Daily Lit Deviations for April 23rd, 2012
a chinese paintingi can't stop comparing
your thin arms to the tree branches haunting me outside my bedroom
the aloof night sky
painting itself into a summer's confession against
my frostbitten windowglass
the same one i gazed out into endless dandelion fields
what are we ?
wasting days without end, in our sleep
the scent of a burnt rose rising from a mountain peak
with your tree branch arms over my spring blossom tattoo.
a yellow bird peered in,
but only saw ivory waterfalls
of factorymade bedsheets,
i'm becoming the yellowbird,
exploring my tree home. your
All Dressed Up And No Where To GoI drape myself in words
With redundant fabrics,
And "happy ending" slip-on shoes.
I conceal my precious nudity.
I hang "love" on one ear,
And "me" on the other.
Sleeping With An InsomniacIt's not simple anymore. This can't be fixed with disjionted apologies or
feeble explanations. There is no marrow in the bones of our love.
He dreams with skeletons, and the mirrors rip his face in half. I reassured
him it was only a reflection, but he said
'no, it was a nightmare.'
Insomnia is the devil's work for those who scavenge for sleep. They dehydrate; rabid and molting. Survival insticts churning paranoia through a weary mind.
Exhaustion has blushed purple beneath these eyes. Sometimes I find
myself nourishing seeds of hate, but hypocrisy so easily points a