Monday, October 7, 2013

Keywords directing to my blog (from Google Analytics)

shitty sonnet
our laced toes
easy 9th grade epic poem

Friday, May 17, 2013

4:08 AM or how many times can i listen to Carry Me Ohio alone in bed

safe in our atrophy

"i ruined you", you said
i was drunk again, and it sounded trite.
fermented on our bed we bought together
with our last dime, i remember
fights and times we stayed up all night
trying to make sense of our persistance
yet i still tried to write

except i didnt.
and i dont know why
maybe our stubbornness kept me floored
tummies filled and needed more,
(did you say that you scored?)
together in our atrophy
you gave me more, like i was aching to be cured
of your affliction, our addiction
it all started with being bored.

an emotional night
and then i cant write
i stare at these pages
wishing they would become something more
i havent written in forever, or felt like
 my words matter
or anything  did
it means nothing

would it be weird if we slept together
one night away in a hotel but not trashy
it would be non-smoking and still
maybe even have separate beds
that we could push together and it
would still be friendly and nonromantic
but still we could hold hands until we fell
asleep because that's really all i want.

Saturday, January 5, 2013

"He would have been embarrassed to hear it said, but I think Ross was among the chosen, and I think that on some level he himself knew this (though at the same time the idea of "being chosen" would have seemed impossibly romantic, or "poetic" to him). He intimates something of all this in "A Dark Plum":

 A silence which settles the night
 unsettles me.
 It is not the absence of the yellow
 in one’s bright eyes but

 a slight cooling in the head, sealing
 love to the sharp darkness.
 Out of that black, my name comes sailing
 in at me, chiffon and in

 someone else’s voice, a
 soft pin put to me directly. "Ross"
 it says off the night. The voice says "Ross"
 like Hamlet’s father. It falls from 
 any cliff.

 At night you learn that you can’t talk
 to yourself but only to Hamlet,
 to his father, to a cliff.

One hair on the pillow marks
off the world. Returns me to options
I think will be the same. A
feeling of uselessness

when I chuck memories into the
future. That I am chocolate in the sun
of some bright arrangement, made thick

in someone’s heated mind,
her possibilities.

I don’t learn from my own poems.

To take the plum in one hand
and with the other wave myself

thru, forgetting the
orchards, that dazzling
in the warm light.

An old friend knows
enough to get off the
train when it can’t make
the next stop.

- Ross Feld

So the heart breaks
Into small shadows
Almost so random
They are meaningless
Like a diamond
Has at the center of it a diamond
Or a rock

- Jack Spicer