haunted.

gentle
painful vibrations
rattle the cobwebs
caught in the eyes of the house

dust gently parts between rotting floorboards
and ectoplasmic fingertips
disturb the crooked picture frames

the nameless faces hold their gaze

the weight of this presence weighs steadily
upon an unstable foundation
and the frames sigh
in a soft frustration
shifting the wooden structure

without a spirit
it remains
just a house

but the eventual cracking of beams
fogs up every cracked window
so it disintegrates in its pa[i]n[e]
crumbling in fear

and i know you will break me
suck dry the electricity lingering in my walls
little of which remains

without you
my tangibility will become
terribly too obvious

but at least there will be something left.

crystal clarity.

fine & sculptured
rounded fingertips
cold.
cold like my hair standing up
pushing my muscles.

go faster.

my eyes shine open
an iridescent blue

contrasting the
one murky green
that made them:
swamp eyes.

listless & lethargic

suddenly fall victim to
a tsunami of energy
infusing the iris
with the realisation:

your time here is short...
stunted by the
finite lifespan
given to me so lovingly
by a god who never knew
another's love

He lingers
omnipresent
wishing to be loved
so personally
not by masses
all to willing to worship Him
without getting to know Him

they say
He will give himself to you
if you let Him.

prayer hands are touched so tenderly
together
closed off

&He cannot feel your p[s]alms.

we have the option
of understanding
but we never exercise the will

we lock our doors & hope
opportunity will knock
instead of seeking it ourselves

fifteen year olds carry children with their burdens
and aspiring artists stunt their visions
with chemical doubt.

the prodding continues

i have a job
i am a professional human being.
i act out my profession well

the only funny thing about it is,
the people i feed are rarely hungry

where is the justice in that?

i return to a nice apartment
which i can't fathom calling home

but i am not without shelter.

i will always have arms in which to keep warm
blankets under which to hide

who is the lucky one here?

the moral of the story:
stop complaining.

in which a jealous & ill informed lover destroys a monument.

something put together
so simple &
unintrustive

&it lies in pieces
but not so noticable
to where fingers
grabbed onto it so suddenly

the scraps
they should still bear
dusty fingerprints

&lack any remaining hope
of a healing bit of tape
or care of the most humble artist

the first time learnt.

a smooth palm tree chest
&leaf green eyes
always synonymous with summer
&driving slowly to nowhere

legs speckled with sunbleached hair
&muscles lazily flexing
while letting off the brakes

i couldn't touch you if i tried
a memory
hidden beneath an aging shell

&you bought me packs of marlboros
when i was too young

drinking wine in a playhouse
where i learned that sometimes
eagerness is
[not]
a crime

not when the warm night
hugs the trees
under which
he held together
tracing
each other's jawlines with drunk fingertips
&making promises we were both too naive
to know would never keep

i was too young.

you, too gone.

skywards.

still silent water.
lethargic, rotting wood
naps half submerged
not bothered to exhale
murky liquid
and i
stand as a monument
attesting to nothing less
than deterioration
of something once
overjoyed
to tilt a browning face
skywards

title for two.

2006.

2007.

2008.


title for two. [or, the farewell richard helton poem]

cigarettes & too much booze
we never had a thing to lose
black eyeliner & cute boys
we'd stay up late & make some noise
little red pills, a line or three
my best friend you'll always be
remember the time we took the photos
in the burnt down dilapotato?
or when we went to wal mart tripping balls
& i sat there and talked to the wall
or when i was super down & sad
and my depression made you mad
you told me to shut the fuck up
and then with rum you filled my cup
you're good at beer pong & cutting hair
and getting to see straght boys' underwear
remember when we were old ladies
& talked about being old & dead babies
or that one time we stayed up all night
&that guy tried to sell us a fucking flashlight
or your 21st birthday i almost blew it
but thankfully i got you a boy named rumit
even though you gave my boyfriend a kiss
it will be you that i will miss
no one else will know what the fuck i mean
when i turn and grin & say "moose arent beans"
we've grown up now... kinda... & must go into the world
but hopefully we'll still always be 14 year old girls
and now you're going, i can't believe
but like hpv,
you'll never really leave...

cos i love you&
i'll miss you rocko fabulous!