A-Fistful-Of-Pages

                                  dearest,                          today         i was                   the ocean.                           i tried to               reach the            forest but         could only get    as far as sand  before the cratered  moon pulled me back again.           ankles       the       of      at            shrie-    i bit                king,                           shivering                            children and retreated                               back into my cocoon of                                 plankton and salt. i crashed and                                  rushed, i

The trouble with the Boy was that he didn't have the heart of Shakespeare, the voice of Poe, nor the soul of Wordsworth, nor the knowledge of Rembrandt in his darkest days. He didn't have a trace of Michaelangelo's spirit nor the angst of Carvaggio and this on its own was enough to dissuade him from understanding that technique was far better than solidarity and possession far more ageless than youth. He didn't have any of this knowledge because his father hadn't had the courage to tell him that he needed all the qualities of these great men, to win over the heart of a woman who had the dreams of Austen, the ideas of Da Vinci and the scent o

 Mom shuffles in with a mug of bedtime tea at 10:17 post meridiem one summer night. The world outside is exploding into fiery bursts of red, white, and blue. I cringe with every blast. I am afraid: afraid of the gunshot fireworks and the ticking clock, each one equally loud. One would think you lose all track of time in the summer, but you don't. Instead it's always haunting you, day after day after day disappearing without you realizing it. And soon it's The End, and you wake up without any recollection of the past three months. The scary part is you wait your whole year for those three months-turned-days-turned-hours-turned-moments. You cou

a little sparrow is caged in my notebook; lined bars and lead chains to keep him from flying away into the sweet morning, dipping in flight. little sparrow is a metronome drinking bird, locked in perpetual motion

I look into the mirror and see them; my own imperfections staring back They mock me, they taunt me, those dictators of the mind As I stand alone, trapped in a vision so endlessly confusing Exhausted, beaten down by no one other than myself One criticism equaling a million anchors in my soul A kind acknowledgment, nothing more than a ghost My own imagination or reality? One can do a million things and never achieve perfection And though this is part of my knowledge, the rest of myself has yet to believe it to be true...

dear, there are a thousand fireflies under the big maple tree in your backyard and they keep blowing out like birthday candles; over and over they flicker feebly in the dark corners of my vision and i guess i have too many wishes to be granted, and i'm bringing tiny flames back to life just in time to be snuffed away, and the cake devoured

Every night, on the insides of my eyelids, I paint the Universe with the ink set of imagination And the charcoal sticks of memory, Then flip it upside down and the wrong way round And let it snag into focus- On my sleeping synapses, the branches of the Inspiration Tree . In my ivory skull-box of random echoes,   Every melody, every voice, is re-written and rescored, For a symphony of electricity, crisscrossing nerves , And running down, like liquid lightning Into the ears of the dormant soul. Here, this is that part of my chaotic desk Where I re-write physics to suit myself, Redesign monsters and angels to my own speci

      dear brain,      i don't know how to tell you this but           i am trembling with a thousand different sensations at once.    my valves are like             drum beats and if this were an orchestra         the composer would order me              a. side. of. staccatos. to. go. please.   because i am      palpitating; my valves are fluttering   with nerves; i am quivering and pulsating with anger and desire and perspiration, so don't be       surprised if i suddenly asphyxiate and your blood supply gets cut off.   there is   pandemonium   thrumming in my every cell,   i am in a state of entropy,   my very