Even the President of the United States
has got to stand naked and alone sometimes.
It is such a shame
that we all become fragile and broken things.
But we've still got some time left.

Your new name is Tangerine,
I don't know why...
but I like it, so it is.
I will think of you only by that name
from now on.

I like you,

A nice movie for rainy days when we dream of New York.

Rising early but well after noon, I skate past your store and lean in hoping to catch a glimpse of you tucking your hair behind your ears. Your eyes make my mind feel like warm syrup and when my knees hit asphalt (which they do often) I think of the spot where your neck meets your shoulders and how much comfort it must bring someone. The stars seem brighter this way.

How many little rock pebbles are in a handful of sand? I mean really, how many? One hundred thousand... maybe a million? I'm not even trying to be poetic, is that what a million pebbles look like? My goodness.

My attitude towards you reflects the scars on my elbows and knees which I am deeply aware. I often write in run on sentences as a subconscious effort to absorbed your thoughts into my words as I wish for the things I write to mirror your beauty. You are a little soul carrying around a corpse.

I sit and wonder why you do what you do, sipping on my drink well past a few too many, but a ghosts guess is good as mine. I've been looking for a mountain of answers and waves of demands but a ripple would be just fine as long as the sand between my toes felt the same as it used to when I was a little boy. Those types are able to make us fall so in love and test our patience but only because they know so many things that we cannot learn, if she sees the good in one she must see the good in many. However, I've notice that no man could contend with her forces. Unlike you, placed in your fragile frame, and from time to time your heart races like countless brave white horses but don't forget that in your arms I'd be just a child. Because love is the exchange of hopes and secrets and the contact of two skins. The heart is forever inexperienced.

Epicly Later'd

Come on skinny love
just last the year

we stay up too late
and smoke too often
and we've all stopped joking
about drinking too much.
us boys sit and talk about blue collar jobs
or years spent in the infantry
and girls arn't as innocent as they used to be
but there is no more searching
because what it is
is what it is
and I close my eyes
and dream of the day
I can trace ghosted letters on your back
words like simple and subtle
and symbiotic.

okkervil river

I'm surrounded, each doorway covered
by at least twenty men.
And they're going to take me and throw me in prison.
I ain't coming back again.
When I was younger, handsomer and stronger,
I felt like I could do anything.
but now things don't make any sense.

these are hard times

"Dusk, I realized then, is just an illusion, because the sun is either above the horizon or below it. And that means that day and night are linked in a way that few things are; there cannot be one without the other, yet they cannot exist at the same time. How would it feel, I remember wondering, to be always together, yet forever apart?"

Things like orange peels in the grass or shoes by the door on a warm summer day or walking barefeet in places you're not suppose remind me that your life will be beautiful. You are unusual and tragic and alive.

Sometimes in the mornings
the curly blonde hair
that resided on the top of her head
smelt like warm summer peaches
which at that moment were being eatin by small children
in our neighbours backyard,
along with sticky fingers and tall glasses of pink lemonade.
I would tuck my nose up next to the warm spot behind her ear
(switching ears from time to time
as to not make the other jealous)
and woud breath in her perfectness
as my eyes focused on the dust
dancing in the sunlight which shone through the window.
A sun which travelled across millions of miles of black emptiness
to illuminate her skin every single morning
for as long as she graces the world
with eyes so green, hair so blonde, and a body so small
that she would not look out of place
sleeping curled up on some forest floor.
She belongs to warm beds and morning times.

In a wheat field
late at night
until well into morning
a boy lay
starring up at the sky
with beer and cigarettes
and a pellet gun for a toy
to see how long
he can look at the stars
while thinking of a girl he cannot have
testing to see
how long it may take
before their beauty loses all meaning
how long he can think about their grandeur
before one star
becomes just as uninteresting as the rest.
Hoping it will somehow help him
in understanding those other matters.