found in a guys dorm

"Hear" Inspired by a wall at Starbucks

Rain was shining on the pavement making the sky and ground blend together in a dark hue. i walked on my keys jingling inaudible melodies from where they hung between my fingertips. my breath escaped my lips in vanishing trails of mist that climbed upward to where the sky should have been. it vanished before it could reach its destination. it was late. i didn't quite know how late it was but it was after the hour that the the bus service between freshman parking and campus had ceased. that didn't matter. i needed the prolonged walk to analyze my thoughts. i had spun them in my head like an eight legged rubix cube. my thoughts seemed to chase each other often with no clear distinction between where one ended and another began. like the vanishing mist of my breath - they were infinite but fleeting. there was comfort in that. my web would accompany me home. it was the best company i could have asked for because all

Her soul to the sad strumming of a six stringed instrument. we didn't hear. isn't it funny how little we hear? sometimes we don't hear things even if we're listening. a little girl reading a book telling her mother she didn't need to be tucked in. please mommy hold me. two scared and glistening blue eyes telling him i loved him enough to let him go. why can't i be enough for you. an empty church with a silent crucifix. why can't God save me. now two words play themselves over and over in my mind. Like this. Like this. they spin like rings around a Rosie but that world already came falling down. my breath goes in and out. beneath my skin oxygen is being given to millions of cells - all a part of me i'll never see. oxygen carbon dioxide cardio respiratory veins truth lungs hydrogen - all ink to the words that make up who i am. isn't it funny how everything begins with something smaller than itself. letters make words make sentences make paragraphs make chapters

My thoughts kept straying back to you. the way your green eyes seemed iradescent behind the lenses that frame your world. two green windos set in a nice house behind the most spectacular and full rose garden i'd ever seen. i'll see you tomorrow. what time. four-ish. awesome. meet outside the willy c. amazing how much of our time is spent at the williams center. we met there. i'd just come from an interview and strayed for some tea. i sat with the dark angel. you walked in and joined us. what a trinity we made. chai tea, green tea with honey, black coffee. you were half a stranger - a face i knew but hand no name for. i searched for a where a when a how but i could find none in my memory. it didn't matter. i knew you without knowing you. chai tea, green tea with honey, black coffee. red. blue. black. what a trio we made. we sat and exchanged verbs and nouns and points of view between sips of hot liquid while behind us a woman closed her eyes tightly and bared

Make novels make me. what makes this weather so cold. my fingers are begnning to numb and the metal that makes my kyes had been made cold by the dark air. it's late. i don't quite know how late but it was after the hour that the bus service between freshman parking and campus had ceased. the hair on the back of my neck prickled with the slight wind. your hair is always in some state of disarray. it reminds me of the universe and how everything is entropy. at least that's what my chemistry teacher said. did i hear? chai tea. four-ish. i can do that. green tea with honey. we'll meet at the willy c. black coffee. your side or mine. mine. the carbon dioxide escaping my lungs through the doorway of my lips trails upward toward where the sky would have been. the lines of smoke grey tangle themselves in each other before they dissipate. my thoughts seemed to chase each other often with no clear distinction between where one ended and another began. i say this. i shout this. LIKE THIS. like this. but maybe my words make nothing. it matters. do you hear?

When I'm Colin Meloy.. I look like this.

(see also: starving artist)

What I've been up to.

Zombie Poem

There is dirt on my hands
There is dirt in my mouth
There is dirt on pants
There is dirt in my shoes
There is dirt all over me
But I'm biting you

There is blood on my hands
There is blood in my mouth
There is blood on my pants
There is blood in your hair
But your head is in my mouth

Colin Meloy, 'eh? I see that.

" The Darklings "

In a quiet little town
beyond the cobblestone streets
where trees whisper the only sound
is the place where the Darklings meet

the Darklings dance in circles round
fire hot red bright and orange
their bare feet beat the muddy ground
while their familiars hunt and forage

adorned only in what they've found
patches of skin covered in leaves
and grass entwined in the brown
of their unruly hair weaves

sticks and mosses create a crown
tonight they are the queens of freaks
Darklings, they cry, the echoes abound
bouncing off the rocks and the trees

In a quiet little town
though the hour is black and late
the people pace and shiver
the Darklings, the fear, keeps them awake.

