the writings of blake ellington larson

Category: 2012: storied poems

i send communion

i break before you break

i dip in

i suspend

i wait

wait

wait

i write the word sadness on my face when i go to sleep

in the morning, when the sun comes up

i play records remind me of cactusland

it’s so dark in my room, i have to turn up the volume

i take a shower and i brush my teeth

i feed my cat and i drive to work

in my rearview, i see nothing

my stories aren’t bent

they’re not folded, kept or birthed

my stories do not sit on cliffs of clay

they do not tell stories

i am quiet

i make like a cloud

in my mind

and then

i forget i’m a cloud

i lit a match when i was on fire

i was fifteen years old

i get hungry when i look at the water with you

my dinosaurs are poems i never turn into the songs i don’t sing anymore

amazes me the face i put to flame when

your aura was so staring at me

like, for the entire time i sang small for you

oh man, my background noise though

and those blizzards

 

amazing we didn’t catch on fire

city broke my heart

used to stand on it naked

in my daydreams

with a flag

used to conquer it

all over little and littler pieces of

paper that i hand covered purple

my neon was electric

i was a dark dark dark cupid

someone is always talking in the background

when you sing to me