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If Evolution Has Taught Us Anything, It's That I Can Change
March 2011
 
 
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oysternaut
oysternaut
And You Don't Have To
Mon, Mar. 7th, 2011 02:08 am

I could spell you things
better than you know.
the dictionary of rot behind your bed
reads only: decay, decay decay
and the wallpaper peels itself with boredom.

I don't have much but I made these words
I have them draped around over the room
like drying laundry or sunning cats
and I would give them to you whether you wanted them or not, I think.

But at least they would have been born of a thing more firey.
And if I were to burn the whole place down,
at least the fickle flame of shenanigans
would curl our pages into grins

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oysternaut
oysternaut
And You Don't Have To
Mon, Mar. 7th, 2011 01:28 am

the lamenting beast awakens
with a shiver of sadness-
like the ghost of ripples across bleached sandflats
-my bones cried out in some soft ancient words.
my skeleton hummed with it.
and the little pockets of air
deep within my bird-boned back
whistled sweetly
like mountain wind
through the mouth of a lost prophet's cave
and from far below I hear the echo, always
("you're not the first," roared trouble.)

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oysternaut
oysternaut
And You Don't Have To
Sun, Jan. 16th, 2011 06:42 pm
I'm editing old poetry today. Stuff I never felt confident about before. Comments, as always, appreciated.


heb-sed

 

 

the earth set at 7:15pm in the oven of the horizon

 

the last of daylight dripped as oily runoff

from the hotel gutters where it seemed to congeal

and mix with the air

which swelled and grew thicker in itself, emboldened in its hot crime

by new anonymity of the dark

we found our bare necks draped

in ostentatious jewels of sweat

 

we were left gulping from open, fourth-story windows

the shutters woven in a lacy pattern of decorous underwear

ripped off, exposing the stubbled nudity of night

 

tangy atmosphere

made us

red

our cheeks embarrassingly post-coital

in the presence of each other

 

in sleep, thin sheets

found my body and yours

and chiseled our sleeping forms in moon-burnt marble

the space between us a valley

where pyramids would be constructed from

the labor of our nighttime breath

 

and in my dreams smoked black

from the primal love of jungle heartwood

I was bound in banana leaves and buried

intoxicating fever fruit.


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oysternaut
oysternaut
And You Don't Have To
Sun, Sep. 26th, 2010 02:59 am
Moving Day

I'm moving to a new apartment today. Meaning that on my birthday I will be waking up in a completely new place. As a 23 year old. Without a job. And a degree hanging precariously by threads that various counselors and registrars have been tugging at. I want to wave my cap and gown wildly to ward them off. Unfortunately, they are packed. My roommate and I split a pill of Aderol and calmly and deliberately packed our entire house into little boxes. And then organized the furniture by size and function. And arranged the boxes in a tetris-like cube. And now it's 3 am and I still can't sleep and am updating livejournal with actual information. Did I mention 23? What is happening, world? Why did you let me down?

Moving Night

you're like this thing
the night before moving to a new apartment
my life has been stacked precariously high
in box after box, borrowed from the supermarket
and smelling like avocado.

laying in bed I was wide-eyed
am wide-eyed
until 3 am when I sat up to write this down:
that if I stop concentrating hard, even for a second
the earth will start to shake
and all the boxes will fall.

       I'm paralyzed with this fear that I am the only thing keep the world still tonight
                     was the only thing.

and I can't tell if the things I'm feeling are earthquakes
or the blood pulsing under my hipbones
trying to keep my body afloat
through the rest of the night
(and it hurts, trust me, to know there is no one here to ask
if things are real)

sometimes i swear the ground trembles
and i always think of you
because if the earth ever grew hungry
and swallowed my room
i'd want your image photographed across my eyes
as my blood beats out your name

Current Music: Brown Boxes- Spinto Band

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oysternaut
oysternaut
And You Don't Have To
Wed, Sep. 15th, 2010 10:42 pm

 I returned tonight
to where the storm hit
and touched my tongue to the charred remains
I tasted iron and ash
like angelic gunpowder and still hot.

I should not go back to that house
on the corner block, with the burning yard
leave that rusted gate closed
a cage for dead leaves and scorched earth.

A fat moon rises in our beds tonight
and you couldn't heard when I wept
because there were millions of miles and our ions were singing
and you were human
after all

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oysternaut
oysternaut
And You Don't Have To
Sat, Aug. 28th, 2010 05:03 pm

 On any given day, the tree out back has rotting fruit
peaches hanging heavy, bruised and bleak
sometimes in the middle of the day
you can hear them drop from their branches 
plop in the grass
something oozing that might be stepped on later

I wish winds would blow it down
splitting the trunk and knocking it into the neighbor's yard
where the sick and heavy things that sag
would be someone else's problem

The tree out back just stands there, though
and all the bad things he's got with him
well, they just hang around.

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oysternaut
oysternaut
And You Don't Have To
Tue, Aug. 17th, 2010 06:32 pm
 white widow in a dark room
i let you chew the threads of hours
i do not care what you have made with them
and what you've caught upon their taut fiber--
the flies, they lay caught forever in my idle infinite.

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oysternaut
oysternaut
And You Don't Have To
Fri, Jul. 30th, 2010 01:38 pm
 you've sucked the poetry from my vertebrae like a saxophone reed.

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oysternaut
oysternaut
And You Don't Have To
Fri, Jul. 30th, 2010 02:53 am
 I emerged from the month-long fog momentarily on Friday afternoon
allowing just enough time to take note of my surroundings
where I was
who I am
what the world was becoming
before backsliding lazily into the belching dream smoke.

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oysternaut
oysternaut
And You Don't Have To
Thu, Jul. 1st, 2010 12:10 pm
 why oh why did you stop
and why is it so hard to start again
goddamn
the nights are windless
the air sails nothing
the atoms have all quit
and the ameoba kiss of life
has been uncorked from everything we breathe
it is less peace then you will ever know


*Edited for typos. Man, when did I even write this?

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