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15 March 2011 @ 12:30 pm
“Bright Young Things”

By D. A. Stafford

Where did they all go? Through the rooms, backs on the floor, screaming & shouting
Finding each other in-between – catch a temporary escape: yeah, it’s a liquid mixture
Bitter & sweet. Changes in the wind indicate self-destruction: “Try to phone me, try to contact me,
Be my friend, meet me halfway (so I can finally shut up and die).”

So young and so free: feeling trapped and misunderstood. We live completely dangerously,
We won’t die, we’re not that lucky, after all. Instead we cut ourselves to feel inspired: listen
Loudly to Amanda Palmer’s Bad Habit – “Don’t say you can relate!”

Where do we go from here? They tell us to grow up – so sad & angry, why must
They have forgotten what it is to be young? “I’m not stupid, just naïve. I want to be an artist,
Writer, model, singer or something in between…” We look in the mirror:
We break it, punch it, stain the sheets because we hate hate hate what we see…

So young and always with the inclination to cry – “Let me go. I want to be alone.”
He wants to approach & she wants to be respected – fumbling hormones and quietly
Loving so her parents won’t hear: “They won’t care. They hate me anyway.”
Yeah, backs on the floor and tears will shed when they part…
Knowing that when they look back, it wasn’t love after all…
So, keep this a secret: “When I want to die, I really just want to escape. Be my friend,
Phone me up, contact me: I don’t love you, but could you please love me anyway?”
12 March 2011 @ 12:29 pm
“Chemical Reaction”

By D. A. Stafford

With it a metal taste hits – sucking in the vapors
I wave at the passing ghosts – automatic atomization
I cling to permanent press dry-clean only – with your drug intake
I am your best friend your evil doer – life-sized pleasure victim
Menthol cigarettes and ghostly halos – poster girl gel-sprayed hair
Curling at your clothes – bright-eyed pornographic storyboards
Gorgeous pleasures – and I am taken in by razor lines
Buying drinks you surpass me – chasing it with kisses tinged with coke
Crashing through “I’ve already got a ride” – instantly I’m erased magnetically
Fighting in scenes perfectly played – rolling eyes touching lips sugar-coat
An instant later Polaroid paranoid – chemical pressed and I forget
With you a metal explosion hits – shooting up vapor I see another ghost
Waiting for another accented girl – counting off clock-face quartz
Pouring liquid madness – “I’ll never buy anything bottled in plastic”
Black vinyl tightly formed – finding the ridges wishing I had a box cutter charm will have to do
Words playing out loosely formed – peeking sideways I watch the slit come undone
Halo made by an illuminated gas – a lifelike bait & switch
Eager and ready to be made – break out the camera set the timer ready made
Up close & personal – it’s automatic that I hug the floating girl
Gorgeous fingertips purchases me another drink – pulsate prostrate bad skin goes noticed but ignored
Sleepy head & stimulated intentions – off for another it’s automatic
05 March 2011 @ 10:01 pm
“November Second”

By D. A. Stafford

Someday I’ll catch on fire and I’ll capture, too, a look from you
And sing a few blue keys of G.
As a matter of fact, we’ll some night find ourselves entangled in the dirt of a graveyard
Trying to listen out for ghostly yawns
And give an ofrenda, an extra day or two for Día de los Muertos.
Lost again to the sight of you as if I were spinning diodes
Tossed into the evening sky while captured on film and touted as something spectral
As we giggle inwardly knowing all the secrets of these apparitions.
They’ll be a day that’ll come sooner than later
When we’ll try to walk out to the crest of the sea
So we can meet the monsters underneath: we’ll speak to them
And look them right in their glowing globular eyes and elongated fangs:
We’ll say something like “I love you, too,” and tell them not to worry because,
“No one digs their hooks this deep anyway.”
Someday, when we’re done hiding in the dark, we’ll end all the crime in the world
And they’ll have no need to say “you’re too idealistic” when they see us
Partnered up, looking silly, making funny faces…

Someday they’ll find us here: smoldering from a put-out fire
Telling each other how young we were: how we had no idea
And looking for someone to blame.

