Been at it soo long.

So, it's been a LONG time since I have put anything up here, but I haven't really been in a writing mood (I guess). However, things kind of sparked today--I'm going to blame this on my dad giving me extra strength pm's and the coffee that I drank--the weather helped too (see first two). Becca got me back in the groove. Good day, overall.

Half-Tone, Whole Picture

Throwing

uppers at downers

the head swing-sets

at the day's downturn.

Chocolate dipped

2 parts per whole

spitting brown—bitter.

Fluid rush.

Views long exposed

at turns, when air

pools into swaths

painting each intake.

Feel it all around you.

Descend at leisure.

~tm

Static

Waffled nose from

pancaking the screen

to get a whiff

of winter's rsvp

after a long break—

fast is the embrace.

It redials

grocery store moments

at 6, leaning in toward

cooled meat and breathing deep

as it blisters outdoors.

Even after the crest

of two decades

still scaling

white mounds.

Always,

it will be

a child.

~tm

I did this one for a good friend of mine.

Fox in the Tall Grass

Sleeking its way,

grass combs her

sides, gentle and lush.

Bit by bit, through gaps

she graces those attentive

few. Know what is worthy

and all she offers becomes

valued. Time, a needed affair

among drowning excess.

Her simplicity reveals

her beauty—all coveted.

Now, the grass that hides

mirrors those moments away

pushing to follow

but I settle—warmed.

~tm

this one doesn't have a name... it's probably not done actually... don't know why i'm putting it up here. Incentive for finishing maybe? Classic case.

Paper,

swirling bits—

inner cores

all gravitated.

To war

d'offense.

I've focused

too hard

to hard

the ends.

~tm

let's hope that this keeps up.

love.

You can do anything if Magic made it.

Here's to not updating since forever ago. I have a portfolio's worth of things and I guess I'll post some--good or bad. I really only like one of these (the last one)--although the revision to work is pretty nice. I'm pretty happy how it turned out.

I'm talking to you

We were gathered here,
boxed up, bathed in the
blanket of dark-still.

Turned us on, caged
life on command--
and we won't shut up.

Soft chatter at first
Dr. Jekyls to
screaming jealousy.

Digging through darkness,
grey matter clears up
discoveries

and we want to know.
So we scream out
giving light to
help understand.
To live.

~tm

Indecision

The mind is a mouthful--
squirrly--scatter.
Chew on it all without
choking. Spit some out.

Encasing it all--pen caps
feign bullet cases.
Pick and choosy
end up climbing a
ladder to the ceiling.

Cook it all--up there--
til a burnt tongue
flaunts decision.

~tm

This next one started out really really different. It went through some heavy heavy revision. So, i'll post the original then the revision.

Work, Slow and Steady.

Ever widening, out of control
actions are annoying at their best,
and her mannerisms play the pest
to one's patience becoming hard to hold.
Hunger starts to add to the initial
problem--and, no printer paper left
for finality. Nothing of interest
could relinquish the suffering of the whole
unless 1 o'clock finally arrives.
Finding a sandwich to suppress the hunger
presents itself--a celestial choice.
The question comes, How will I survive?
Grief suppressed by the advent of laughter
by knowing that she's losing her voice.

~tm

As you can see... it's pretty cluttered up and forced, although it is kind of funny--to me anyway. I felt it needed a complete reworking and way more deviation from the sonnet form since I wasn't really working it wholly to my advantage. so, the revision.

Work, Slow and Steady

For finality. Nothing of interest.
Actions are annoying--ever widening.
Knocked out, stars mingle with your

pupils, suffer until the calling hour.
A.D.D. suppressant fashioned from
the loosed string unraveling a sweater.

A comforting thing constricts when
the heat is on. Breaths become
heavy-handed resources--an end

to the line of cardigan-hell thread.
Summer docks itself at our ports--
a change. The love of throwing off

itchy wool that sweats your skin.
Freedom kisses--sprung out of it.

