| (no subject) |
[Jan. 3rd, 2010|12:04 pm] |
above the sky, perfection
below, we're just spreading colds
your wingman lost a plane part, he's coming in crashing and perfect
everyone's dead, asleep in the stairwell
my lungs are phlegm, thick like thieves |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 20th, 2009|12:49 pm] |
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thy sky never collides with the sun, they're always sharing |
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| last quotes of 2k9 |
[Dec. 7th, 2009|09:13 pm] |
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"sorry, it's just that my mom maxed out my credit card on e harmony" |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 7th, 2009|09:01 pm] |
you might want to say strapped for this quick visit.
we were in a Burger King in the bronx, and after ten to fifteen minutes, you thought , i think i might have to go in after him.
i told a crackhead meditating in a urinal, yo bro, so sorry, but i gotta go .
he was in love with the tiles, they were pink and too perfect for the context
he snapped out of it, said sure, you gotta go, all of this with one eye.
when i came out, she said, jesus, you're alive
we got back in the car and crawled thru traffic to Astoria.
the sky was damp and buildings were sad and wet and everybody was happy.
i've got a tumblr blog that's been home since july to a hundred or so decent tangentals. if you want the address, holler. stephenm.kane at gmail.com |
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| swimmie dependent kids vs. just dipping in |
[Aug. 12th, 2009|02:25 am] |
the happiness of being
under water
with a nutcase like you
our bodies
like sweet layers of numb blu colour
washed deep to the bone
ABOVE,
the physics of a hot summer moon that
rapidly agrees to wreck all sandcastles left standing
all them small waves flowed from theory to action
a wet slab castle covered with bully water and
the push and pull of empty shells lolling back in the tide
and back onto castle ----- it's a pity party, it's a pile on
----kid, that castles
kinda looks like a half-smile with sandollars on tops
with waves like book cases,
whales woulda turned up too
alongside these washed up lovers
all lobster red from a saturday burn
there's a lil too much celcius here
oh god, looks like them lips turning blue
sandollars, castles, cancer
all these little deaths
as magic hours hang all holy moly in the sky and pass
to ash-black dinasaur sparkle
the happiness of being
under a comet crush
with a nutcase like you |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 23rd, 2009|10:14 pm] |
"let's listen to our heartbeats" in a class fulla autistic kids
and everybody listens
and every incomplete feeling suddenly expires like heat lightning
such a buzzkill - all these games of skill
washed hands, math, manic belief in the alphabet. sponge bob tees till the sun outshines itself. pre-k 2k9 seems like
a slot machine of quick dreams in a young kid's head.
she put his hand on his shoe as if power ranger soles held a pulse too
what it seemed like was said:
all i wanna do is listen to somebody else's rhythm |
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| no more living with cloudy beginnings - |
[Jun. 20th, 2009|05:14 pm] |
take a breath in the rain and the clouds coast in yr brain
it's like taking a cloudy life and cutting a clear beginning -
one glimpse at this spit of land - lolling beaches and shallow water.
this is what we said:
what i feel is the flux of luv -
the feeling of being underdone -
jesus, boy, there was no preheating
and come low tide, we gleam that
all creation is hot for the circulation - |
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| all my ninjas floorstomping |
[Jun. 20th, 2009|12:49 am] |
skip a block off Willow Street
where i left those pills in the summer heat
you are so far and deadly near
it's like an ocean song in my inner ear
saved nine lives of every ladybug on that playground
blow on yr finger and they catch hot winds
but on the blacktop
them lil' kids still wanna stomp em out |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 19th, 2009|10:57 pm] |
this was the hook:
"you and i in heaven
VIP, no waitin'"
and you so nice you bring the bright right into my life
like the girl with the skeleton kiss,
caught you biting yr lip
she say the gays always smell so great
it ain't an AXE thing
but it might be
it's like checking yr pocket for
a lucky train ticket and some
unchewed gum that's been thru a thunderstorm |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 13th, 2009|01:52 am] |
luv&attachment
like a buncha skinny kids
perched in the sky
playing chinese checkers with a glitter board
you make one move
and the world moves with you- a double castle of easy completion -
so much motion - these
words and body memories
are loaded with sparks and strdust- (so talk slowkiddo)
one move and everything is a hot collision of light
you and i
coming back to earth,
a soft landing in the deep grass
and what i really mean is, we give off a lotta heat
never quite knowing where it goes. quick memories
stored like bright teardrops in that lake-like mind
home lies behind the eyelids |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 13th, 2009|01:32 am] |
no luck in trying to trace
the geography of the sky
like maps of our
bodies -you
could be the clouds or
the criss cross stars
any constellation, you name it |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 9th, 2009|12:48 am] |
happy and unimaginative
she wears that look well
you swallowed a mouthful of senior moments trying to explain the small parts thru a pay phone
chewed six pieces of gum and the grape taste never wore out
got tired trying to find the content and direction of our sun-burned desires
this is the sharp side of karma , paying in full for avoiding linguistic precision |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 9th, 2009|12:08 am] |
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if life is a dream i'd prefer to wake the fuck up |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 14th, 2009|10:27 pm] |
When looking back at scrapbooks, I easily come to the notion that anything decent off this dome is by hand and with Carver, Hempel, or Sontag to the right of me. Not straight plagiarism, just flow and the freedom of short sentences. I look at anything internets or easy fingers and it's basically kid-silly lust for rhyme , or lust for fragment. No intentions, just incomplete precessions of something covered in soap suds, tears, and oatmeal. Late Life ChickenPox, or something akin to it.
