kompressor

my timing maybe aint quite right
but its a scene ive played over
 and again this wooden trim
and foam in my head rings too
loud like falling curtains and
misplaced handshakes.

we are all the christmas lights
 ever burnt out or unplugged,

 wiping rain from my brow
and that scratching itch in the
 back of my mind i’m an
open tab on a credit card
 thats not mine give me
 a lit. class and i’ll give off
fluorescent light you cant
 reach and dont try.

by chris on December 25th, 2006 @ 3:17 am
too often, poor grammar | No comments

[my] Dear Drama School(,) / letters to myshelf / Dec.16.06

a work in progress; many stops do not follow

this one tolerable and tossedou(b)ttime of soapbox spent and redactedrent /retroactive\ and variable in heroine(edof)help and handsheld scalp me.    shit
i didnt mean it.

. crease ina forehead.conjuring image with words.organs of space between tiles
 . draining dimensions of smoke lost to the elevation ,what careful kind of   
     patterns have we etched airborne in burnt or’nge anonymity.

- ? needed?     

youngwhippersnapper fashionably fastened _im trapped in the digital
age made magical by hearing aids and casually backpacking burglary
through emptying_spawned_menacing and lopped-off pawn shops moving
-full.stop-on up, pops.

scrounging computer parts and rummaging through riddle worth bridge work

[this is a never ending black mark in my heart]  

by chris on December 20th, 2006 @ 2:03 pm
too often, poor grammar | No comments

 

disutility function