~tm

This next one is pretty old. I did it for my cousin, she needed something for a class she was teaching (I think) but didn't end up using it. Didn't really get the idea across that she wanted. Oh well.

405 to Dreamland

Pillow-headed. Thoughts grassland.
Planes, desolate--eyes snow-globe
And they're off!

Tonight's road map moves like
countries mark pages of passports.
Connecting flights--over-night
one way--carry fantage from
memory to memory.

Point on! Touch down! Odd trip.
Journey's photos Lego'd
into a new captain's log.
Eyes open, oblivious, with a
scrapbook of understanding.

~tm

last one. This is in response to two things: O'Hara and Craig-Martin. If you're interested as to why, just ask.
Favorite out of all of them in this post.

Why I could be a Sculptor

Optimally 253cm
hovering over the
floor, an oak tree
idles until shaken
by steps or bumps.

Everything about it
is clear--when willing.

While twins rest
hidden, cupboarded
in houses, this tree
will never more be

a glass. Transubstantiated--
perceived into its new form.

Belief rendered as art
sewn to our common
thought--of why
I could be a sculptor.

~tm

I'm no throw me over--and have no juliet.

I'm just going to post a few poems this time and spare the conversation for most of you. Please, at least tell me what you think about them or something. That's what I put this up here for--to get people's reactions to them.

Ignore the lines of periods in this one because I couldn't get it to stay in that spot=lame.

Deep Sea Diver

Cloudy day, smoke stacks
brothered in the moment--
at once companioned
all seeming sans couleur.
Eyes blinking, flashing lights
trickle through, snailing.

He was bait
and tackled
by her love

But
..............It

..........................................Left.

Those ocean-steady
advances that drew him,
sketched full of springtime,
in--over cloudy day
empty-handed prospects--
turned salty. Davy Jones.

--tim

to always smiling, to wanting to end up like jason shwartzman's character at the end of shopgirl, to the search for mother molloy, to dancing to a good song and not caring, to staredowns, to late night arrested development, to getting a package filled with new life, to being completely involved, to the throwing off of clothes on a whim, to live-I am. To everything that is in her.

Conversion

1.

Water condenses to
cloud and it's all
bed sheets.
Wrists bound with
leather. Bubble feeling in
fur and birth
blankets of connection.

It took hours to hatch,
that soft first breath
dawning civilizations
of the new--diffidence
couraged into success.

Each beat pillowed by
its coupling. Those
full-naked joys
meadow in warmth.

2.

Scrambling for
notes that highlight
the search, he says,
throw me over
but says no words.
Finding bits of her
in everything.
Trying to rebuild.
Repeated names
out of regret.
Uttered hopes--
I'll reach you soon glory.

Even after explosions
of rapture
he's left searching
through other failures.

Try to get back
Find her again.

3.

Deaf to the thunder's speech,
penses de lésinant,
searching through the
cold empty folds
to find a distanced
object whose size one
knows and desires.

Cultivated attention
fosters growth and
heavy beats intrude
again--protruding a smile.

Bathing in the unattainable
to wash away the wallow
is almost substitute
not the supplement.

--tim

some haiku, senryu, and renga

4.50 she said
when I remembered that I
lost my last quarter

Christmas finally--
interrupted with you'll shoot
your eye out kid.

3:27
am donut cravings
thwarted by the cops

trying to catch the
elevator, I hit the
closing doors

Signing a death wish
always less stressful
when you run out of ink.

attempted funny renga about awkward dates

left step
wasn't my gum
sticky shoes

couldn't get out

of the awkward

loose laces stuck
his shoes on pavement
he trips

this date is stuck
already looking sketchy

words muttering
to a flow
until it's shut

he gets the shakes
on constant stares

shaking hands
new eyes connect
always awkward

slamming door sounds
empty car.

empty glasses
on the table
serious mistakes

looking into the glass
intently searching

late night dance
moves too serious
cause ripped crotches

hair flies everywhere
to the beat, whiteboy.

an awkard date
fathered by a
cheap haircut.

that's probably enough. I'll stop here.

love