Spilled Ink

jambu2525:

And I told her, my cigarette burning my lips to get the words out, “you’ll never have another chance to run away with someone who’s as wrong for you as I am.”

sonnateers365:

At the same time.
To be synonymous with.
Aligned.
Together.

I want you beside me
because I do not know the words
for any other type of desire.

My problems….my problems
are solitary ventures without the “ad.”
But you are the one
with the dictionary. You
are the one pretending
we are not surrounded to begin with.

So it’s up to you
whether we discover more desires
or fulfill the ones clinging to us.

Both require words
and perhaps we will emerge
immersed in the same vocabulary. 

horusontheatombomb:

You wouldn’t believe me if I told you
the way the colors rise
tack sharp at the end of the day
the way the multitude of hues in the pallet spread
in a cinematic algorithm
from the frags of forest to the sky
in startling depth
resounding collisions of red to blue and green to gold
in cathedral colors
between cathedral hills
between bells pealing You’re home sounds.

You wouldn’t believe me if I told you
how when the sun sets and the moon rides
smoke blends into the dying azul of the sky
how lights light up so little
beyond their spheres of influence where their borders fade and faint
so you can walk
panther style
in a congo wind between oases of cheap neon signs
on a sound stage of staccato steps
the roar of bombers’ flight.

You wouldn’t believe me if I told you
there is beauty here
in the crab grass and the pigeon fights
in cigarette stubs and lost miller lights
the labrador on loop and the looming threat of strikes
in this town where crows try to sing
and puppets control what each day will bring
where between holy reeds trash breeds
here in 413
painters weep for rapture
the spirit captured.


21st September 2012

mademoisellechapeau:

tender tickling

rays of golden light

cause this irresistible, amiable

crinkling of your nose -

visible sign of your

slumberous bewilderment.

and for that -

me possibly whitnessing

one moment of weakness -

I shall never

utterly

shut the shutter.

iterature:

You sang enchantingly crafted letters 
euphonious and harmonious and dulcet
but they were meaningless to your horribly sweet sweet soul.

You’re a raconteur of such -
a spinner of yarns and tales
they yielded promises that you never intended to keep.

Our almost dalliance
screeched to a halt
with your careless thoughts and your wandering mind
paving the way to nowhere 
but false ephiphanies.

So even though you made feel so
alive
like i’ve never felt before -
your crusty mouth and your worthless hairs
mean no less to me than just another one of your
forgotten fables.  

dennisdubay:

you can’t rush a
garden

you are at the
mercy of

earths dirt,
rain,
animals and their
piss,
animals and their
hunger

not to mention
the sun

that said,
you’d think
love would
be easier
to grow

what with
the lack of

rain,
dirt,
animal shit
and piss,

not to mention
the sun

but there’s a reason
you find
gardens all over
the place

and rarely
a sighting of
love these days

ya see,
we have to feed
the starving
something 

justinpoole:

and your body is the last great frontier, I will spend months creating my map of pure beauty as I mark down each of your favorite places to be touched.

My lips will journey from the tips of your toes to the nape of your neck, I will travel from valley to mountain, from river to forest, leaving no landscape undiscovered.

Ordinary men are propelled to greatness by great passions and none before mine for you have been this monumental.

I will worship your body as the priest at his pulpit, singing out my praise for all of heaven and earth to hear.

Helen of troy inspired a war between empires, for you I shall conquer the universe

dennisdubay:

the heel of my
shoe was falling
off, scraping against
the cracked sidewalk
i was walking across,
waiting on a bus, a bus
that would take me to
the next drink, the
next drunk, the next
day

i kept tripping
on the heel, stumbling,
and wondering what
it must look like
too innocent bystanders
setting off to start their
days, watching me
trip and stumble before
the 10 a.m bus

as it rained down on the
broken cement and the
burnt grass and me,
i wondered why i didn’t
care what they thought
after the 3 a.m bus
dropped me off. 

dennisdubay:

being known has perks,
introductions not needed, 
tell me, who am i?

paintmesecure:

Sometimes I wander,
burn life in my veins,
pour agony into skin,
intentionally price
myself undesirable.

