a/illusions

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you are the kind to step over puddles and mourn the loss of an accidental ladybug fatality, he is the kind to separate his ties by color and be proud of what he sees in the mirror. you never paint your nails and he never eats fast food and it’d be so easy to hold his head underwater or slip him the kiss of a barrel but those are not nearly romantic enough.



he calls you a bird in a cage and the first thing you want to say is you don’t get to say those things anymore but settle on replying with what sort?


write a manifesto. declare yourself untouchable, at least in proper words. just remember, the footprints you must fill are colossal.


the wind howls and shakes the house. rattle all the bars you want, chickadee. the only thing you’ll be drunk on tonight is impetuosity.



when you dream the landscape always rips apart and steel skeletons are thunderous and terrifying, always miles taller and looming and you dream without sound, always reading the jargon of lips and wondering what your own subconscious could be keeping from you. you can see the soles of his patent leather shoes dangling from a ravaged balcony, stone crumbling and falling and causing ripples in the not-solid of whatever your dream is standing on. for all your dreams don’t use words they sure do pour novels when you wake up alone.


Created: Feb 22, 2011

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