New Page

I've moved my blog to Tumbler because it reads more open.
I don't know how to get you there other than giving you the address


SWALLOW MY ANKLES

I think its just swallowmyankles.tumblr.com
But I'm still working on getting everything over there.

For the Apple

Lately I'm dreaming in color. Of fruits and emotions:
That apple was meant for me. Right there on the edge of its plate.
How long was it waiting?
Patiently anyway, that Braeburn existed. Waiting for me to thank it. And touch it and take it.
Sleepwalking, I gave it my prayer. And it gave me the Sun for a spine.
I'm merging, transfusing. My soul is deforming. That apple is teaching me past living.

When your subconscious talks to your conscious its a feeling of totality. Self sustained and self sufficient. Let no one else inside. Maybe I do believe in past lives.

blackened pockets are soot soaked and heavy with their intent
and me with my black ox on my back
show none of it
roll me over and scream your voice at me

Passive Note of Parsley

I think my dreams are telling me things. But this time really telling me. And now all I think about is fire. It's where there's fire that I'm headed. And this story told me so:
There was once a factory where silk was being spun. In one room, the best room,  there were millions of silk worms. Eating. Munching and eating. Mulberry leaves and eating.  And the sound of millions of caterpillar eating was so loud, you'd have to wear earplugs if you visited. Just try and imagine it. Some sound usually so quite, you've never heard it in your life. Now magnified to such a degree, it would hurt you if you did.
That story comes up in my mind weekly. Sometimes daily.
It's really too simple and slightly tragic, but I'm connected to the fact that it follows me. It seems like it nags me. To remember something I forgot. This story is my talisman. But I don't know yet what for. I don't have tattoos but I gladly accept this as my anchor. A story for an anchor. A captain for my seas.
My mind comes together from this storied memory. Told and retold. Percolating into me, picture by picture. And I only know its there when I'm halfway through.  And by then I'm already gone. In a dream state trance. The place where I always forget to go, but lately yearn for more than ever. Where there's that fire. Nonsensical flame.
My dreams make hardly any sense. But lately they're my best friends. Telling me things I'm much too mortal to decipher. All I can decode is a feeling. A heat that resonates within me. And all I can translate is Fire.

thin lips and all

sick of that taste in my mouth
and its always that taste in my mouth
too bad my mouth follows me everywhere
else i could finally chew something new

ear in the universe