– title, june 2, 2012

***
***

i saw you looking at me,

moon,

last night with

your burnt orange pallor

tonight,

I walked up the stairs

bow-legged

it was fun and

I did not encounter

a centipede.

 

(c) 2012, lizardrinking/theheartbeatsoftly

– the horn player’s lament

***

where can I practice, but the park?

startling birdsong from the trees.

(c)2012, theheartbeatsoftly/lizardrinking

– untitled, april 20, 2012

love beats all,
especially
love that is beaten.

– getting down

we shout out to the heavens
stars smile
a little dog barks
heralds the night.

lizardrinking/theheartbeatsoftly, 2012 (c)

– the lines on the old woman’s face

– feb 13, 2012

Fuck all the men, and their different coloured hearses.

– northern hemisphere, dec 4th

crazy like a blanket hanging from the awnings of a cloud,

the moon askew takes some

getting used to.

(c) 2011 theheartbeatsoftly/lizardrinking

– the if (only) clause

the sky pale,
traces of
winter sun.

lizardrinking/theheartbeatsoftly, (c), 2011

– untitled, october 15, 2011.

orange

cosmos on the balcony,

habit in the yard

the untrained eye,

roughly hewn.

This photo is not mine, and can be found here

2011 (c) theheartbeatsoftly

– untitled, June 20, 2011

high above myself
peering into myself
ruffled in the wind
balloon on a string.
still, there is
asphalt in the rain,
pebbling
on a steak.

– what we hold

even through
a litter of
malcontent,
petals curl.

– untitled, 14 April, 2011

in wrinkles
ankles
fat which folds
and spreads and can’t be
shaken;
in empty cribs,
no children left behind
my mortality is

not present in
a boy’s palm
showering in blossoms
brushing his nails,
his fingers curling to
catch
a petal.

not considered as
light pools on
metal braiding
a subway stair.
over top a car passes
a sudden flash,
compressed sun
available
just so.

theheartbeatsoflty, 2011 (c)

– it’s not fighting

to wake up happy,
it’s knowing that
you don’t have to wake up
fighting.

– the visitor, the guest, has clean sheets to lie on

I don’t exist in this house.
Not in the kitchen
Definitely not in the bedroom
Where the television resides.
Not in any room
Boxes hide anything I own
Anything I gave is lost or obscured
Discarded
Shunted to one side
Yet
thanks is called for
because they have not properly been discarded.
And for that,
I am grateful,
resentful.

The plants in the garden
secondary to the sculptures
withered in the winter snow
anyway.
Few seeds planted,
the perennials
already established
before I came,
continue to thrive
once I go,
designs drawn up
plans proceed
extensions fortify.
When I return,
I tread lightly.
Belonging is debatable.
Not belonging is convenient.

When one doesn’t exist,
How do two, co-exist?
Good will and good hearts?
Such sinew and thought
need to be ladled in equal measure
to override lack
of presence
of interest.
Can we survive on
perhaps?
On being secondary?
The secondary secondary party to
the primary?
And surely he feels he is secondary to you
perhaps
but with history and habit and acquisition
perhaps not.
with an addiction to everything but
the manifestation of
corporeal you
sanguine you
perhaps.

Take it or leave it.
Separate paths with
occasional connections
may be the way
to maintain identity despite, not
because of
Separate paths with
occasional connections
may be the way.
a love
like a trouser pocket sewn
not unpicked
to maintain shape
not fulfillment.

the heart beats oftly (c) 2011

– untitled, March 2nd 2011

a witch’s hat tipped on the road
like caribou slain in snow,
of its own self forgotten.

theheartbeatsoftly (c) 2011