A short thought between brothers about how this doesn't work.

One night, driving forty miles per hour with the street lights fluttering over head, we decided that teleportation and time travel are possible only for the capsule of the self and impossible for consciousness, mainly because it is just a little bit more than nothing.

On wondering how to look at a face.

I often wonder about
the right way to look
at a persons face, or how
to look at one's own
face. Is the face a collection
of pieces that creates a single
frame of flawless you-ness or
me-ness? Like a painting or
a coffee mug, incomplete
without paint or mug.
For without the mug, there
would only be the handle;
a thing to hold, to grasp,
to carry. Never enough
to justify the ascent to
nonexistent lips.
Or is a face the very
pieces that create a face?
Each individual hair misplaced
above slightly offset eyes
that swoop and peak to
point the way along a ridge
or road of a nose that sleeps,
each night, beside cheekbone
hills, thundering lip clouds, and
the stained castle gates.
The reason I wonder is because
someone said your eyes are
flawless so I couldn't help but
notice that your eyebrows are
uneven.

A night of sleep.

Its not right to tell people
they're digging a hole
when it will never physically
exist.
I can't sleep when I'm alone
though a wish is made every
night, by everyone who does,
that their blankets breathe
and feel the sadness they
wrap, trapping it from
escaping into the sky and
causing uneeded rain in
the clouds that protect the
universe from feeling
sad as well.
I'm tired of being so far away
from you, so I wish, along with
everyone else, that somehow,
every pair of shoes you own
will read my mind when I dream
of your legs teasing mine in
their sleep and decide for your
feet that the walk isn't far
and carry you like angels
arms to the heaven of
a time when we won't have
to be apart.
So I close my eyes after they
toss black coins of some a.m.
into the well of everyones gated
lashes and wish for a long lost
golden light to seep through the
bars, throwing the covers and
freeing the sadness to destruction
of some new chance that will
carry us out and into each other
while were still both alive enough
to die like we meant it all.

Flying.

She always was the first one to cross the finish line, so in a fucked up way it makes sense that it's her funeral we were there for. Rows of pews full of faces I'd never seen before, family from other cities and friends lost to the facade of adult life, all there to celebrate a life they'd barely even known.

I couldn't sleep unless she was next to me. Like that last drink before stumbling home, she gave darkness conclusion and my mind the gift of emptiness ...

But she had to find a way, none of this good enough for her. Ever. She had to escape to the broken hearted fringe of town where expired everything goes when paying respect to the vast darkness beyond. The ability to live 74 years in 6 minutes. To receive the end in the folded embrace of every winter night.

Now its November 2057, and the clouds how grown thick through the months of summer, we continue to ignore our own hands and the damage they produce. I still have her photograph, I still have her favorite books, journals, and the last letter she wrote to the man she always loved but never knew it, never read it.

She used to talk about what the city would be like if its people looked up from their digital interests, their false connections. It was beautiful, though I can hardly imagine it anymore. She would always say "we work together, but not directly, we love the world, but not directly. We fight for change without fighting at all. Nothing was ever changed by sitting still or being peaceful. Our lives are like water; individually we are only raindrops, falling alone and evaporating in a desert of self interest and misunderstanding... But together we can form rivers, oceans, bodies so powerful and organic that seasons of life will gather to celebrate our existence."

Why she died the way we all do, I don't know. Maybe she finally realized flying was possible somewhere else.

not all hands hold the same...
weight
wait
way

why?

All I wish for is uncertainty. Yet all I know is the gravel stuck in the palms of my hands, the cuts across my shoulders, and the broken frame that carried me so far.

My days get earlier

About to head to work, drop my backpack, print midterms for philosophy, and then finish the lead role in YL/TW film at 6pm.

The horizon line is far off and my neck is too stiff to look back because back is broken all the way until today. Will the hurdles stand as high as the stakes in my mind? Or will what comes of time be white to the blackness left behind?

Withinside

Something like the gleaming steel doors that wait behind
barbed wire and bared teeth, locked up in the frontal lobe
of half shrouded conviction. Can't hold a candle to it, for
a shadow cast may become a place to hide. Looks just like
the sun and dances like it, too. Spewing volcanic regret-
me-knots, eight out of nine times tying ropes at wrong
distances cinching tight around the neck.
Unknowingly radiant. Urging on these arms in which
you long to lay. Pretending that the warmth inside
has collapsed and gone.

Orchestration

9 20 20 11
2 x 6'3" + some
0:27 & many more
can't say I haven't
been here before.
strong neck.
eager back.
terminal abandon.
got lost in myself
somewhere along
the way, so now I'm
hitting the sack.
9 19 20 11
0 x 00 + 0
0:00 find me
the rocket builder.

