canned lightning-bugs and
unfiltered cigarettes and desire,
because that is all you
draw with couldn't blue.
i pay him 1.25 in change and purse-lint
so that a fourth-world factory can make more
silver boxes to sell more things
more stale blueberry muffins.
and he will keep gathering change
in 75 cent purse-lint increments
in the small sinking townships of
all the couldn't blue mornings.
and he will keep gathering the
ugly colors of
another side of desire
and he will wear those colors
on a shirt
those colors no one
liked enough
to name.Train Under WaterBrother,:thumb252892377:
I'm writing to tell you I'm dropping out of college; I haven't told anyone. I'm twitching, Michael. The hunger came back a few weeks ago, and I'm not sure it ever left. Regardless, it's crying now, and I need to go. I need to keep moving on. I'm leaving for Chicago tomorrow. My train takes off in the afternoon, and when I get there, I'll leave again. I want to go somewhere new, Michael.
I want to go somewhere I have never seen before.
Now, I know you have to be worried, but don't, Brother. Don't you be afraid. I'll write to you wherever I go. I won't leave a return address, please don't try to follow me. You can't, Michael, you're too smart. Your place is here among these people; and mine is out there. You're meant for your books; I'm meant for my trees. I want to roar from the woods with a pen mightier than He
There are many variations of passages of Lorem Ipsum available, but the majority have suffered alteration in some form, by injected humour, or randomised words which don't look even slightly believable. If you are going to use a passage of Lorem Ipsum, you need to be sure there isn't anything embarrassing hidden in the middle of text.
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