EXHALING CATALYSTS

Note: Love the imagery.

culturalmarxist:

feel like roads and buildings
are prison bars
& the roar of cars are guards
knocking on my cell. feel the inanity
of what i just wrote.
wonder if i could
appropriate intersectionality
to mean the thousand things
weighing down on me.
wonder what you do
with first world
problems. rode for an hour
to write this haiku:

          spear-thrust!
          cormorant on the
          shore-marker

but what i didn’t have space to include
were the unseen roads still
making their presence heard
or that the lake and the sky
were the same shade of grey
& how i’d convinced myself
lying in the calm sun 
would make me well 
or why i rode there in the first place
so the poem was a lie
& this poem is too—  

     want to give something true.
     don’t think true is real—

before this poem collapses under
it’s announced self-importance
can only rush to share
the morbid happiness i found in Elst
writing this in front of

chicken & deer
surrounded by chain-links
& a roundabout.

Side Note: Very cool alliteration!

thesealivesinme:

Such as summer sap she shimmered as spice,
Noticed by necessity now needing none as nice,
Pensive pressures perchance partake of perdition’s price
‘Til twinkling trepidations transfixed her thrice.

alex-ivy:

she is bitter
and she is broken,
but she isn’t dead.
no, you haven’t
killed her yet.

she digs into the
concrete jungle deep
like a good little
g.i. jane.

she wears her
tears like warpaint,
to remind her of
the pain -
a defense against
incendiary passion
sticking to her
skin like napalm.

no, you haven’t
killed her yet.

she waits.

Side note: This reminds me of Soco Amaretto Lime by Brand New.  

sleep-sweet:

We were the only kids on the street,
twenty-two and terrified,
wondering,
                                “Where did the night go?”

The sun was rising over East River Baptist,
catching the eminent cross in its glare,
and we were the only kids on the street,
and we just stared.
                                “Where did the night go?” 

We talked in hush whispers, about
girls and religion, and we made jokes
about rancid politicians, and the
question lingered still.
                                ____________________? 

We were the only kids in the street,
twenty-two and scared for our future,
wondering what would happen to us
when we died.
                                “Where did the night go?”

Side note: Well this is pretty much how I feel all the time. I love the simplicity, the repetition of ‘And I am…’ and the flow of this piece. 

zari-nzinga:

And I am awake

Neck crooked

Eyes burning

Mind absent

And I am naked

Venerable

Penetrable

Intelligible

And I am lost

Seeking clothing

Seeking comfort

Seeking sanity 

Side note: This was pointed out to me, it’s brilliantly written - it’s just a shame there’s  not more of this writer’s work on his page. 

sentienthaze:

In forms of corrosion come rabble reforming

At least, an explosion of habit; ignore

Sing the rhythms of panic, the quenched, we abnormal

An ultimate havoc, we’re drenched and informal

And all the while pointing, behold the obscenities

Gruesome anointing of mold’s lost amenities

Sheathing the remnants, old shadows still wailing

Belittling REM dance, rest had? No, will failing

Scratching, next offer, move quickly, abandoned

Unlatching hexed coffer, prove sickly a random

Head down

Head down

-GG

Side note: This moved me. 

adustmitespeaks:

if autumn’s tiny
limbs could soften the barbed
road prickling
the calloused but still delicate
cheeks of midnight

then maybe,
             just maybe

the morning’s thick and
frosted brows will refrain
from tormenting my
already lidless soul.

Side note: Sigh…just beautiful.

oceansandmilk:

(i)

faraway, so close.

(ii)

when the moon was a child she spun like a top, she pulled the rain with her and turned it into rivers and turned it into seas and gave them all shores like beds to rest in and shoulders to be cradled against. she danced with her bodies of water, she wanted to be a fish, a gull, a boat. she wanted to know where space ended. she wondered if she was a shadow of the world or if the cold she felt pressing against her and the smell of the stars burning was all just a mirage of the world before another world. she spun. when the moon was a child she didn’t know she was a child and she had no habits - she spun like a dancer only just learning the words. she had no opinions and she watched the world only when her eyes caught it, like the flash of a coin in a well. then, later, she watched it like a show. she thought; i’d like to feel a weight grow in me, to end all that infinity, i’d like it to tie me to the earth so i could walk in a straight line, if i wanted. she watched us, our fingers blackened from newspapers - the shadows all over us like craters. she watched a man place a bowl of milk on tiles for his cat who was orbiting around his legs. she heard the purr of people entwined. she wanted a weight ‘but i am the moon.’ and her daughters looked up, and her sons fishing on the water did too, and they saw her pirouettes and wondered at her beauty. they wanted to build ladders to reach her, a liturgy for the light after the sun, oh isn’t it wonderful to live under the sun! and the moon replied yes, isn’t it just a dream.

