'sunshine Superman'always i'll be
the cold hangs low
with you i think
like honey, drips
when we get married
stare at clouds
give me a ring
somewhere far from
i'll tell you right now
some beacon of hope
you call me at night
watching fireflies flirt
digging the sand
have your own
can't move too far
what you don't know.instant karma, instant karma.
she'll regret the moment those words slithered out of her mouth.
like the swan's song
the deep throat cello neck.
a hazy fog hung low
to blind those in their morning routes
-mistakes a tree for a person-swerves [to turn aside or be turned aside from a straight course]-and lands PLOP in the river.
frost-bitten and unsheltered
where she sinks. slowly to the bottom
where there is no more breath to breathe.
instant karma, instant karma.
don't mess with what you don't know.
5:16what have you left to give me after everything we've pushed into the ocean
has drifted out to some extreme middle
and wasted away, corroding to greens and molds and ash?
i taste the sky as i weep on these forbidden mountain ranges, high and mightier than anything
our simple minds could ever know or
greater than anything these plain, used hands could conjure up.
i've settled in a nest beneath the brush, marking my way with people: redheads, brunettes, blondes and more
only to come back, knocking on your door,
a used old rag who can't help herself and who feeds and lives upon temptation and desires.
in the morning we bathe in crystalline lakes, naked and more vulnerable than new born babies, young and
upon birth, no breath in their chests and life hanging by a thread,
so innocent and unreal, surreal, divine and natural. (what's more natural than life itself?)
and we've come upon the mouth of the gulf, extanding our hand and wading the water.
right next to him.he discounts reality and forces the pressure of feeling bashful beneath him and
doesn't rely on what wondering eyes, lain on his dreaded locks of hair, may think of his old shirt (three holes in the side) and his used boots (worn by a burly hiker in the 70's).
he washes his hair when it gets too greasy but never before then and rarely after and
when somebody questions his logic he tells them to read On The Road by kerouac and smiles at the sky (it smiles back, of course) and
does he wait for someone to approach him (he's always first in line) and
will you catch him waiting for a girl (they flock around him like bees to a hive).
when it's sunny out you'll see him walking.
when it's rainy out you'll see him walking.
when the wind blows, the trees sway and the air is so still you think the world might be ending
you will see this creature of great entity
(where does he always need to go? Who does he always need to see?)
he offers the world around him
as strong as youyou know you're fine when you can still put mascara on
even being sick doesn't hold you back from wondering how your ass looks in those jeans.
the sad melting snow on the grass is patchy
just like our relationship was
-always had some holes in it
(we didn't realize it then but we know it now)
please forgive me for fooling you, i never asked you to believe me
and i never told you to fall in love with me and to stare into my eyes the only way someone like you could
despite all we've been through
when i held you in my arms i wasn't kidding
so never doubt that, if anything.
everyone asks me if i'm alright and the only thing i can tell them is that
i'm still alive, i'm not dead or dying, i'm still alive
and i'll be as strong as you.
just simply.i can't write.
they're stuck inside me (the words) and an aimed and ready bullet is just itching to produce a warm gun. to finally burst.
it's funny cause
when a gun's warm
that means it's just been shot.
my name is really john, i'm the female version of john, if i married a man named john
we'd be one john.
everyone tells me i'm in some slum
my activity has been doused and bound in leather,
i can't concentrate and
i get jealous of musicians when i listen to music because i know if i wanted to i could write like them.
here i am in a human-sized glass box,
pen and paper just outside of my reach and in my sight.
fuck the undeniable truth of not being good enough and
damn all of the people who write loosely exactly what they feel to hell.
i can't hear anything when it's quiet.
meditation has calmed me though,
given me reason for this suffering (life is suffering)
and so i am ok.
i think up all the best colors when i can relax (if
what comes of insomnia.I'd planned on some thoughts ahead of time
But soon realized that the only tangible array of something impressive that could ever weave
its way out of my head, into my mouth, and spread its feathered dirty wings forth from my tongue
Would come from a missed night of sleep.
There was swirling gray
and ash white
Forming Chinese smoke curls in my mind,
snaking various ways, this and that,
And I did not hesitate to run my hands through it
Slapping about like a blind lunatic in the dark.
It makes me terribly sad when I cannot remember words I'd arranged just the night before.
What was so religious to me as I lay tossing in sheets strewn down at my feet
seemed to vanished beneath my bright desk lamp light
just moments before I could put pen to paper.
But then some quirky smile, some impenetrable guitar chords
Float back to me to ease my worries and
Resume all hope as we know it.
I cannot mistake my newfound youth and joy as luck
-they were a gift, I SWEAR
From someone watching me som
i wanted to show you my cali.Broke my baby's heart into millions of tiny little pieces
Trust was crushed between my fingers,
He cried (i saw him cry)
Well, he slammed my door shut
Harder than the world crumbling,
Started saying something, but kept stumbling
And i couldn't even look him in the eye
I wanted to tell him i'd always love him
Wanted to show him my california
But i knew he would never hear a word
I borrowed his book before i stole his heart
-I won't give it back
Til i read this last part
If only he understood
If only he'd understand
Passing some church down on russell, darling
I've felt tears well up in my eyes just like his
Sometimes we're foolish
I hope i wasn't foolish
Sometimes we lose it
-What if i've lost it?
If only he understood
If only he'd understand
Don't toss it in the ocean, i'll keep on hoping-
you'll be happy some day.