embrace what you’ve been running from

“Forget safety. Live where you fear to live. Destroy your reputation. Be notorious.”
-Rumi

It is snowing. 

Advertisements

Daisy Salesman

I.
This city is a study
in the cold steel of architecture,
functionality with little else
the wind whispers a funeral dirge
the flower vender is no longer here
perhaps out of business
perhaps something worse
II.
staring at the weeds growing from the concrete below,
I am fascinated by the thought of falling
thirty stories of an infinite flight,
this is existence set on fire
now sprawled on the sidewalk
the crimson shock a love-gift
to awaken the colorless gray
now, shall we know true living?
in the broken bones,
the screaming nerves,
in these moments just before the end?


this is the second half of something I wrote… not sure if I like the first part yet, so I just didn’t post it

*oO-Rein-Oo on deviantart.com

Cro-Du

Parvati

that night we were driving back to Fargo
not really saying much, until

“what if we just kept going?”

our bikes were already tied on the back,
our luggage in the trunk
(this could be so easy)

we stared at each-other
knowing this as true Kairos,
the opportune moment.

we could stay here, just here
or take the wild road (out)

we chose wrong, we chose easy
we chose safe and sorry

(should have taken an airplane,
turned “we probably shouldn’t”
into
“screw it, let’s go”)

I want I want I want

India for Holi
Rio for Carnival
Thailand for the
full-moon party
in Koh Phangan

I want to dance in Seoul
I want hostels filled with
drifters, the ones who
know eight different languages
the ones for whom life is a grand roaming
the ones so drunk on wanderlust

they can barely find their way home

So I run into my roommate’s room, “Hey, which countries have you been to? ” It’S LIKE SEVEN

“Will you have enough money for Korea if you go to California this Christmas?”

http://mightgetrunovermightgetshot.tumblr.com/
hit up my tumblr if ya like

I wrote this

Skinned Knees, Endless Summer
Peanut butter tastes like
grade school in autumn
my grandfather’s sweater smells
of cinnamon and is the exact shade
of a man staring down an ending
The sun’s amnesia made us
forget the existence of winter
and we only understood years
in terms of birthday cake
we laughed at your little brother
when he got stuck in the toddler swing
at the park
we tore off the huge plastic leaves
on my grandmother’s decorative tree
and pretended we were birds
funny how even though growing up
when you’re that young
is a movie on fast-forward,
we were the ones
least aware of time,
least aware of the
slow-march countdown
to the final sunset
summer’s rules:
if you swing high enough
you might fly
and if you run fast enough
you might live forever.
—-
and this is one of my faaaaaave songs.  emphasis on the a’s.

Stella won’t ya take me home

 (I have no title for this)

When I am old, I will eat

whatever I want. Cake, french fries,
cookie dough, three french hens, two turtle
doves and a
partridge in a pear tree
they will not buy me a
wheelchair
(unless I request one doused in syrup
for a light
brunch)
heavens no!, I intend to roll, like a
bowling ball with a face
down the hallways
to wherever my next meal is
I shall pass serenely
well fed and satisfied
to rest, not in a grave befitting the
plebeians
but a crater
____________
I’ve been thinking about the whole “Fat American” stereotype.  and poverty.  Also the elderly, because of course that is my job.