In this form, I’ll happily sing you songs of blue: and we’ll laugh loudly as dead leaves blow,
As sugar skulls are formed,
And as they silently weep while forming the cempasúchitl:
After all, we now know all of the secrets of the apparitions.
25 February 2011 @ 03:09 pm
“Historic Imprint”

By D. A. Stafford

Broken bells strung up lanterns cast: there goes my shadow, your friend.
Passing by, I knew I needed to watch where I cling: like plastic-wrap
Like girlfriends sharing clothes: like columns left over from something
Historic long gone.

I’ll wait through this snowdrift my skin as white as dried out bone:
My teeth sinking in to something sweet you breathe an elongated vowel
After telling me of your brothers, your father’s death, and your wish for silence.

I’ve known you not-long-enough. Heard you cry in a corner: head of hair shuddering
And a hidden face: close enough, I’ll smell the scent of salt.

Broken bell and Venn diagram shadows hiding mine as I pass on by:
There go your eyes, shuttered down, time to hide.
Like twin sister and brother getting along, like lovers knowing it’s time to die:
“It’s not your fault…” I rove my mouth over: wide areas to small, catching the sensation
Of someone historic soon to be gone.
16 November 2010 @ 10:01 pm
"Double Down"

By D. A. Stafford

Who knows who's killing whom
Dragged the knife out from behind
Tearing at the thought bubble's cloud
And clout the masterpiece that stands
Before me was another body another you
Another me was evoked

Killer's killing me as I pop another
Mouth balloon another piece of spoken
Word as I split another wish cut the bones
Splice the legs and tongue the directional afterglow
Another diagonal dance take apart the gun
And feel for the cogs underneath

The one killed is either me or you
As I pound this piano down
Bite my teeth upon your swollen decay
In December you trapped honey-bait
Fell off your shoes and showed another
The bottom of crucified feet

Who is killing the killer
Watching the flash this artificial light
Catch the edge caught between blood my
Face pressed into your warmth fearing
Abandonment as I take in this course
And spread the smeared crème from my facilities

Kill or be killed
And dash the knife through your bubbling love
Rewrite the law to know that the spirit seeks
What cannot be spoken of aim for my belly
Know the pulse the emptying spring within
And dance upon the concrete mark

You knows who is killing whom
You looked my joke right in the eye
Threw my god down and overloaded his head
Withering to your suckling sounds
I won't let the animal go so long as
Your razor wire trap keeps reversing pain

Killing me I'm killing you
Encroaching our criminality
Thinking nothing of it you beset me this artifice
I sniff now the blood spilled bringing forth an envious death
You look me in the eye and say I know you you know me
Double-pointed our guts are known as we come killing me killing you
10 November 2010 @ 02:32 pm
“Make a Deal”

By D. A. Stafford

Find out what happened – and I’ll stay up
Never to be torn apart again – I’ll drown myself in concrete
Tell me I am a liar
Tell me you’ve fallen
And I’ll say something intoxicating – “darling baby angel my love”
So smash that plate – make a deal with my flesh
Know that I’ve known you – know that I’ve seen you smile
Call me your liar
Call me your arbiter

You and me – we reached out and found it all too sharp
Found the release to be too quick – so we dulled the edge
Tell me you no longer hurt
Tell me you’re trying hard to make this work

Too quickly, I went; we seemed to have spun out of control.
We sought too much dealing our flesh: we dealt the ghost instead.
“What happened?” Weather-worn, I state.
“We should have found the Devil. We should have…”


We had curtains to spread and a world to expose ourselves to.
We only found ice. We only found our eyelids to be frozen over.
We made our notations too late.
We spent our flesh.

You called me your arbiter. I said, “Yes.” – It seems that I may have been wrong
After all.
05 November 2010 @ 02:53 pm

By D. A. Stafford

“Do you know?” –what beautiful is.
Just another fork, take this way or that.
Whatever you say; let me mourn the fact that
I do not want to speak.

So she licks her pencil tip and makes a majestic
Portrait of me as seen from my forward
Looking at her from behind,
“If you were an artist, this is how you’d look to me.”

“Is it me or is it you?” Part I or Part II?
I think this roundabout time I shall be the one
To play dumb; to have you worry and concern yourself,
“Does he actually love me?”

So she tunes her guitar and gets to know better the sound of the strings:
I’ve known her to ponder me as other girls have:
“What the fuck did she do to you,” she asks & I answer,
“The simplest thing any of you could have done.”

