Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Hoarder's Psalm






What else do you label a box that is at least partially packed with bottle caps and sea glass?  I refuse to call them useless, it's part of nesting.  The aggregate I keep to help me feel settled.  They shine in my eyes with moonlight as I try to sleep.  Imagining a life as fulfilled and long and deep, as a french kiss with eternity.  I am disposable too, and understand discarded things; so I collect them to journey with me.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Whimper

This will break the tension. Heat the glands
beneath my eyes, release the mucus
pressure in my sinuses. Make
my mouth dry and my lips hot.

My chest heaves, and my breath’s involuntary beat
becomes a ragged staccato.
Just out of time with
the bass of my being.
Which sounds so loudly now,
in my throat, just below my earlobes.

Externally, the only expression of the
cloudburst, is a whimper that
leaves my lips before
I can breathe it back;
like laughter I long to smother.

Technologically Sensual

This interface feels like
sliding fingertips across space.
Why waste time with buttons,
when you can make a machine
respond to touch like human skin.