Devious Journal EntryI watch the smoke mount
In great strides above the city.
I belong to no one.
Then, I remember my shoes,
How I have to put them on,
How bending over to tie them up
I will look into the earth.
--Charles Simic
Promise--revisedPROMISEPromise--revised
ask me, and I’ll do this— when the leaves begin to rust I will climb each deciduous to scrape them green
and then everyone will know why the branches bend toward earth— they’re bowing to you
Another MoonlightAnother MoonlightAnother Moonlight
I wish we’d met in another moonlight. Evening air whispers what thoughts won’t say. At least the stars would know if we were right.
Uncertainty makes us see without sight. Isn’t doubt more hindering in the day? I wish we’d met in another moonlight.
Solitude lurks in shades of black and white. We question midnight when luck goes astray. Only the stars would know if we were right.
The dance of others steals our will to fight. These silhouettes would lack their shadow sway If we had met in another moonlight.
The risk
Loco
Ruination.untitled sonnet.A metronomic gold chain clinks and sways and binds large, round-rimmed glasses to her face. Her smoke grey suit and hard wrought steely gaze, another cog to mechanize her place. Chalk numbers scrape across the darkened slate, and callused fingers twitch in routine style. She moves in sluggish beat with force innate as thin heels click on cold asbestos tile. No gazing at the weather passing by; her stare will drag you back to tedium. No dreaming of lost things once filled with fire. With clicks and ticks, to her you will succumb. For what is time forever to mankind,.untitled sonnet.
Her CandleHer candle was sinking low And she smiled through it As wax dripped to her forehead And pretended to be tears. She ran her fingers through the flame And sometimes let them stay Until the scorched flesh Made her begin to gag, But she smiled And began to run away. She pulled her eyes To stop the sight, And cut her ears To stop the noise, And sewn her mouth To shut the voice. But she smiled and bled. She tasted it through the stitches And drained it of its salt, Then cut the fingers off one hand And hung her pain up. SheHer Candle
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A man risked his life to write the world.
and you know why....
x
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shteffanos waz 'ere, '07.
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No, she is the beginning of all evil paths: alas for all who take possession of her, and destruction comes to all who take hold of her, for her ways are deadly, her paths lead to sin, her by-ways end in evil, her tracks in criminal wrongdoing. Hell.
For poems of such few words, it tells me everything. I love it.
~ That One Girl
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How you turn my world, you Precious Thing!
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-shane...
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