You're the reason I love you.

Land and Sea

Slowly, your steps print folding poetry
between the tiny shards of light, broken
by stretching blades of grass.
That final breath between fading
and disappearing escaped my
lungs with a cruel sense of
uncertainty, and all I wanted
was found and all I cared about was
preparing for revolution.
Slowly, your eyelashes part a
red sea of sleep and amidst the
fuzz you found me, always here,
parting my sea, meeting you in
the crater, the ocean floor, the
deepest point of existence, ready
to be swept away.

Still running.

Welcome self.

listen - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XKPMgpBEoxA

It's all for what? The tired, weightless leather bottoms
of my body know the near million that could say
they've carried me. At the very least, they've carried
me. No one to hold, but in the vast sprawls of
bedding and cool spinning air there are moments
worth living, moments of my unharnessed self
waiting to be strewn about the mind fields of
seasonally felled wheat. Waiting patiently for
the weightlessness to carry itself upon a journey,
no matter how untold.
It's all for what? When these fields are burned by
a rain of desert sands, creating in me a callous of
irreparable change. I can see, amid the tree line,
the shadow of fear dancing, fingers woven tightly
to thistles of the forest floor. Offer it light.
Offer it the undoings.
Offer it the uncompressed self before it is
stripped away and thrown to the harrowed land.

There's so much faith and yet there's
no execution. I'd rather the truth
like a bullet to devour the calm in
my mind than a dance.

Parts

Long drives in your mind get you thinking about what's left behind.
Open roads of bones, varnished in memory detritus.
And together, these years, like phosphates, instill in us
such strength that we are capable of fabricating moments
beyond the complexity of time.


If there was a way to express longing with teaspoons of gratitude and
mouthfuls of everything I've ever wished there were words for,
I'd build a road through the din of modernity straight into the
atrium of the unseeable, ever-lasting light, where, together, we
can finally fill ourselves with the deepest breath of tangled limbs
and raveled sheets; so drenched in concrete, so sure and so free.


I need to feel loved. My ability to navigate from low points could use a helping hand.

I was going to write in regards to those who live
with false joy. And then I realized that I'm a pessimist,
enjoying a cookie, killing time before I go for a swim.

front

unwelcomeness, hello
crescent in the plume behind the
repairable parts of eyes.
biting down in the face of change
chewing the choice and like
I hoped for an answer when I was young.

It's hard to decide if I'm surrounded by high pressure
or low and, of course, which is wind.

a lot of people don't realize what's really going on....they view life as a bunch a unconnected incidents n' things....

Bike ride before my last final.

Tonight I rode past the sleeping people, contributors,
and slipping down through the inches of time
my mind and my body separated next to a red light,
and theres no way of knowing which one
carried my thoughts home.
I saw both it and yet and the strangeness
that is always now in between.

Pieces of what once was.

Gotta stop thinking.
You need to let me exhale, I'm a believer.

The places I've gone within this song, no soul will ever know.

someone told me that you were
bending the books darkest corner
where it curls beneath the finger nail.
picking away the brail from your
lip bones leaving trails of what wondering.
even in trying, remembrance recedes
through my skulls loop hole, left
only with a hollow knocking.
there is no bench of delight,
no milky way resting firmly
beneath the roots.
no hey how ya doin,
terribly confused best
friend of the blues.

in time we find that the mind is even capable of
rewriting the moments that could not
have been traded for the world,
so we leave them behind.

Eventually we'll become the echoes
finding home in the call of crows.
Ionizing the blood in my veins
so that you can replenish your loss
when your mind dries up.

Eventually I'll call you more than mine.
Eventually my limbs will dry from rain exposure,
and getting close will be an option.

First explode, then dream

Nails to the shattered glass skull, an entire sun-dripped day
in an hour, and cold sweat rips the creator from creation.
Malfunctioning pterygoideus externus results in hush struggle.
Pull darkness snug around your neck, no one is here,
depart through the gale.

Your first entry as we exit.

Matthew,

So we've come to our last night in Boise. It's odd how fast all of this (meeting you, planning the trip, coming here, etc) has gone. It's weird how big a part of my life you, and everything you bring with you, has become. I love your family. I love your friends. It feels like I'm leaving summer camp, and I'm not ready. This isn't the end, though. You know that. I know that.
I'm not quite sure what comes next, but you're in my life now, and I don't let people go easily. I like you. I want you to stick around, whatever that might mean. I want to do all the things we plan. I want to keep making our dumb inside jokes. You've changed me, the extent to which is yet to be discovered.

