swaying, swaying.

and the white shell sang

mostly to itself

its lungs full of my air

and its veins full of 

my lovers blood, asleep

in the sway of things.

the quiet ghosts of tide

and moon stood with 

their eyes closed 

in close reach of the song

avatar smiling with the shell

at his feet humming along.

he told me the talent

was in their bones

and in the marrow

like a copper conductor

the rosary beads bent

over his knuckles like

scars or lips parted

in confessional kisses

and when the song was over

so was the conversation.

More fridge poetry

I thought that was the night

or is it you too?

often where we have

fought off the sunshine on the floor

suddenly; you must smile the uncharted smile

that your eyes told you to.

I watched the fool

talking the eager language

each word dropped on her body

like a desperate kiss

in that hard airport tongue

some goodbyes, are never meant

to be spoken out loud...

jargon.

i want to play with the roots that

grow languorously from the tips

of your fingers.

sleeping during the day

in a heat wave

and in need of shade.

cut off is how it feels

sometimes; in the distance

sleeping off the shock

of our close contact dialects.

fair is fair

the language that we made up

is getting lost

in the noise around our feet

and my hands are tired from

explaining everything

in the calm conversational

tones that we

are used to using

the cold spell has frozen

our lips and where we used

to take turns smiling

now we just take turns

forgetting to speak.

"the bricks keep the cold in."

she said, quietly shivering

under the quilt that was supposed

to keep us both warm.

her explanation was simple

but she knew it made sense

in the way that everything

she said made sense to her.

if i had the words to explain

to her everything that I felt

she needed to know, I would

have taken her cloudy breath

and given her life and a smile.

Conversations with Avatar

There There child, said avatar;

when you sleep the sleep

of the dead, the world does not

exist. The weeks days lose their

own count, and tomorrows never come

to those who wait. Breathe Breathe child,

said avatar; his thick accent sweeping

the words around in his throat

like a broom, grey eyes far away 

from the todays lesson. Wake Wake

child, avatar said; the wrinkles

climbing his forehead like a ladder

smiling in a way that was meant to

say somedays really are worth living.

white noise at the end of the world.

I came out of the static
with her knives stuck in my hands
left my old self dead and buried
with a gun stuck in the sand
in my heart you carved your daggers
and the streets ran cold and red
if I don't carry you you'll stagger
is the last thing that you said
hear my foot steps catch and stutter
in the back she held my hand
found the alley that she stranded
and I found him as a friend

on the day she killed november
i hadnt seen her in years
her face it never changes
her heart is changing gears



i hope luke arnold wakes up tomorrow and remembers
that we're starting a hip hop project cause ive already started writing...