This is closer to sexy.

You're early she cooed with black lined
eyes, inviting me politely
beneath the yellow lamplight
pavement dark and slick with rain shined
as the lamp post sputtered brightly

An icy wind began blowing
so I pulled my collar closer
and she placed her lips by my ear
You're looking awfully fetching
and I believe I've got what you're after

Dirty dollars I gave her
and back to the brothel we went
above a smoky bar she bared
herself, her soiled dress
under the earthy bed we had shared

Unexpectedly she cried out,
her body went suddenly limp
her skin was still warm as I took
my hands from round her rosy throat
and from her still hands I recovered
the dollars I'd spent.

Based on a true story

"Amende Honorable"

Horses braying smoke streaming
steaming smoke out of their nostrils
chains are clanging crying hostile
rusty metal red shining
groans out in the black dark evening

One beast bound to each leg, each arm
whips cracking and lashing skin
torn from the bone the breast lay open
sulfuric lead boiled buried within
the torn flesh bleeds and in subtle alarm

Demains raises his bloodied head
have you anything to say
his eyes take in the gore but never look away
No sir, he determined said
No sir, quietly defiant.

The horses strain and pull the chains
muscles gleam with blood and dust
mud browns and dulls what the king cursed
Demains the regicide remains
add two horses and maim again

Have you anything to say
No sir, he determined replied
Nothing escaped his red lips
as they sawed his limbs away
and he bloodied and unbroken died.

toying with rhyme scheme and meter.

little girl with eyes so blue
why do you chase the wind so?
it slips between your fingertips
races ahead in the snow.

your cheeks are red with the cold
tendrils of smoke you exhale
chill under your windowsill
snuggle in the blankets pale

blue layer of comfort warm
little boots make rivers wet
adjacent to the door frame
oh child you are the regret

of summer. the sun wishes
it had kissed your pale cheeks
brown yet the wind so kisses
creully red your delicate cheeks

little girl with eyes so blue
why do you chase the wind so?
it whips harshly across your lips
and stings your skin with the snow.

Shitty poetry (what a shock?)

Becoming slowly what would seem
forever a step ahead
I called to you and what came
resounding back
echoes upon sound waves
sine waves upon fractals
you care
you love
me
but that's an illusion
smoke and mirrors and particles
dancing in the infared spectrum that makes up
my consciousness
Can I believe what I feel to be true?
I intuit a completely different level
than what you lead me to believe
yet I feel it
and I wish it
but aspirations and musings
have left me empty
gaping void desiring the slightest inclination of hope
but I see it
and I feel it
when I look into your baby blue view
please
s'il vous plait
don't leave me behind
where darkness and emptiness wait
I came expecting nothing
and I will leave empty handed
gladly
because I have stood in your shadow
at least through your specter I glimpsed the outline
of the corona
of what
could be

that is, if you could even
imagine
what would it be like
if you truly reciprocated me

"You can talk about anything, April. For hours. Can't you?"
- Nick

"This is April, she suffers from too much personality" - Matt Vercant

"Any drink, any gender, anywhere, anytime. That's her philosophy!" - Sean Lewis

"When April speaks, she takes a very long time to tell a story. And very deliberately, we always get there" - Professor Tim

remind you of this

wanted to say something
but the words wouldn't come
I thought about the times we had
when you and I were young.
We laid under the stars and told each other
that we'd be lovers
forever.
I don't know what you were thinking
when those words escaped your lips
but I meant it.

lingering effects of falling
madly in love with a stranger
include:
headache
a penchant for rainy evenings
a bed that's too big
side effects include:
bad poetry

Apologies, sir
the wind had shifted
neutrons and elections mingled in the currents
shaping up an alternative
short lived, as it was.