somniare.

sometimes, my head explodes

Excuses for silence March 6, 2014

Filed under: almost poetic,bits and pieces — somniare @ 3:51 am

It’s becoming more and more difficult to find my way back here. Attempting to recall my old email addresses and passwords become the equivalent of being lost in a once familiar forest.

 

Here I am, and I miss being lost. In a way, it gave me an excuse to be silent.

 

But I DO have words to share, should they be in the form of stories or ambiguous vignettes. I live, therefore I write.

 

It’s been too long this time. So much time has passed that I have forgotten how to speak, only think.

 

Thoughts perch like birds on

My shoulder, shaped like words then

fall at my feet. Sleep.

 

resolve simply December 31, 2008

Filed under: almost poetic,my evolution — somniare @ 12:21 pm

I’ll throw antidotes at the sun and I will lay beneath, hypaethral. I will swallow the mutated light viruses and feel my cells singe in the most delicate of deaths.

Pages torn to pieces and thrown against the wind… they find me now, open to the sky.

 

today’s obscurities November 4, 2008

Filed under: almost poetic — somniare @ 2:30 pm

Today I am:

the silk strands between broken halves of lotus root

sonoluminescence to the rhythm of hard bass and a soft hat

hazy coffee colored skies with a milky sun spot

the dancing twin in an underwater circus

receiving a postcard from an unnamed flower in cement

an unauthorized dream crossing boundaries and clinging to you

 

ex—hale July 28, 2008

Filed under: almost poetic — somniare @ 11:50 pm

I think perhaps… it may be a good idea to breathe.

Never can you hold tightly to your life until you’ve felt the slip…

It looks like you could use a bit of both.

In the fade comes the light and suddenly…

The darkness defines all you were and ever will be.

In your final thoughts, let me weigh down and help expel

illusions of forgiveness and worth

under the guise of condensation (breathe against the glass for me now)

So I may see myself so very tangible as you set me free.

All those years holding me in and losing your mind

e…x…
….h…a…l…e.

Thanks for the sacrifice. I’ll show myself to the door.

No, no. No need to get up. I can manage.

You just sleep.

I’ll close the blinds, you haggard thing.

I’m feeling well today.

 

dissonant April 23, 2008

Filed under: almost poetic,bits and pieces — somniare @ 12:22 pm

I hear you listening.

Shh.

can’t be but whispers now…

Hear them ring lovely
my wind chime cries-
here lies my child’s eye.

 

my sunday best [verbal ensemble] December 24, 2007

Filed under: almost poetic — somniare @ 10:16 am

Words spilled to coat the day,
or maybe I’ll just wear them like a new outfit,
I’ll write them down to get dressed.
My analogies and imagery,
like a polka dot shirt and a plaid scarf,
worn with pleasure to abrade your senses.
My broken sentences
like a hole in one sock and the bent clasp on my bra,
irritating only after the fact
when I’ve gotten too far from home to change.
Exclamations are the tears in my jeans
so that the wind can bite at my knees
and you beg to touch my frozen skin.
Questions can be my curves beneath the chaos,
we’ll leave it at that.
Punctuate for makeup,
commas like the dripping mascara
you thumb off of my cheeks,
and ellipses like my favorite lipgloss,
gently…dab dab dab with a fingertip-
draw attention away from
quotes like spaces between teeth.
My lexicon like a costume party,
hiding flaws and gagging this useless mouth…
yet these careful hands
in the fingerless gloves,
unrestrained for later undress,
there are words that strip just as well…
but it is still morning and I’ve only just begun.

 

in my silence December 22, 2007

Filed under: almost poetic — somniare @ 8:49 am

I wake next to the unsaid words,
like my favorite aborted children
preserved lovingly in formaldehyde.
Their tiny jars tucked nicely beside me,
I rouse them with a kiss.
Good morning my darlings
let me make you some breakfast.
I gather them closely to my chest,
careful not to let one slip.
Downstairs now, I set them up respectful of their natures-
“I’m” and “not” huddle fearfully in the corner,
“just” and “like” sit quietly beside each other,
while “everyone” and “else” kick each other under the table.
My coffee, black with a touch of sweet,
lacks the bitterness I crave.
I pluck “not” from its siblings
and pour it into my cup.
The words and I finish breakfast
in our accustomed silence.
As the caffeine and toxins bubble in my veins
my children float anxiously.