Post with 1 note
DON’T HOLD GRUDGES. IT’S LIKE LETTING SOMEONE LIVE IN YOUR HEAD FOR FREE.
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“Forgiveness is for anyone who wants a safe passage through my mind.
Forgiveness is the release of all hope for a better past. ”
-B. Wakefield
Ever since I heard this three years ago, I have enjoyed myself a lot more in social situations and been a more consistently upbeat person. I just now realized this.
I guess that is what taking something to heart really becomes.
The Last Straw
The night you surrendered to your demons and deleted the exorcist’s number from your phone.
When you hid inside my walls because you “wanted to hear me exist”.
When you screamed your dream at me before you had time to forget it
and when you punched me in the face because I didn’t wake up fast enough to hear it.
The night I held the door open for you and you fell asleep in the frame to test my dedication to chivalry.
The night you swerved all over the road to show how drunk with love you were and you ruined someone’s picket fence.
That time you paid for dinner and didn’t tip the waiter.
The day you poured bleach in the dishwasher because you couldn’t find the detergent. No.
The noodle incident.
——
EPM 2013
The Dream
He dreamed
of a broken bicycle.
“Your work ethic” said
his boss.
“Your marriage” said
his mistress.
“Your childhood” said
his psychiatrist.
“Life left behind” said
the voice inside of him.
His wife said
nothing,
picked up her purse,
and left for work.
——-
EPM 2013
Based on old notes from Galveston, TX
I set my compass south and started my engine before daylight broke my focus.
I passed through the death penalty headquarters and slept at the colossal shoes of Sam Houston for a few hours when the sun caught up to me.
The closer you get to the Gulf of Mexico, the more Texas boasts about possessing palm trees:
50 miles out and you can see the struggling tropicals hunching over in plastic pots outside of every nook and diner.
The air is salty today.
A gray lady justice stands guard over the primary intersection of Galveston, Texas.
She faces north - away from the chaos of the ocean.
The sea knows nothing of justice.
-
I make my way down to the revealingly named Seawall Blvd in hopes of a soft place to sit.
I find an entire beach worth of cushion.
I submerse myself in Poseidon’s insolent children.
Their waves. Their rage.
They swallow me and their salty spit blinds me for all that my vision is worth.
Blinking helps only a little.
I wonder how sailors deal with it.
-
The couple sitting nearest to me are infatuated with one another.
They share spliff after spliff before making love in the tides.
A nervous lifeguard is whistle-blowing his guts out
because they are inching closer and closer to the forbidden swim zone.
I wonder if he really believes that they might be unknowingly pulverized against jagged rocks at the expense of their passionate continuation.
His lungs must be shot by now.
I could tell him to relax
but I’d rather let it go.
-
Things like these
are best left
to nature.
——-
EPM 2013
Mush
You are a storm shelter buried beneath the sea.
You are bird houses abundant in the branches.
These basements we make for ourselves serve as blankets
to the world outside we want to forget.
Whisper softer.
Breathe easier.
We could spend a spend a century constructing cathedrals from the confidential
but will never know the hum of nodding off to sleep unless we lay down our chisels.
Save the labor for another day.
-
I never meant to fall apart so easily
I didn’t mean paint you something dangerous.
You have tornado country
etched
into the valley between your ribs
and I gave up on storm chasing years ago.
I caught the first cloud
heading the longest direction home.
I never looked back.
I never thought it would spin me in circles
and bring me back
to the past
that I haven’t lived.
-
When I split my knuckles open
to show you my handiwork,
you reached for bandages and told me
to get some rest.
——-
EPM 2013
Post with 1 note
This poem is about how Tumblr’s word processor is a piece of shit and it goes like this:
Tumblr’s word processor
is a piece of shit.
EPM 2013
Astronaut Acrostic
Before we
Learned to speak
Out of passion, we spoke
Out of necessity.
Death is not the only reason to chase survival.
I don’t want to live just to
Survive.
The space cadet might
Hear only circuits buzzing for months -
Incantations of machinery breathing.
Cries calling out to jet-black heaven
Keep him company as he drifts.
Eternally.
Restlessly.
By the time the wires fall silent
Under crinkled thermal sheets,
The astronaut sleeps.
Winter enters his cabin through
A crack in his carbon fiber cell and for the first time in seven months, wind whispers.
The space cadet sleeps through it all.
Emergency threat level:
Rosebud.
Space is not for everyone.
When the silence gets too eerie,
Astronauts will press their heads against each others’ chests
Listening to heartbeats
Lying together
Only so that they may hear life and
Wash away the relentless, eternal
Stillness.
By the time his cabin collapses under the pressure of space pushing inward, the
Astronaut has frozen - a vacuum where vital signs once were.
Call ground control.
Keep them from sending a search party; the cosmonaut finally sleeps.
EPM 2013
I’m writing one poem every day for National Poetry Month
“Birthday Drunk pt II”
All of the birthday cake sloshing around in your stomach
makes you cheery.
You are colored gray-leather-harmless
and are draped in the style of television static.
Will the next generation even know what television static feels like?
You sway elegant in your year-past-silver
and wear a tiara that you stole from the statue of liberty.
You stand tall as Texas in a town built around a tombstone towering towards heaven.
You heal everything you touch and this city is wounded in ways that its water will never mend.
It limps on the legs of language - longing for lonesome doves
and you listen.
You have no idea how much hope you breathe into this town.
Tonight, it is your birthday.
Thunder shakes the window panes
as you collapse calmly
and surrender to gravity
in ways that the Baker Hotel
will never know.
EPM 2013
Photo with 1 note
People who steal things are not nice people.
I spent the last year and a half building my first pedal board and someone liked it so much that they stole it at our CD release show. I hope it frustrates them a lot when they try to use it.
So it goes.
Video with 3 notes
We dun did an interview for Austere magazine a while ago. Chhhhhheck it out.
Photoset reblogged from Magical Nature Tour with 1,128 notes
Astonishing photos of rare Bengal Tiger at feeding time. Photos by Birte Person/Solent via Mail Online
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