September 12, 2004
Posted in Poetry at 11:54 am by Kristiina
You inspired me into oblivion,
ether in nostrils & sulfur in my eyes,
my messiah of two white lines inhaled
in the fast lane & the smell of your knuckles:
I breathe in, trying a dignified walk.
Streetlights rape darkness in my path,
tear through the virginity of solitude
with soiled imitation of warmth.
I crucify them on long posts
& shut them down when something stronger
comes along.
You murdered me on cobblestones,
paint-spilled where I’d portrayed grief
& scribbled tears on crumpled napkins,
then tore & chewed up the words.
This world, it laughed at me:
through foamy teeth it licked my throat
with that threatening, throbbing tongue
that would burn on skin.
Transportation status: damaged goods.
You suffocated me in red
- slash - the lines I drew crossed through.
I take the addictions & half a creed,
the lack of gravity & an unfinished flight,
I take your naked back, teeth in my shoulder,
bite marks battling the void.
I exhale a city of casual wannabes
& burgundy crosses on the chests of élite,
blow coloured steam into
expectant observing eyes, stuck
between the drumming of misused waiting veins
& knowing my salvation is fake.
But oh, what a taste it has for the thirsty
with a way out of concrete hypocrisy.
And I run.
I am camouflage impersonated.
But the real power is underneath:
beneath the melted asphalt
where worms sing earth songs
caving upward trails, trapped
beneath:
with nothing more to lose
& nothing else to win
so I run.
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May 19, 2004
Posted in Poetry at 12:00 am by Kristiina
I am a slippery loose cannon character,
overwhelming like the kiss my neighbour blew
the day before: caught with nimble fingers
and as I licked the edges, it tasted tingly,
a pickled too-sweet syrup blend.
The bodies fell around me as hostaged puppets, bullet-
holes looking unreal and as I watched, black and white
death walked around the field, frowning at skinny pick.
I tend to push my way out of crowds,
climb on pink graffiti-covered walls and hang
from fragile ceilings that’ve soaked in liquor,
old piss and ambition placed at awkward heights.
Reality avoids direct light projection.
I photograph the homeless to capture shadows,
skin-soft with occasional harsh spots that
scrape my arm or cheek but I don’t mind.
The dead still walk around me in packs: empty
stares of accusing eyes, they talk all at once in slow
humming murmur as I drink the air, swallow bites of life
and let the rain envelop me in salty chill. I shake
my head and laugh at passing complainers who frown,
displeased at the disgrace when
I am screaming at streetlights
in graphic display of eccentricity.
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April 19, 2004
Posted in Poetry at 12:00 am by Kristiina
I spend two & a half smiles on strangers,
drink a bottle of casual words
& head down a silent street, accompanied
by muted endeavors of faceless clowns.
It’s a tired, malnourished day, strained
over frail dusty bones of hours
& as I run my hand along a minute,
it feels like leather, worn from wear.
You still arise in idle thoughts:
the way you stopped to watch me at
an ambiguous train station up north.
You were the streetlight that blinked on
& off in futile attempt to murder wind
while snow raced horizontal lines
& hurried past large metal doors.
You seemed to revel in movement,
smoothed air with your skin
as I headed on. Gave shelter to
a misplaced thought & lost another
in muddy puddles behind my temples,
aching now, condensed for spare.
The smell of old liquor & masculinity
still lingers in my nostrils’ memory.
You asked for clarity in all I said
out of spite & I couldn’t find the words.
Shreds of sentence fragments tasted bitter
& I washed them down with another
glass of wine. No oaky aftertaste,
it was the same dreaded flavour
of questions pending in-between.
I lost count of glasses & the sight of you.
I watch a train go by at two a.m.
It carries the remainder of an age passed
& as the last threshold falls victim
to time’s thirst, a single moment is
folded neatly for scrapbook memories.
I grow up again in every mile
between me and yesterday’s train.
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Posted in Poetry at 12:00 am by Kristiina
Push me against the wall,
six rounds of silver bullets
into my chest hurl &
perhaps I’ll then fall.
Or maybe I’ll spit
spite in your face in-
stead, through these
snarled keen fangs
to exert cowardice.
I’d bite your arm
deep, drawing twinge
& slashes of colour,
lick your fingers clean
to lash at resistance
but fatigue got to me.
I’d rinse you off
with shiny lather,
splash pints of re-
furbished molecules
to cleanse your prayers;
I’d circle your
skin with a flexed
index finger, trace
lines of longing on
ragged face while
you sleep, drunken beauty.
But jading got to me.
Push me against the wall,
shake me, six rounds of silver
bullets into my chest hurl
& they’ll be the only thing
holding me up.
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January 19, 2004
Posted in Poetry at 12:00 am by Kristiina
green
as sour bread
movements subtle
she craves
sweetness of stalking;
green
a step measured
spiked it is:
your prescious candy rum
hers now
held in tight fist.
discoloured disco lights
flying above your eyes
washed out, you’re hung up
like fish floating out
in displaced affection
there you have it:
hers now
hooked up beyond.
accusing finger lifted
she’s not so pleased
crawl out, come out
little wound up burning sack
detracted claws hang
on ropes before the wall
you taste of candles, sweat and maise.
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