Van Stanley

a love song for mia

wildflowerveins:

I think I am leaking-

Imagine:
A woman pours her heart into a bowl
and feeds it to her cat. The heart
becomes a liquid thing-  like heat,
a shocking,

but not so shocking red,
like my mother’s lipstick, like the first drop
of blood, like the tone of a poem
written all wrong.

Sometimes I look at people I don’t know
and think “I could love you”. My ribs tremble
with survivor’s guilt, and the branches of my
wrists spell out my future.

I think I am leaking-
and this is the sound of fragility.

We are capable of kissing
bruises and watching mothers cry
over lost children, who are not actually lost,
but hiding;

under the kitchen sink,
or in the upstairs closet, or in the concave
that is the human heart,

plucking ribcage songs.

It’s about believing in your ideas — actually having feeling for them, and such.  It’s about cultivating a sense of deliberation.  It’s about critique.  It’s about pitting taste against talent.  It’s about testing your taste against your creative capability.  It’s about constructing a home with the impetus — feeding, warming, romancing, that kind of thing.  It’s about staying in for breakfast-in-bed with your impetus.  But it’s not about trusting yourself.

Why do you want to speak when you do not yet know your place in the world?  You can’t know your place in the world.  Speaking is only one form of mis-communication.  You speak because it feels good, lapping that tongue against your teeth, like french kissing the image of you, the image that you are portraying at that very moment, just moving — moving the lips, shaking the throat, warm air or cigarette fume rolling out, fat tongue, firm tongue, tickling yourself for whatever comes out.  Your lips lean back, your tongue crosses its legs, your esophagus smokes a stogie.  My, my, what a character, that mouth.

A Little Bit Of

substance can make you very charming.
Marijuana makes me feel very charming.

Everything you look at is in its own little world.
Everything is so fine, so fine in its detail.

You contemplate yourself in finer detail.

I feel like an 85 year old man who just woke up in a 25 year old’s body and the first thing he notices is that his sex organs work again.

My body is swollen with warm blood.
Headaches like it’s been leaning against the window, kind of thing.
Sunbathing in my own imagination.

Being at work is so easy, here I am writing a poem, brewing iced tea, and flirting with customers.

A little bit of substance can make you very interesting.
Flirting can make you very interesting.

There’s no pair of words dirtier than “always” & “never”.

I just made an emoticon that goes like this:

;-{|)

^ a wink accompanied by big ole kissy lips.

or a whale and its reflection on the surface of the water, spraying from its blowhole.