-Christie

Toes in the sand

cerebral quicksand.
the sun on my skin again.
its easier to let go and move on and give up than to fall.
lost hope, found again.
put on the brown bottle shoes.
i'll be here.
when you need it.
and i won't.
when you care.
excessive build up.
let down.
it only gets better.
it only gets better.
don't leave it behind.
everything that you want.
can be held with your hands.

zigging and zagging

"If you didn't care what happened to me,
And I didn't care for you,
We would zig zag our way through the boredom and pain
Occasionally glancing up through the rain.
Wondering which of the buggars to blame
And watching for pigs on the wing."

Yuck.

SUN. YUCK. WHAT THE FUCK.
GOTTA GOTTA GET THE HELL
BACK ON THE ROAD TO AS
FAR WEST AS I CAN POSSIBLY
BE. GOD DAMN YOUR WEEK-
END PLANS JUST HURRY HOM
E TO ME. CANT WAIT TO TAP
MY BRAINS. CANT WAIT TO
SHUT UP AND GET OUT AND
IMAGINE THAT I'LL NEVER
COME BACK. CANT WAIT TO
TURN IT ALL OFF AND MESS
ABOUT LIKE HAIR THAT'S
BEEN FOOLIN AROUND WITH
PROMISCUOUS PILLOWS.
BE IT. ONLY IT. ALL OF IT.

If by avoiding the confines of connectivity to those conceptual constructs created to suppress even those whose job description includes undermining the rest who continually remain oppressed, can we tangle our limbs in long branches of operatic influence to move the immobile masses to century old mindset lives when even the slightest notch in a barricade, if cut wrong, could let fall the efforts of all those involved, creating, collecting, and concluding the times of financial adversary, we do as we want for the reward of collective success. To live as all, as wel, as one tonal wave audible to all but all too incomprehensible until the frivolity of contemporary life sprouts in the waste left out in the cold of contempt. Soon to raise symbols to pedestals, soon to raise soot structures, and soil the cotton comforts of equally existing men. Blown across rot-scapes post-life of the earth. Shrugged off of bold mountainous shoulders, discarding the jacket walking into the warmth. Skin revisiting sun lightened sky (and you), fresh air seeing through pores of earth animals. Shed the armour, the chemical corrosion, the trillion cubic ton urban cave protecting us from nature. We're afraid to die.

Lost in last chance to see,
the cost my head stuck in
sand showering the sleep
off my back handed remarks.
Too much disrespect for
each glass of water that
I drink the words others
till my eyes drop ten pounds
and I die.
First, strive to summarize and
run away if it doesn't work
out by the time you reach
attempt number fifteen.
Fuck it, everything ends anyway,
you corrected me on that one,
there's three more L's, I forgot
to write them down.

December 27th, 2010

Will it last? You'll be here by
the time I return? Yes, and forget the
cracks in the land between us, remember
that transformation is chaotic and
when you were young, because fear was
only an afterthought. It's all gotta
break, some pistachio shells, you know?
Lets just keep it that way.
Prying fingernail persistence. It all
has to break because it doesn't work when
you leap that way, landing flat slap of momentary
steel against steel, gut rocket breath
and we'd always be fighting for air.
Break it yourself, shift, I've been
broken for a while, but I tiled a walkway to
my center and you've been walking it
ever since.

October 6th, 2010

It's nice to be back. I was seeing
things the first time we met, black
engine oil shadows bunched up
under your eyebrow cliffs, ledges
that I leapt from time and time again.
Mystery book of skin pages, it's
hard to read you in the dark, it's harder
since I'm out of stock.
I've been diving since I arrived.
Did you notice? We're no closer
to a beginning than when we started
this mess. Lets just keep it that way.
It's a story that can't be told enough.
A fire that keeps the coils warmed while
they close. Another set of brushed
teeth together, check between your sheets
after I leave, that's where you'll find me.

June 1st, 2010

Hi, I'm sorry it took so long.
It's just that... there's gravel stuck
in the palms of my hands and
a cut on my knee because I fell
off a thunder cloud, got tangled
in the vines of a time when I
couldn't make up my mind...
I don't believe in love anymore,
lets just keep it that way.
…and along came a long
amount of something I did,
though I'm not sure what, slipped
down the slide of hours with
your vibrations reflecting through
the bat filled caves tunneled through
my head (though they're only props)
and landed here beside you.