(iii)

i feel too much and i feel nothing at all.

Note: This.. breathtaking.

thesealivesinme:

When celestial bodies bid Saturn’s rain adieu,
flames saddled bleakness upon galloping shoulders,
sprinkling drops of glass across the licked frontier,
felling boulders afoot the face a smoldering precipice,
Vulcan was the impetus Neptune never shed a tear.

Side note: Awesome, just…*Mind blown* 

cleverabbit:

i’ve been getting these massive aches, located at the occipital lobe in the back of my brain. where all the things my tender eyes get analyzed, where all the things my dreaming mind decides to bring to life behind those closed things. it starts off with a tremor, a slight vibration moving from the back and down into my neck. it gains momentum like a swinging pendulum gaining weight the more i see. a warm winter, a capricious spring, a smile on your face. oh, how my occipital lobe aches! those fallacies laced in kisses, those hands hidden in the darkest parts of your pockets. my eyes strain to see what you’re hiding down there, i just want to know what you’re thinking. maybe that is why these headaches are coaxing me to lay in bed and sleep - rest those eyes in a dreamless world - because my brain is weary from trying to figure out the difference between your truth and mine. trying to figure out what is real and what are lies. i guess the answer lies between black and white lines, a color that cannot be defined through my sad, weary, aching eyes.

at least i can say that i tried.

Note: Love this, its so well-versed, simple yet captivating.

pill0whead:

Have you ever watched kids
on a merry-go-round?

Or listened to the rain
slapping on the ground?

Ever followed a butterfly’s erratic flight?
Or gazed at the sun into the fading night?

You better slow down
Don’t dance so fast

Time is short
The music won’t last

Do you run through each day
On the fly

When you ask “How are you?”
Do you hear the reply?

When the day is done,
do you lie in your bed

With the next hundred chores
running through your head?

You’d better slow down
Don’t dance so fast

Time is short
The music won’t last

Ever told your child,
We’ll do it tomorrow?

And in your haste,
not see his sorrow?

Ever lost touch,
Let a good friendship die

‘Cause you never had time
To call and say “Hi”?

You’d better slow down
Don’t dance so fast

Time is short
The music won’t last

When you run so fast to get somewhere
You miss half the fun of getting there.

When you worry and hurry through your day,
It is like an unopened gift….Thrown away…

Life is not a race.
Do take it slower

Hear the music
Before the song is over.

By David L. Weatherford.

Side Note: Love the thunder, love the imagery.

theplotneedsmorebourbon:

I’m full of

spit(e)

like thunder clouds

and I chew more
bark than I should.

Tough and coarse;

my retina’s drip

crimson thoughts

through

fading dawn

and

static spaces.

White lines;

as sharp as

a

finger.

nail.

tap.

The world
could end

but

an empty glass

save melted

ice

leaves

not enough
water to

drown in.

Note: This just speaks volumes to me. Well done.

embeeness:

   I have no place.

                    not as lover
                not as trusted friend
                    not as old flame
                not as confidant
                    not as pen pal
                not as distraction
                    not as temptation
                not as hope
                    not as escape
                not as dream
                    not as memory
                not as joy
                    not as love

                          “For now” I am nothing.

divingforair:

if i tried to find all the words i could try to put a name to your face. this twisted trail of petulance and rose scented breeze. you cower and bomb into shades that infect the soul. you prowl and traverse the desolate grounds for bitter satisfactions. a common denominator to relate with, caressing the skull of perception every twist of the way. nothing can stop you. you rage through hospitals spitting acid vibrations at reception workers while blowing smoke into operating rooms. you sit on the face of insanity staring bleakly into a pool of contaminated waste blowing synthetic kisses towards broken mirrors. 

 the gate has grown rusty and old. the memoirs of war have long ago laid waste to ignorant gods. nothing sounds the same any more apart from the grinding of the wheel. the scratching sound of citizens trying to escape you and your desire to control. the schools are teaching filth. the courts are filled with corruption and greed. petty criminals stop to chat with local figure heads about perverse sex deals and illicit use of mind bending drugs. soup kitchens long ago crumbled to your greed. a sponge. a speck. a piece of dust endlessly floating in a mine of torture and despair.