the surface project (3)

Something you do a lot?

words
and wording
and wordly
and wordsish

i make words
i write words
i own words
i am words

the surface project (1)

Let's start with a tricky one, what's the real reason why you're confused?

somtimes
when i write
the words pile up
in a big, white wall
between me
and my heart
and the God that made them

i cling to those words
though i might not still feel them
i don't know what i'm feeling
except for the words

the words aren't confusing
my heart is confusing
i find that confusing
confusing

don't you?



the surface project is a series of notes that seeks to respond to each one of the questions in one of those facebook surveys that waste everybody's time. i feel like that reference may be lost in blogger translation, so i'll just number them as usual, but only post my favorites.

for what?

you know how, in the winter, your lips get all dry?
well, sometimes mine crack down the middle
and i thought that scarred lips were a marvelous metaphor
but i just can't think of for what?

back by popular demand

this is a literary blog. thank you very much.

dear blog

(i think i'll call you Tammy),
this will be the end of you.

oh, sorry.
you (as a blog) probably read that statement much like i would my own obituary.
that is very very sad for you.

well, i don't really have a solution to that. i don't mean you any harm.
i am sorry that you are sad.
die in peace, Tammy.

love,
me

xoxo

waltz in three

everyone keeps saying
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . come, let us return to the LORD.

. . . . . . . . . .a tear falls in a big, wet blot

nothing helps but time
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .he has torn us to pieces but he will heal us;
. . . . . . . . . . on the crisp, white pages
time is all i own
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .he has injured us but he will bind up our wounds.
. . . . . . . . . . the red letters crinkle and dry in waves
but time won't stop replaying
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . after two days he will revive us;
. . . . . . . . . . eyelashes pool with black-tinted tears
over in my mind
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . on the third day he will restore us,
. . . . . . . . . . shoulders shake
i watch the hours slow down
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .that we may live in his presence.
. . . . . . . . . . heart aches
so i crawl
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . let us acknowledge the LORD;
. . . . . . . . . . but there are no answers
underneath my blankets
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . let us press on to acknowledge him.
. . . . . . . . . . in those deep, black pupils
where i can hide away
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . as surely as the sun rises, he shall appear;
. . . . . . . . . . moist eyes turn upward
i know i can't take it
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .he will come to us like the winter rains,
. . . . . . . . . . there's nowhere else to go
anymore
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . like the spring rains that water the earth.
. . . . . . . . . . i love you





. . . . . . . . . . my God

see, the point was

did you know that
poetry
doesn't solve anything
if you don't let
poetry
say what is true?
did you know that
poetry
doesn't solve anything
if you keep your
poetry
from writing out you?