~Away-From-Me
has some sort of messiah complex
Newest
I Don't Live Here AnymoreThis is a passing place, A stopping point for vagrants. Greasy green bottles line nicotine-yellowI Don't Live Here Anymore
windowsills, and in each one is
stuffed an embryo with would-be mother's eyes. Offending names flake from paint-peeling walls, Doors brandish slogans
demeaning Catholicism and demanding legalised cannabis. An embryo is squeaking that one day it will be a doctor or a lawyer,
and its mother's eyes are laughing. Stairwells are bathed in urine, bloodstains, and
Socialist children who lie about setting fire to neighbour's gardens; why shouldn't the real people &nb
by ~Away-From-Me
things i want to saydon't tell me you have never rolled off of a malethings i want to say
silhouette and thought "fuck me, that's sinful." don't tell me you did not awake with a jerk and paint letters in the dark describing how and where and what it did not feel like, instead of slapping quotidian, wet fish poetry
legs between the sheets and falling back asleep.
don't tell me that a woman has never asked you
if you remember what you dream, and
don't tell me you've never replied
"it's fading, like i never want you to." don't tell me you've never painted that moment
on a wall and moved your bed
by ~Away-From-Me
phagocytosis isnt fast enoughThere is a gulf between us the shape of an operating table. Surgeons are picking our brains searching for whys or an embolism.phagocytosis isnt fast enough
In a gulf between us there floats a man with a red-taped mouth and family attending two different churches. blood clots float, rush, surge, Stick.
We were Pangea. Over a gulf,
between us, Scientists set conical flasks in
military rows, testing the water.
The surgeons say there is a viral invasion we must fight.
by ~Away-From-Me
atlashere is my mouth. it is the scrap paperatlas
doodled on by an absent- minded child, folded
into careless shapes and
chewed at the corners. it is dropped with pennies
and sweet wrappers, for his little sister to snatch up and
practise kisses on with
mother's lipstick.
here is my eye. it is a poem of sky prior to evening deluge, the depths of a sea subsequent to oil spills
and snow with school children's
nosebleeds. it is off-limits to compass needle roses,
microscopic insects, and the possible beauty of sunri
by ~Away-From-Me
Favourites
Devious Info
- Current Residence: sunny Glasgow.
- Print preference: I'm shallow, so make it pretty.
- Interests: everything, nothing, Bismarck.
- Favourite movie: Garden State, Mrs Doubtfire(!), The Steamie, Austin Powers
- Favourite poet or writer: Muriel Spark, Douglas Adams, Sylvia Plath, Roger Hargreaves
- Operating System: Not today, thanks.
- MP3 player of choice: Barnaby I. Podsington. (yes, I named him)
- Shell of choice: Tortoise
- Wallpaper of choice: over there.
- Skin of choice: maybe tomorrow?
- Favourite game: I like chess... because I'm cool and I know it .
- Favourite gaming platform: the high one.
- Personal Quote: "Thank you for not being naked."
- Tools of the Trade: Fish, potatoes, an irritating mixture of apathy and utter idiocy.
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--
Craig
--
The world is an eraser for these words
- Jack Kerouac
we must destroy that which contains us
I'll be back when I've slogged through the piles of waiting deviations.
--
There's always a better poem just out of reach.
Words create situations
The roots of the future run deep
--
There's always a better poem just out of reach.
Words create situations
The roots of the future run deep
--
The world is an eraser for these words
- Jack Kerouac
we must destroy that which contains us
Just wanted to thank you so much for your support and the
( `leoraigarath )
--
Some days I write those words, others they write me.
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