Most are oblivious
to the empty in bones,
or the passion in dreams;
time is as dry to their lust
as whispered secrets are
to eavesdropping agony.

Someday, someone,
they will feel beyond
the importance of a kiss,
or distance of a scent;
delicate and cruel,
testing and the both
of us tenderly sacred.

corequintessence:

So pure a petal upon a white rose

that shoots up from tainted ground,

where past feeds present

where now feeds morrow.

So pure is the white upon that rose

that stands so tall and proud,

with thorn ubiquitously studded

with a sense of invulnerability.

So pure is the rain from the sky

that percolates through the  dirt, 

which forms viscous muds

which dirty all that is pure.

So quick is the white rose sullied

that purity that once was,

is no more and

is never spotless.

So ironic how environs affect

that pure innocence the rose had,

As it wilts

As it becomes dirt itself.

stalactitejones:

Can you hear the calling

The beckoning to your inner being

So faint a voice

That it’s almost misleading

Can you sense the aura around you

Do you understand what it means

Can you hear the silence that surrounds you

That invades your inner most dreams

Can you stop the yearning

That’s been growing deep within

Can you find your way out

Or would you rather stay secluded within

It’s encapsulating persistence

It’s timber growing ever so sweet

It’s mood that lightens up the room

It’s substantiating melodic beats

It’s boom that quivers your walls

It’s echoes that extend beyond

It’s a sound that only you can hear

And it’s message is so crystal clear

I…need…you…near

21stcenturybogart:

3^rd Draft (Updated 4/9/11)

The sound of the ringing phone slices through the stillness of the early morning. She rolls over with a grunt and opens her eyes to the orange light slanting through the gap in the curtains.  She coughs and reaches over to the nightstand for a tissue, knocking over empty beer cans to get at the box. The phone continues to ring and she snatches up the receiver.

“Hullo.” She clears her throat.

“Jane? Is that you?” A voice, tinny and distant.

“Last time I checked.”

The voice laughs. “It’s Donnie, darling. How are you, you ok?”

“Oh I’m just wonderful Donnie, what do you want?” As she talks she opens the nightstand drawer and roots through it. She finds a box of asprin and swallows two capsules dry.

The voice is defensive. “Nothing. Can’t a husband just call to check in on his wife?”

She barks a laugh. “No, at least not you. Where are you anyway? You haven’t been home in a while.”

“Well that’s the thing darling. We need to talk.” The voice pauses and silence stretches. “Jane, honey you there?”

“I’m here Donnie.” She sighs.

“Well why didn’t you say anything?”

“What is there to say? I know what’s coming.” She sounds weary.

“Yeah,” The voice pauses. “Well I’ll say it again anyway. I’m not coming back. I’m leaving you.”

A throaty snigger, “What dumb little slut have you sleazed your way into this time?”

“Now listen, honey. That’s not how it is. I just think it’s not working between us. It hasn’t for a long time and I think it’s best for everyone if I move out.”

Her laugh is a low rumbling growl. “That sure sounds like a lot of shit. Whoever you’re with this time make sure she keeps you. I’m changing the locks; you’re not coming back here.”

The voice grows louder and indignant. “Hey, I’m trying to do this all cordial and polite, I ring you up to let you know what’s going on and you treat me like I’m the bad guy. I don’t need this shit.” The voice flees from the dial tone.

She chuckles as she places the receiver on the hook and then rolls over in bed. She nestles her head in the crook of the arm of the man beside her and places her hand on his chest.

“He’s left me.” She says.

He makes an agreeable murmur in reply.

“You want to move in?” She asks.

“Nope.” He replies moving his arm around her.

“Good.” She moves further into him.

They drift off back into sleep as the orange light moves across the room and fades to a steel blue.