Conve

the bubble is more like an egg...
"why?" you'll ask.
and the only thing I'll be able to come up with is that some day we can be scrambled together, smooth turning lumpy but oddly more delicious, maybe it's the consistency or the fact that condiments
will compliment us better that way...
It's a long long way down the road. Also, eggs usually
last a little bit longer than bubbles.
Don't think too hard about it.

Stale hope

It was secret to three,
late night, headlight led, desert roaming,
gas station fed, met
at the end of it all with her bed.
Bomb shelter, shuttered out
black hole full of heat, unbuttoned
my way home
from hip bones to feet.
Nothing better to do on a road like that.
Just leave last year behind, just drive
because you know that you've
wrecked it, bite down hard
on the wheel and toss out
expulsions brass necklace.
Wake up earlier than that sun,
pleased to eat streets for
breakfast. It's the way,
wandering one, broken
down into desperate dial
tones, growing and
falling and damning the
weakness and friends
for not calling.
Why the fuck am I here,

Shirt hanger

A 60 watt bulb in the closet rarely turns off.
I'm wrapped and thin wire disrobed for the day.
Curved end clinging tight to the wooden dowel of that
all night long postponing wednesday morning light departure
kiss. Cover my straights to their end with your cotton
dont need to wash and save for another day skin.
I was made like this so that I could hold you.
No need to postpone your return.
You're the only shirt for me.

AbookLight

Everyone knows that the
best time for stories is
in the deepest, dustiest
corner of midnight as the
moon stretches out across
the weeping branches of a
willow tree, slipping its
silver toes into lakes
black, bottomless throat.
While the other boys
stay up reading with
their booklights, I'm
climbing through
the willow to
catch the
moon and
fly away.

m

Postcard

"Take the recycling out before you go," she

said. It's seven in the morning, there's

more than one way to

get rid of what you don't love.

Postcards daydream of many momentary

fingerings to come, cold flat

card-stock desire.

I fit myself into the small

blue box, I go

(some will only aspire to be this useful)

where it wants me to go.

Farewell fumbled request,

convictions of uncertainty,

the socks on my feet.

Farewell cancer I won't miss you anyway,

projected antigrandiose,

embrace at the end of the day.

Farewell simplicity, melt me

down, mix and match, paper,

glass, no matter of my own.

I am manual transmission.

Let your something important

climb onto my back, a woman

awaits, I'll find her soon,

by means of their light touch, their

careful handling, beginning with hers.

I fit myself into the small

black box, I go

but not where it wants me to go.

She wishes me luck, she whispers while laying me down,

"Climb into bed and out of your head."

Farewell, my love, you won't miss me anyway.

Street of Crocodiles THE_QUAY_BROTHERS
Uploaded by BFIfilms. - Independent web videos.

tree ashes

it started in your

driveway, blowing unknown

vowels in desert air

and dreading the days of

distance.

We're both just long wasted

versions of a larry hanging

to the embers of what is

momentarily left.

ashing ourselves into the

wind then ended.

I've flicked myself

amidst the branches of

public trees.

You'll never find it

or ever know where to

look.

L

Blacker than the cold

backs of my eyelids.

I'm digging up stones,

give me 2020 or another

chance to be hit by

Ms. I'll pay attention post

broken legs. Table cloth

summer dress, take yourself

to the floor five minutes before

closed door. I want legs, lips,

lust, & other things starting

with the letter L.

Blonde

My thoughts are blonde,

early teens with no excuse,

robbing the unmonitored isles

of my mind. for a dead light.

Escaping lies just beyond the

border of a state (of mine, mind, mined),

longing for it while cement

seat-buckled into place, held in by the

weight, or the

wait of fifteen sagging minutes

till the last day neglects to

pace on the front step

ringing the doorbell. Odd jeans

wearing, black shirt, bad smile bearing,

or at least it needs some work

kind of thoughts peering through

the peephole at a wall on crooked

shoulders, cup of coffee holding holder

mumbles a moment, my

thoughts are blonde.

I don't want to answer the

door today.

Soaking in.

mhwordell

Untitled

Her fingernails a c r o s s s s s s

my hips,

I often think of sex while I walk,

it keeps me from writing & forgetting

poems or thank you notes.

I tightened my fingertip grasp & released the clasped bra

strap from her back,

earlier that day

she told me that cancer wasn't a good

enough reason for breaking up,

so I bought flowers & walked

all the way home to write this.

mhwordell

Untitled

Laying down beneath an

autumn breeze while the trees

weep their

leaves all over me,

She leaned into my chest

my mind my motive my masterpiece

my conviction,

my calm,

and taught me to breathe.

mhwordell