Friday, October 15, 2010

this is a really old blog of poetry i used to have. ha.




francesca woodman.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

the wild things.

where the wild things are
i'll tell you where they are
where they lurk
climb into your thoughts
like some obscure kats cradle
holding
nesting
peering out
at night

black leather gloves
distressed flannel patches
stuck on their shirts
stuck on you

the wild things
that Reside
in your mind
in your arms
in your thoughts
teasing you
and she
and me
like some mind fuck

like some cheap
small
attempt
at
penetration
a petite drip
of fascination
in some hollow
rusty
loft
deep
in Brooklyn
off Metropolitan Avenue

the wild things
how I cherish
the wild things
so grotesque
so beautiful

casual encounter.

We sit here
Her and I
We want to touch
And we can't say much
And we can't do much
I don't even think we should try
Let our time stand still
We don't have much
We don't need much
So let's have the trees hold our secrets
And let the wind dances with our emotions
the sky covered our eyes
With its velvet ties
We were blinded
Sigh
We know its not real
We know we are not real
Right?
So we stay put
On this bench
She will have to go soon
Someone always has to go
Oh darlin'
It was really lovely meeting you
Bye for now.

one-eighty-six

In to my life swept up
Like dust do the morning streets
Wasn't concerned one could get the best of me
Stuck to hip is where I'd be
Before I'd known of departure
Maybe I was supposed to meet
On the day my friend and I had a feast of margaritas
Surrounded by our loved ones at the table
Maybe I was fancied
When asked to eat a bite of pizza,
(I had been too full of awe to say no...)
Attraction was merely challenge
Challenge and attraction began to dance
From one to five
From five to thirty
As and as we speckled the streets of the lower east side,
Admitted thought, one-
(too easy)
Admitted thought two-
(nervous laugh)
Easiest thing was saying hello
And maybe because after two
The phone rang
(fuck!)
Then voice was all I heard
Face was all I saw
(It has never been easy),
Thirty arrives
Passes quickly
Thirty one is gone
Why would I expect anything sort of proper?
(Hush)
I knew at twenty eight
Still walks about these streets
My Scumbag Streets
On twenty seven
On Twenty three
Nothing to see
But maybe
Maybe in
One-Eighty-Six.

routine.

Black. Gray. Black. Black. Never happy. black with black. Black flat shoes, no boots. Black boots. Brush teeth. Sent. wallet. keys. phone. call ex-girlfriend. Tell her you miss her. Tell yourself you’re just bored. lonely. Okay just call. No text- just fucking text. Call best friend. See you at 9. Whiskey yes. No? tequila yes. Bar? Yes. Done and done. Present. Hi, hi, goodbye. Hi. Hi. Ignore. Pause. Play. Rewind. [Wish could rewind]. [Wish could fast forward.] Stoned. Taco. Beer. Taco. Taco. Nacho. Whiskey found my money in pocket. Eye contact, good. Eye contact, bad. Eye contact, man. [typical] walk. Music. Bed.