SwallowingInk

the elegant curl of fingers the pulse along the thumb the pulpy fibers under-hand the veritas to come the graphite-shaded digits the creamy, untouched page the smell of coffee left to cold the keening of the age the trembling hand and pencil the rhythm of the clock the writing callus pressed to wood the wait, the tick, the tock the stillness of the vehicle in silent, solemn prayer the slight, self-depricating laugh the something in the air the weighty silence settling in the teasing phrase is found the blinding sight of something right that muffles all around the itching corners of the mouth the slight and subtle grin the first stroke o

She has always claimed to approach life with caution. Missing that near save because she would have had to dive, Spending her weekends on the extra credit because it can't hurt, Turning down dates that she knows won't grow into anything more, It's all a part of the plan. You'll see.

Each one of us is chasing stars, Reaching through the great unknown, Always hoping that, when grown, These sparkling treasures will be ours. So we leap into freezing air, Praying we won't fall back down, For Earth, even in fine spring gown Somehow, for us, does not compare. But fall we do, and oh, how long Is our disgraceful, sharp descent! On this, stars' twinkling laughter's spent, For we, they know, have got it wrong. Our greedy grasp shows no respect; Our purpose, friends, is to REFLECT.

Child of metal, Child of sky Made to falter, made to fly Crude with color mixed and set Made to seek for glory high Child of metal, Child of sky Born to laugh and born to cry Struggling always, winning less Born to sing and born to sigh Child of metal, Child of sky Born to live and born to die Struggling always, ending thus Sinking slowly into dusk. ...Sunken, sure, but not to stay The Child returns the narrow way Made to falter and to fly Child of metal, Child of sky

I haven't words to mourn this dying world, this world with one foot into the Abyss; This world of hollow people, trying hard to stuff themselves with feeling, rush, and fear, in hopes that they will, somehow, find for cheap the depth of life that costs so much that's dear; This world where words are words and nothing more, not dreams, not truths, not frames for great ideals; This world where blenders of "diversity" churn mixed-up cups of product all the same throughout, without a thought for what they'd gain if each was kept and cherished separately; No, I've no words to mourn this dying world; the words were dead already, first

Nobody broke me, I came this way: Drifting in darkness, swallowed by gray. The dog-eared corners, the cracked-flat spine Have always been, always will be, mine. My soul waits in terror, white-knuckled and still, For the next great disaster (for come, horror will), Watching the sky for the next storm-gray cloud, No matter that sun seems to reign all around. When the other shoe drops I'll be battered once more, Naked and bruised, lying prone on the floor. Why bother hoping, and why make a stay, When the next gust of wind will just blow me away? And the terrible wind only comes from my mind, From the shadowy spot I hope no one will

My life wasn't supposed to turn out like this. I was supposed to go to college and study English, and become a famous novelist, or a rich editor for a company in New York, or something. Never in my wildest, most morbid imaginings, or in my best-developed stories, did anything like the shit that is now my life happen to me. Of course, they say the truth is stranger than fiction. I guess they're right, whoever they are. ...At first I didn't notice him because I was accustomed to looking like I was minding my own business to avoid attention, but the longer I sat there against the wall, the more I was sure someone was watching me. And not just

Salt must be what makes the world go 'round Notable in any place it's found Leaving liquid trails along the cheeks Running miles and miles, for weeks and weeks Glistening in patches on the skin Sharpest tang that, yet, we must take in Spilling out in joy, in grief, in dread Only fully stopped when we are dead Sunk in salt and water do we drown Yes, salt must be what makes the world go round.