Let’s pick up the pages: do you see?
What beautiful is is not what you’ve seen.
Another change of course, another degree of softness
To get accustom to when touching another woman’s skin…

The songs that she’s sung and the eyes of greed that she’s lit up:
It’s true that they could see what I refused to grasp.
My poor taste in what my tongue should no longer do…
So, let me mourn the fact I will not bring myself to hear her sing.
11 September 2010 @ 09:38 pm
"To Involve..."

By D. A. Stafford

One time ago I said once again, we should try as we might: do it repeatedly
Until we get the whole bleeding thing right:

So what happens? I grab hold of you and kiss you with lips that are trembling:
Speak to me as if you wanted me, the way I want you: to discuss...

Whatever is was, it was what I wanted to try to have: to have me not be a waste of your time:
Involve me into you; in all of your strengths & what undoes you: when you'd rather cry & fall apart.

Once a time ago, a simple spell ago, back when I turned back time to look at you:
To remember when you smiled and did not dare say goodnight/goodbye

So here's what happens: we grow up and see loneliness as a factor, something to appeal to:
Something to write down, to read about and say, "Hey, that's me...that's us...isn't that everyone?"

Whatever it was: them, us, and here we are again, I slump down as I try as I might
To be clever, to have you glow again: to remember what your smile looks like...

I try to pull out the stops: look up and see you over the rim of another drink: how is it that I failed?
I want to take you in, absorb you, once again: I could still adore you.

But I won't. I shan't because I know you'd much rather run or drown...
I will be kind, I will exit full of grace and without flair: I am here to leave you behind.
09 August 2010 @ 05:08 pm
“Tasting Them Perfectly”

By D. A. Stafford

“Lay it back,” said Legs as the damage shines.
So I ventured a new Hello: she guessed that I was on my way anyhow;
Back from Ugly, Arizona: Back then, I turned on the Devil’s tail
And she found teeth to be too sweet:
She spoke in filthy tongues to counteract…

Nodded again toward the teacup blues
Riding along the sideways of a misplaced Southern girl
And tangling & twining my fakery through her hair:
“Lay me back,” I was invited and words came bubbling up
Speaking of God’s Country and coming undone at the seams
And that deep-seated touch…

Lost again in bear cub country, I got another one turning on
Religious Radio saying, “This’ll keep us from altogether Sin.”
I took her point and played in the warmth of her trespasser’s blood:
From down here in the tracks of an ambitious sidewinder
We rolled and counted off the creases in our lips:
“Lay inside of…”

Found a good chapter writ: longhand is what she excelled at—
From the Desert’s arid south, I talked myself due North and found flaxen
To be this Midas’ undoing (and I happily fell to the lost bet):
Breaking bread I listen to dead philosophies as I tell her of my Justine & Juliette
And pull out my secret piece to play upon this chessboard
Of bedroom politics: “Lay into the game…”

Food for thought, I meet her years later: gone from svelte to a paunch
Indicating much fulfilled happiness & adventure:
Feeling her blowing towards me as the happiest phantom unleashed
Back upon the haunts of this old Devil’s broken heel:
I smile happily as I pull out the well-worn game and speak
Through these green eyes: “Lay with me…”
04 August 2010 @ 11:34 am
“Are You Experienced?”

By D. A. Stafford

I like to crash – crush until the juices are free:
Freeze this plane and have everything still
“Once upon a time,” she simply modified for my wandering eyes:
To me, she is the sea’s sickness sprouted from the depths of my brain
Screaming, “Come closer and drown with me, or I will be released!”

I like to crush – crash until I am obliterated:
I had a dream where a door stood slightly ajar
On the other side was a girl adorned looking at me with anthill eyes
And glowing moons for encroaching hands:
“You’re from the sea: otherwise the tide wouldn’t have brought you here.”

I like to drown – sing my fears until my voice bleeds out:
Bloody the waters and paint the world red: she glanced at me
And called me forth telling me it’s time to be torn apart:
Admonished, again; and sweetened by her sugared declaration,
“Experience me, know the measures I take to kiss you goodbye.”

I like to sing – drown myself back into the sonic range of a roaring sea:
The edge here is life and death: letters displayed as cursive waves
And the sound of me, shattered asunder in a violent, purple haze:
Dreaming again, she eyes me reflectively, kissing the murdered sky:
“Here’s the end…before I go, I need to ask: do you have a name?”