From The Vaults : Flashback to Project #365of2015
#365of2015
In the beginning of 2015, I decided I would write a poem or haiku or something each day of the year. Unfortunately, as it often goes with ostentatious and ambitious projects, it only lasted about two months or so. Here are some of the highlights…click here for the full album on Facebook!
discover us
underneath these drumbeats
this perverted percussion
i lie awake in your nightmare
a foolish scurry into solitude
you summon me
before you reach climax
and i forbid myself your fruits
i taint my poison with antidote
to disease my cure
enveloped in your fever
lapping at your drips and dribbles
will you be mine
or will i be yours?
Three strikes
Against my bosom
Infecting my blossom
My flower blooms
In black and white
Instead of glitter
Pollen studies the laws of attraction
Further examination
The dirt stays dirty
The scum of the pond
Coats the back of my throat
I go away
And find my breath
I catch my breath
And share my wisdom
With my blossom
My hand on my bosom
A promise to bloom
Three strikes
The gong chitter chatters
A billowy baritone
Signaling war
Announcing the change of seasons
I steal another breath
Before the coming frost
You will die after i do
So i can live forever
sudden shame
when i realized i lead you on
made you think you stood a chance
at getting inside my romance
sudden fame
sudden shame
i didn’t even need to know your name
produce me
produce me
overproduce me
mold me into an ever turning wheel
switch my oval
transform my triangle
reassemble my rectangle
make me work
make me work
so that i may be consumed
so that i may live forever
over quantity
in limits superceded
yes i am here now
but it also takes time to create them
motivation
desecration
abomination
resurrection
use this spoon
to decide the passage
on this fork in the road
celebrate each second
celebrate each minute
celebrate each moment
be free
stay alive
and keep those scars intact
they are your school
they are your foundation
the world around me
the singer on the subway
the film playing at the arthouse
last tuesday evening
the lovers holding hands in public
the interesting way a trashcan
knocked over and its former contents
strewn along the meridian
where others find fault and disorder
i find promise and nuance
a pearl can only be found
when the oyster is unhinged
