flightyou mentioned vulnerability but that's myflight by a-secret-key
weakness. i can wash anything off, no lady
macbeth. i'm all copper and silver and
anything that conducts. the current is my currency,
soon as it's vintage, and i'm always fast.
free will is real so you
can't touch me, and
i'm a gambler
(don't remind me tomorrow if i'm grey)
but i'm invincible. someday,
i'll withdraw it all in words,
when it's sluggish and slighty off. like shifting
gears, i can skip a few on my way back
down, and i barely feel it. that's the truth.
19/05/14a sort of forcefield and the edges buzz,19/05/14 by a-secret-key
lap at my eyes like a camera lens. and that's such a dead
simile, i know, but sometimes it just
fits and besides, i'm too lazy to think of another.
did you see that? the blackbird moves across the lawn, a clot.
it picks its way through the blockages, digested flame
and burnt-up blossom, noise on my green. i watch
for a while and then i just
close my eyes.
i never knew what this meant,
still don't. the world is swollen. got a word for that?
Sea poem, Maysuch a sleek thing, the sky,Sea poem, May by a-secret-key
inside your mouth like a mist. your throat--
i concentrated the best i could.
my shoes clattered the rock-- it felt good to climb,
like i'd been somewhere.
i shut my eyes and tried noticing
--thought i'd see a glimpse, an eye-stain or a
linger, but you'd been there long enough for your skin to peel back, so
why was i wanting a handshake?
the sea was one thing, the cave another. a smooth
belly of rock, not much else. it dribbled stones out
onto the beach, a bodied white noise that bothered me. i looked so hard,
kept my face to the light and my eyes
shut against it. that's glory, i suppose,
once you boil the whole thing down and look at the bones of it,
which i did. that's what i'm trying to tell you.
sometimesi used to think this was the easy part:sometimes by a-secret-key
having something, keeping it. turns out
i'm no good with keeping--
just taking, just moving on. it's not all
bad, though, and
in the end i guess i like that so much of this
is down to me. effects
don't always have causes. sometimes
we just get tired-- tea stained
lantern sunlight. do you ever get
home is tiny in the distance. its lights?
i can barely see them--
corner of the eye,
they burst with tiny needles.
a nice thought, i guess, but maybe that's just me-- sometimes i wish
all light was firelight. it's silly, yeah,
but i'm young enough to still get why it's good
to be tangible.
sometimes my head is cotton-stuffed
and somewhere far away from caring. but then
sometimes it's just my head. i'm beginning
to get used to that--
sometimes i even fall asleep.
My Future in AlgorithmsI'm an awning-bound baby,My Future in Algorithms by chipmunku
all denim and dopamine.
You're sporting a cardigan,
and a knack for trigonometry.
Toaster waffle junkies,
with blue eyes.
I bridge the canyon between our lips on tip-toe:
(It is more than three inches, but less than thirty miles)
My subdermal south-sun shows through sometimes,
and you're arterially Scandinavian.
I count the stars,
and you count down from 9 to 5.
Statistically, baby, we're damned.