I wanna get back to writing seriously, writing with images thawed out and then words. Everything sans this :
"There are only three things to be done with a woman," said Clear once. You can love her, sufffer for her, or turn her into literature." Lawrence Durrell, Justine |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 9th, 2009|12:15 am] |
walkin around in wet snowgear
yr eyes in diamond white tears
you were only lukewarm sick before
you OD'd on vitamin C
everyone was wearing december thrills and mid year smiles
luv is like an erased name that you playgamed yr stepchild
that kid with the pretty red strawberry jam hair, '
kid got more crayolas than parents
she wants meaning on extended release, like a sky undivided by twilight
no diff between near dark and dead black sky
girl is like that, declaring no line between heaven and here
she yelps yells and yawns at these hope street kids
boys with their white tees stretched to their dumb raw knees
the one lighted on horse tranquilizers, he stands real confident asking
WHERE MY TEE then collapses and talks to an extended adolescence jesus.
and by that, i mean FDNY
homeboys with headgear that seem after-life-esque |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 7th, 2009|12:05 am] |
nobody noticed my misty escape.
and i ended up floating like water in the air.
to the glowy ocean side, above the pounding of waves.
thats where you showed up on the foggiest day.
from high above you, i saw your earth framed body wrapped in wool.
the glow surrounds you.
and when you breathed in /// i felt the pull. |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 6th, 2009|10:47 pm] |
who feels like they've been humming the same song their whole lives
humming the same flow thru different families and sprees of friends
the same flow under exploding sky, the same thrill of catch kids and endless sentences about how we all so similar, yet so on the diff.
ben black, deep in in the district, i know you feel me
i finally ran out of words for everything that was so easy to say
05/08
in may, the mind moves toward love's disorder. she gets panicked in sweat, starts speaking like Stevie Nicks. the body too, its skin baked in layers of brown. one beach day at a time, that's what she said, bronzed and bored with daydream sanity. in a two piece, everything comes in threes - sky, ocean, Evian spray. so tired of the shine between the clouds, all our sun kissed skeletons and dry eyelids move into the waves -
get wet and go under, her hair matted over the eyes. mems like this this move you towards
get wet and give up , but that decision is like laying in the sand dunes - unbelievablly hot, strapped with a first aid kit.
sun exposure, it comes so quick in the desert - from white to red burn, no aloe or anything
missing you, its like frostbite on the first night in february - somebodys gonna be sleeping on the streets, straight under the clouds
these seasons are passing like the 99' sands - etched out by angry water, still pretty but on their way outs, into the lilac sea |
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| "Body am I, and soul"–so says the child. And why should one not speak like children? |
[Apr. 29th, 2009|07:57 pm] |
the worst part about teaching is trying to yell - i got real problems raising my voice, asserting some serious authority. someone's usually gotta do something legitimately abberant to warrant me getting Mr. T on a youngin'.
but an even worse part is when i do, they kinda think i'm playing around. it's moments like this when i wonder how i'll ever like Be A Man that can ante up. And now that there's cameras in every corner, you can't even put an arm on a kid's shoulder. A Panopticon brings out the gentle pssy in almost anybody.
I'm having trouble interpreting the violence of socialization. The movement from Simply Kindred at 3-5, to completely competitive and wrecked at seven. Thus, I've always thought Freud's most legitimate point was that to mantain happiness at an older age, we have to retain an element of "play" from our youth. A certain cheerfullness, a knack for fucking around and feeling free, in short, not feeling everything too deeply, but still whyling out in a subtle way, like hermit crabs on a home voyage back into the tide |
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| an hour and all ourselves |
[Apr. 22nd, 2009|01:29 pm] |
the intimacies of spring :
one wineglass
blow some breath
and it all comes brimming up
yr swimsuit and pool and dry eyelids
are intensley ---- Light!
"you, you again, sounding like the
endless frenchman"
we carry faced emotions, splash happiness
opened up like
the sealskin of watermelons |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 20th, 2009|09:55 pm] |
"Yr a ten out of ten"
and you, Yr a white diamond"
traced across the chest.
"""and the siren come calling
in the night
till the light.
help you dress yourself up fancy
bathe you when you get sore
i'll be good, i think i could be all you would want and more and more.
be proud when you dazzle the wondrous
glitter your eyes for the town
tell every last boy that you're my man
try not to let you down."" |
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