A thought

Art

Art is mostly guesswork. It is also about having the courage and boldness to take a guess and be wrong.

A name written never spoken

It is and always will be, a mythical name at my hand
never a real name, it stings too hard, quivers too much, itches in all the wrong places.
This name is to flighty, too irreverant and unsure,
its thoughts uncohesive, flippant and a sometimes a bore.
Sometimes it sings and speaks with such joy, and walks around laughing.
Somwtimes it doesn't know what it wants, fickle dirty fickle is what it should be called.
The unreal name never disappoints, always stays true,
it doesnt change minds and acts all confused. It knows what it wants and grabs it by the tail,
It stays strong for all the right reasons, and stays put in all the right places.
The real name hates me sometimes, sometimes makes me cry.
It doens't make sense to have the real name, it will change one day, and never come back.
Better stick with the unreal, the untrue and the less painful.

Snarl

the lip curls in disdain,
churlish and unremarkable,
a thud in the heart, the chest cavity hollow and dank,
stupid and ugly, its thoughts scatter around,
broken and hated, unwired and unknown.
sometimes thoughts of knowing the right things, of feeling the world,
descends into a hole, a caverning, dizzying bottom.
all it can feel is some cohesion, some sort of cohesion.
but even that lies on occasion and the shakes come back,
affecting the hand, the head and the eyes.
quivering twitching eyes behind heavy sored lids.
purple and blue surround the eye and escape over the neck and the shoulder and the breast and the pelvis, like a disease, a heavy unpredictable, debilitating virus,
its unpredictibility horrifying and tragic.
the tragedy never overcome by the happiness of being.
the happiness of being too short and too cruel.
the hole opens larger and darker and colder.
some day it will crack and splinter and fray away.
distort into noise and speckles and dots.
delete into microcosms, of cells and atoms.
tear away into nothing.

Flutterbye's

It is the darkness that causes the mind to sparkle and fly,
it is the mass of being, the discreteness of time that allows words to flourish, uninvited and warm,
always uninvited they come when you sleep, or just when you wake, and leave when you want them to stay.
So afraid they are of being captured and caught and being turned into font, markings on the page, caged in their song.
They will remain on that page, enslaved only to you.
Oh how I wish I could catch them, just once, or twice, they always disappear, go off in mid flight, sometimes so fast, i can barely see a glimmer, but sometimes very slow and i can feel them and see them and sense them beating on my neck.
My hands quiver with their presence, like a calm before the storm.
But away they go, free from my net, I hate them, hate them for not staying and for not loving as I love them.
I will not hurt them, just keep them awhile, until I know what to do with them, until they come to a meaning, then I will set them free, free to all and forever.
I beg them to stay, please, don't go away, I need them to help me understanding what I do.
Who am I, I ask, but they cannot answer because they refuse to sit still! Damn those words and those letters and thoughts, why won't you stay just for me, just today.
Can I take a picture, sketch down some thought, help me out won't you, I don't ask a lot.
But they refuse me, and for another night and for another day, they let me sleep, disturbed by their flight.
I won't rest til I have them, please just for one night.

Ruminations from a rainy night

By the bed

The air was always pregnant with the presence of a fear of rejection mixed with love, insecurity and obsession. Sometimes the senses were dulled, sometimes heightened to a degree of madness, both parties acting in a state of delirium, yet the problem always being their disparate emotions.
She insecure, he overwhelmed, she obsessed, he merely in love. It changed so much that it was never a fixed moment. Yet like it never was, the two continued to love as if anew.

By the table

The twinkle of lights reflect in pools of grey. Your warm face circling my palm, nuzzling its way into my breath. You catch my sigh with your tongue, splashing it around in your mouth, tasting its bitterness on your teeth. I laugh and you flick your tongue at the sound, engulfing it with one bite. It sinks in your tongue and touches the spot. Laughter is sweet and surprising.

I hope that you

I hope one day too, your flower will wilt,
and wither on your head,
and yellow on your skin,
and crack on your fingers,
and flicker in your eyes.

I hope one day you, will order the same as I,
will receive the same question and get the same reply,
and renounce the same tears,
as figments of imagination.

I hope that you too, will howl at the sky,
and hope for a sound,
as you shudder and cry,
huddle though your day,
and flutter though your night,
at the sound of a howl,
heard far far away.

I hope that our steps will step the same steps,
up to some temple,
some cherished communion,
some relished for union,
a perished solution,
to no ones problems.

I hope that some day I nip at your tail,
and you nip at mine as we roam the street scape,
until the day falls,
were we curl up as beasts
under a grey cloth,
thrashing our heads,
until the day stops.

You hope that some day our hands grow as hands, our fingers grasp air,
our hair grasps at hands,
our minds keep our ears,
our ears hear our nose,
our skin grows pink,
and warm and alone,
until we roam,
our cloth new and white,
our heads by our side,
our tails left behind,
our hands by our sides,
our homes far away,
our coats gone astray,
our hearts and our minds,
no longer combined,
we sink in our beds,
without ragged heads,
and fall asleep alone,
not knowing our song,
our howls in the sky,
float up and go bye,
our pearly window ledge,
keep us separate.

I hope that you hope that we find our grey bed and sleep on our heads.