it's easy to see patterns
when the breath is visible,
to seek answers
in the fog

is that
why you burn more slowly
in the winter?

patterns locked.
engines ahead.
full of the little things -
full of it

in the time of heavy airs
everything is fresh and white
until the plows come out

raise the drawbridge

-----

he pissed like a rake horse
in the corner of an alley,
trip cut days short

it was that morning,
crusty

'take it off' he said,
aghast of her subtle skin
and scent
making quick work.

movements shuttered
empty, unhealthy
lips smeared by dust
when he woke

I had only planned to blog in Japan. The blog turned into a travelogue similar to what I kept during my trip to London three years prior. Except the blog has stories and flickr pictures whereas the London journal has poems and drawings. I probably did some of my best writing drunk on Strongbow in London. So I'm going to fill this with poems and other effluvium. Enjoy.


-----

little boys that stare at plastic walls,
transmission fading
as the h bombs explode,

i can feel the heat and wind
tearing at my face
i look like a clown
as the world dies
melting off the face of this empty universe,
dying alone

just as some of those boys were born,
those optimistic boys,
reaching for that tv screen
that square of light, go toward the light,
that dark world of light between her legs.
reaching for their way out

now, sitting in the dark
sitting under an apocalyptic ashy sky
searching for my own bit of light.

my skin is like a snail
melting off the face of this empty universe,
dying alone

Here's the gist. I want to get better at writing. I want to get better at telling myself that my ideas aren't stupid. Presumably, this will help in more areas of my life than just writing but I'm shooting low so I can be pleasantly surprised.

Huzzah.