the benefit of
keeping your mouth shut: your lips,
an unwrapped present
Ode to Aching FeetFor the ground.Ode to Aching Feet by AMWeitz
For soil and asphalt and grass,
For wood on water,
Rubber on Earth.
For clouds as they were meant to be:
Beautiful for being unreachable,
Beautiful even when terribly dark,
Beautiful when absent altogether.
For sweat and strain,
For wind through hair,
For rain in eyes,
For sun on backs,
For frozen fingers and
Sweaty brows too.
For night time, for darkness
And the billion prosthetic suns
We have erected to fight the unknown,
To fill the void.
For sights beyond words,
For sights not worth words,
For the the beauty in everything...
For beauty that cannot last.
For the way the moon shone down
On the river that night,
How we sat together and said
Not a word, while the water sent
Speckles of light to dance
Across our captive eyes.
Through which time spent transforms
From toll into treasure:
The hours weave together
Like a massive tapestry of sun and moon,
Of gold and green and blue,
Of things that cannot be given
But must be let g
Can anyone hear me?Ring around the roses (gasoline)Can anyone hear me? by AMWeitz
Journal full of proses
Flick my cigarette, now
Any given Monday
Tuesday Wendnesday Thursday
Rocking chair, praying now
Watching our star climb
Eyes are burning slowly
Day grinds to a halt, now
One last exhale:
Night, be swift.
Take me away from here
Youth Let's light our youth on fire.Youth by AMWeitz
Let's drag the stars down to our level,
Scratch them with flaking nails.
Let's forget about the pyrotechnicalities,
Light displays of bumbling emotions
Watered into blossom.
Let's force the night to swerve away
From the path of our headlights,
The Sunrise Is a LieThe sunrise is a lie —The Sunrise Is a Lie by AMWeitz
We merely turn to face the light.
It is a choice we make each day
To lift the blinds and face each ray
Or sulk in self-inflicted night.
Yet time is passes ever on
So heedless to the whim of man.
Conceal our bodies though we may,
Though vows in confidence we say,
No say have we in higher plans.
And yet, suppose there's no such thing!
We clutch these ghosts we've made in fear
When surely would the people reel
If what our fleshy vessels feel
Were suddenly to disappear.
But still, a certain faith I've got
In man, so hot, so quick and proud —
With trembling hand we reach for stars
While Cupid's grasp upon our hearts
Does bind us firmly to the ground.
Besides, should nature fail and fall,
So too would worries, dreams and all.
La ventanai.La ventana by vespera
In my dream Grandpa My stands in the veranda
across from my apartment—as always, in the shade,
and his linen shirt shows no perspiration from the heat.
I believe we are in dry Madrid where I have not been
for years. He has been dead twice as long, yet here he is:
no death mask and his smile calm. Grandpa! I call.
From my window our eyes meet. Grandpa! It's me!
He remains smiling, but won't return my wave.
In the next dream Grandma Suzy comes to visit,
maneuvers herself through the door of my Piso.
Grandma, I say, hurry! Grandpa's here.
She gives a girlish laugh and comes to my window.
She is seventeen, as she was in Chicago, celebrating VJ
and sipping her first beer. She has no eyes for me.
Grandma, I whisper, why won't he say anything?
He's shy, she whispers back; he's so tall, isn't he?
to the woman who drowned herself in the bathtub.i.to the woman who drowned herself in the bathtub. by littleblueraccoon
to the woman who drowned herself in the bathtub:
in the magazine I own that published your story,
they blurred out the crime scene photographs,
erasing your face and
the full curves of your breasts.
some part of me wonders
if you would have wanted this,
or if you would have liked for
the public to see you in your final moments,
half-soaked in grey-looking water,
your hair in strings, glued to the porcelain,
eyes closed and mouth gaping,
no breath stirring, no bubbles rising.
sometimes when I look
into the depths of my bathroom sink,
I hear your voice
(or what I imagine it to be--
after all, we never met).
you sit on the edge of the toilet seat,
and chat to me about the weather.
I would give anything to hear your real, living voice,
to ask you what you were thinking
as you lowered yourself
into the tub, queen of the tendrils of steam,
and let your lungs deflate like old birthday balloons.
on the news they say that your autopsy
revealed three quarters
of a bottle o
I'm a junior in college studying music composition. I'm very logical but dreadfully romantic, I have a lot of little idiosyncrasies, I'm obsessed with dogs, and I live for moments of shared connection and creation. |
If you are interested in hearing some of my music: