Highwayman Stoic

I can’t stay
To beseech silver grace from a puddle so soon run dry
For my grief to waste rivulets and lines
Of somatoform suspicion
I still linger and long you
Expecting lamplight in your hands
Offering me remnants of true light
In young flint pools
I see knowledge
A flicker, a glow
But I seek stirring in these embers

Allure

I spent the night
Counting the marks of the stars on my ceiling
And seeking a reference
Of the worth of our being
While I shivered
Remembering
What the leaves might have seen
Lovely amber interlopers
Hark not upon the ground
At bruised feet

Climax

The white sheet comes to call
The small
Of my back and its freckles aligned
All mismatched stars in white scrutiny
“Mmh, please,” comes your voice
Executes all the noise
That is so seldom coming from me
The voyeur arises; I shudder no longer
“Time of death- 11:03.”

An Allegory For Doubt

No
I won’t drown my sheets in Debauchery
Because it resides in nostalgia
In unlocked lacking logic

Because (I swear to you)
I will turn my bleary eyes to slam the door
If it exists

Because linen
Only hates the breeze
But in cases like these
Smoke works wonders

Zenith

Sweet dark-hair of demigods, further East
With mind reflecting celluloid
But thoughtful all the same,
Tell me tales of your seldom
Landlocked sunshine
That you may glow again

Namesake

I came upon a murder one day
beset with black
but tarnished bloody all the same.
'Sweet nether-birds,' I said
'And friends of frenzied words-
I departed dearly known to live again
What chance do I have here?'

Said the murder to my voice
disparaging a grim repose
'Harken not to avian ears,
but keep thy eyes to ground,
for in thy past, thy eyes were cloudward
'tis better-far-to mind thy steps.'

Second verse by Joshua Kulla

Absolved

Sleep- the universal equivalent
As you and I lengthen our limbs
An ivory contrast
In the outstretched black of the evening

Golden walls and pale skin
Uphold the morning’s glow awhile

I Seek An Erotic Photographer

I seek an erotic photographer
A jealous paramour
For the nightly nuances of
You and me
No sickly seed of Cotard
Upon the comforter
Just life
In true form

Synesthesia

When I tasted your voice
Aesthetic resonation from forlorn air
When I heard your eyes
In my ephemeral glances
When I felt your skin
Iconoclast alabaster
And slick-swollen red
In conversations carried out
I felt alive

Tabula Rasa

Your imperfect may-buds
Prove crimson against the rotting, repugnant
Leaves of August
Remember, we spoke of wine
Has Dionysus denied me?
Imagine
Myself, a slab of pallor
And your cup overflowing
Sweet opportunity, a mouthful of dust
What words were written, that may have been beautiful
I revoke them now

Temporary

What a shame
My rose-tinted glasses no longer see the same
Now, I take the views of the past in jest
Hang the remnants on the wall
And laugh at the bulk of my beliefs

Your words were a reminder
To replace black mascara webs about my eyes
Combustible energy for the mornings when I wake up
And you are not in the sun

Licensed Perfection

Eyes closed
In confirmation that the deed is done
Sickly sweet fruit-flesh
Find your roots elsewhere
For my ground is not lush
Rather, a melted wax womb
And you are my Icarus

Bitch Sonata

Drive, you.

Drive past the brown brick confines, a game you used to play (used to play you)

Drive in the center lane- closed, neutral, fuck off

Pull in to yourself and turn it off- sit and scream

Drive yourself to the edge and back again, if you can.

Contentment is a red-dress hitchhiker. Don’t stop.

Excerpt

Because we’re excited about
A meeting, a reunion
Correction
The ring, three stones on my furthermost finger
Are fool stars of the future
In tonight’s hot-blooded cold
I miss you

A Current Abstraction

Where the lobes leap outward
And sink in, processing irrational emotion
Quiet, quiet
Contemplation finds me here
Ours are hearts too easily made glad
Although I've imagined
(Enraptured)
Sheets, illuminated in the sangre light of sunrise
All others in dissolution
In these uncertain
Days (14 and counting)
Only voices may entwine
In desultory desires

Rejection and Reflection

On Thursday, September 27th, I entered Galbraith's office with unrivaled optimism, only to find that I did not react to rejection well. My first article- "The Green Scene"- was turned down due to it's lack of uniqueness- vivre, I suppose you'd call it. My mind itself welled with emotion; I felt like crying as I left her office, embarassed and ashamed- but no tears came. Instead, I drove aimlessly for a while, and ended up in a pleasant, quiet park off of 40th Street. The sky above me was blue, but the alternating clouds made the shade hazy. I found myself on the swingset, rocking back and forth in the empty air; I threw my head back intermittently, the rush of blood to my head giving me a taste of euphoria- a childish orgasm. "We are so fond of being out among nature because it has no opinions about us" reassured the small violet volume held fast between my legs. By the time I left the park, I was calm again.

~

I went to Starbucks the subsequent morning to inocu-latte (Bird) myself before Algebra. As I nursed my iced caramel macchiato, a man and two women entered, discussing the cult status- and distinct aroma- of the venue. "It's so acidic- like rolled coins and coffee!" said the man. "It's almost enough to give me a headache." He then began discussing his college roommate's success as an amateur producer and his attendance of the Sundance Film Festival in Park City, Utah. I joined him for a few minutes, intrigued, but failed to learn his name before we parted.

Dearth of Death

Oh, from what depths is envy birthed?
Such a vice creeps slowly
Preternatural
From the confines of hell
And the Devil laughs at its ascent*

Death does not lead into awe
Darling deity, express your grief
At the spectacle of our beliefs


*J. Kulla

An Adieu to Accusations

Prerogative -what a mistress
As she sits beside you, enticing with piano play
And Faustian logic
And all the while, gazes descend
Unreadable

Take what is yours from aesthetic assertiveness
As you bite the hand that feeds
“Foolish girl, you spite yourself!”
Inconceivable

Anecdotes and Arms

My thoughts reside with him, although
Tumult exacts blows
Across confusion and lucid dreams
Perplexing me, vexing me
Still I remain
Cradled in congealed wounds,
Anecdotes, and arms
I am becoming

Blue Light

Words to manifest emotions
Because three latter sound too plain:
(Yours are always an exception)
Nights to drown in pools of thought
But romance always resurfaces

Validation

This empty water bottle in my hand
As I pace about the shelves and volumes
Enough to quench my thirst
Why do I feel so parched, then?
You gorgeous distraction
I’m running late for no occasion but yours
Needing you so much closer

Equi-nots

A blossom’s mirth expires
Come September
Everything’s eventual
Still, the scheme perpetuates in your absence
And in Your lightness

Meter and Mime

Ring unsynchronized symphonies
Like that of a boxing ballet

Juxtaposed between the neon and the night
You’re so transparent
And lucid in this violet light
Picture me peephole pretty
And let me in