A Public Diary

Salvo Surreal

Skylar — Tue, 21 Feb 2012 05:51:08 +0000

when writing poems, i often take some poetic liberty, emotionally speaking. (wouldn’t you know it?) with regards to this one and this moment, deep inside there is a feeling of longing and of missing: experienced and felt in its purity, beauty, and simplicity. a magnetism arose to explore the emotions & its surrounding crevices, ceilings, & reflections through words, rhythm and whimsy, to explore through play and art. it’s not an accurate portrait of my inner world, rather it’s a creation inspired by my inner world. my mind finds tantalizing beauty in the juxtaposition and chiaroscuro of light, dark, shades – poetry is a wondrous channel of adventure, sublimation, indulgence – and so this is how the song goes.

Salvo Surreal

who wants to be a lonely
bug with me in which chastity
turns your neck like a rubber band,
pull and snap and hey there’s loneliness,
hey fits like a rubber glove, hey,

dancing in my stomach like swan lake,
promising pirouettes of grace for heaven’s sake,
promising to do whatever it takes to go not
down but back,

back and deep into the gut of it all, back to the opening of the door to the
rusty floor corner to the whispers of wispy cobwebby marshmallow dusk, yes,

the dreamy dust salvo that precedes sunset, slow and quiet,
right before the sun goes down.

you ever notice the sun stays out all day, so generous and bright up there
in the sky,
and the moment it sets, when it sinks into the water, gone from sight,
out all day for hours and hours, how this,
this happens in minutes,
this, the catwoman of transition,
she happens fast.

Excruciating Rose

skylar — Wed, 19 Oct 2011 06:22:29 +0000

Excruciating Rose

wrapped in a day that tastes
like roasted cigarettes and molten rose,
excruciating rose, dusty sunrise
where cowboys abandon their belts for kiss,
lay supine, helpless in the sand.
in a world where womb rhymes with tomb,
where dog spelled backwards is god and mom is
always mom, i watch as my wit forgives
the excruciating cosmogony,
bends towards the sun,
and the rest of me is rose, molten rose.

Dreambags & Violins

skylar — Tue, 16 Aug 2011 17:35:00 +0000

Dreambags & Violins

day five hundred and nine.
dreambags and violins fly
together in a Z, scathe scraps of
crying sky; turn it to juice.
four days prior you were meat, eyes
epic stones of churning erotica unblinking,
steaming permission of the heart.
my legs inhaled, faltered like
baby deer, regrouped like woman.
deep in jungle potency,
contained in that puissant silence,
fuerca,
around the sort of fire that protects
no one but Nirvana, open heart,
maybe John Lennon. day five hundred and nine,
within eight fractions of what you
call a “second,” atoms of crying sky
turn from sweat to chocolate milk
to soured daiquiri before that sweet
and systemic rasa. and our bellies,
(bless them), drink, bathe, savor, they
save none for the News.

The Ineffable Faux Pas of the City, I.

Skylar — Sun, 14 Aug 2011 06:01:22 +0000

The Ineffable Faux Pas of the City, I.

The city says,
Halos like frisbees.

Me: Are you asking?
City: Yes.

Admissions, Gauzy

skylar — Thu, 11 Aug 2011 01:48:42 +0000

August 11th, 2011

bless this wellspring of the heart and how far down and wide it goes. an endless, humbling surprise of golden mud, starry skies, the on and on, and on and on.

and now i bring you,

Admissions, Gauzy

crack me open.

my heart has burned a
hole through my back.

it’s the best day of my life.

II.

crack me open.

i feel so alive, i
can’t take it.

my heart has burned a
hole through my back.

it’s the best day of my life,
again.