sometimes when my brain is congested, it coughs, and words come out.

for you
i write with horizons,
fused pulsations 
of light 
and burning skies.
what a dangerous place this,
what i have carved
love into
a whisper in your hand, a kiss,
it is all i have to give.

the dust dances too

words i can never spell: resteraunt and rythymh.

if one has children, they are able to:

  • play Legos without being condemned as being too old
  • have Nerf/Super Soaker battles whenever you wish
  • run around playing Star Wars dress up all afternoon
  • build tree forts and create secret codes
  • make a space ship or submarine out of a cardboard box
  • set up blanket forts and read scary stories by flashlight
  • watch cartoons and eat Rice Crispy Treat cereal
  • have someone to snuggle with during lightning storms

so yeah. time to have some babies.

there are lies in light,
refractions of rabbits
that kiss the mind and dance
poison dreams to awake to.
don’t get lost. there is poetry
inside you, thunder. lightning.
glass is not always transparent,
it does not show
your most beautiful parts.

“will we remember each other when the sun rises?”

and this is the only love i have,

my hands
my lips
my thoughts
my lungs
my words
my ink
my heart

(my life)

write our names in the dirt.
traces of the gravity
we left in the folds
of grass
and moonlight,
these impressions of love;
as if we once existed,
together.

in waking.

eyelid dreams. (we are)
sleepy poems and light fragments;
beautiful remembrances
that never were.

hitrecord:

CLICK HERE to get your copy of THE TINY BOOK OF TINY STORIES

my tiny story is getting some love! this makes me happy :)

hitrecord:

CLICK HERE to get your copy of THE TINY BOOK OF TINY STORIES

my tiny story is getting some love! this makes me happy :)

“there are embers inside the dark places
desperate for the air in your lungs.”

—   thedustdancestoo