blue bird day.

We just went where we wanted to go,
and the only thing that was stopping us was ice
and the only thing that was moving us was fossil fuels.

Moving us towards frosted memories.

The devil is lost when you get to that place
where all the white sparkles
where all the exhales are found fog.
The sheer sight of it: HOLY SHIT!
We're here! No-one can trip us now.
No-one to ask us when we got here of how.

Green boots and solar-glare gazes.
Loaves of bread and so many unsolved mazes.
Just unitl five o'clock
when all the coloured boxes knock,
I'll have to go then
but I'll see you when we have this great idea again. //

-K

SLEEP.

Lashes link together
intent on finding stormy weather.
Behold, I have no life jacket for you
for forecasted wild winds.
Everything sucks in darkness
and yourself is in it.
When did you realise this?
You didn't.
That was when you told me that moths
had china plates for wings.
All the eggshells were exploding.
This is too much, too much
for non-ficition facts.
This is too much, too much for me.
Climbing to pick lightbulbs off branches

you fell into deep trenches.

JOLT.
AWAKE.

Dear mister,
Wait. Sorry. You mightn't be a mister. Who says every novella protaganist is a male, anyways? So, stuck in perpetual freeze mood, I'm unhappily reporting. Freeze, defrost,refrost, refreeze. It's due to that chilly, hand chapping air out there. Not day atmosphere, either. Nightly black with specks of silver. But only some nights. Did I tell you I was waiting for you? Whatever your haemaproditic name is. Sam. Alex. Yeah, something like that. You'd think I'd know your name but HARDLY. I consulted the clouds this afternoon and they'd seemed to have forgotten too. Not that you'd ever told me so that I could have the opportunity to ever forget. I try to look like I have two invisible, divisible friends right here. Sitting next to me with broad, straight toothed smiles and perked ears and bloody tongues. Sounds morbid now that I mention it. Perhaps. But I'd never heard you slam the door if you slammed it. You did slam it, didn't you? Didn't I just hear you? Or was that my skull clattering against my eardrum? Or was that my little coloured crayons hitting the compacted earth? I've got to keep on telling myself to close up my case that holds these things. Zipper it up. Right up. Wouldn't want to lose anything. Sometimes I think about what's slipped out when I wasn't looking or when I was thinking about something else. It feels lighter now, I swear. Thought there was a pair of scissors there that I bought at the start of the academic year. Peach cheeks. You ain't too close to comb. Hopefully, I haven't cut into your sweet hours. You haven't got long now. Tell Susie I have her knitted knot socks and they're washed. Keep your eyes up. You never know when a paper plane will hit you in the peck of your patella.

Love always (but never in flawed ways)

-K.

nitid nights.

Sat in the street
just after ten past three
City, city, come sober
or you'll stumble over skyscrapers.
Fortunately, powerlines will hold your hands up.
They know you can't anymore.
Just surrender.
Eariler that night, someone had said:
'Surely, you're Lady Luck!'
Five Bombay cities on ice
like her feet later on
made out of liquorice straps
bending and twisting
bone not breaking.
Her brain had been leaking all night,
now the snakes could just smell her.
Wrapped around vials of
green and grim,

all gold drained from her.
An imbroglio of works
in inky mess.
Henceforth, days after:
people thought of less.
Shame really,
ain't got nothing but
clear.

golden ami.

I met this lady once,
she wore everything mismatching
a haircut like a mushroom cap
and twinkling brown eyes like
she knew hundreds of glittering, horrible
secrets.
Swear she had a heart that gleamed
gold under all that sticky red mess.
She'd never settle for others being
less.
and when asked about her
sweet teeth, she'd deny.

Never met someone like it
always standing whilst letting the other sit.

One time to prove yourself
and if you fail to do so,
those wolves will sneer at you like your their next game, next dinner.
I'm sure you'd never realise
if you were the dewdrop on top.
'To think about others? hah, please. Stop!'
Everyone thinking you're the prize
until one lip parted the other,
a verebal ball of string poured out
and all it'd smother,
rolling itself out , tangling everything in its path.
Like a fluorescent rainbow slinky
clasping its spiral bound bands
and never letting go.
'Oh, I REFUSE, sire!'
I'll have none of it
only if they don't put that
list of adjectives in front of HER.

finally woken.

today is the first day of the rest of your life.
and everything will be alright.

Little spore
let those gusty hands
grab your lightweight hairs.
It's got you now
you'll never coagulate
with your counterparts
again, feel sad?
Mountain valley only has
two sides and they
point to each other
but there's always a
river that runs out,
out, out!

cheese those songs.

I find it fascinating that certain songs can make you feel happy, sad, aggravated, joyous etc.
Since when did cued notes, effects, sung words create a memory flashback? But in this comment, I really dislike the fact that cheddary TV shows steal sweet songs and turn them into their trademark that burns a word or image into your brain that brings out their intended advertising evil. For example, the OC. How many songs have you stolen to your advantage? Who even listens to Frou Frou anymore without thinking of this superficial, often ignorant sitcom?

I think I just got a bit off topic.

Cut transmisson.
Stop.

tree words.

' See you when these mountains turn to oceans.. '

I saw this quote on a lightning-struck bent over spruce tree when I was walking along Bow River on an icy Monday morning. Amazing, don't you think?

adaptation.

I've been adapting
to this new way of living.
A little less oxygen
a little more ground.

socialicious rum and pineapple.

Making punch is a very social event. Last night at the bakery, my co-workers and I made a big bowl of punch in the bakery kitchen. Who cares if it crossed the boundaries of no detection of alcohol despite the copious amounts of riesling, rum, vodka and brandy in it. Cackling witches around their brew. It was a fun night. Sitting in the second hand store at two in the morning playing 'Tribond', drinking cider, playing with puzzles and talking about the extra inches pink silk padded bras give you. Oh, I love the randomness, dear Banff.

marital problems.

maybe it's just violin meets grungy guitar, but I love it.

hey you Adelaidians!

I miss you like a dandelion misses its feathery spores when he brushes them off with a whisp of a breeze. .

stop. stop.

Too true that feeling I felt in my feet when the ticket slipped like butter from my eyes. He didn't see it coming and my question marks were gold. That didn't depend on it though. We had ignorance feeling bliss in this piss of a time. Never knew that tone before so I flipped the dog-eared pages. Too true that feeling I felt in my feet- shaking through my feet- when that man on the street knew my name right off the bat.

it went a little like this, again.

Do you ever get that feeling
that you're putting in too much
to see that a burning light
in the cellar in the still house?

I've got a secret -
you probably won't agree
because I've got a problem
about the way you've extracted me.

Bribing me with words
won't make it ok, this time.
This time.
This time.

Hot points in my eyes say
'Stop looking for something that you'll never set your glassy eyes on.'

Thanks for your lack of input.
It's not like I needed it.
No, I didn't need it.

a night ago.

Default one:

1. So, you're not going to answer that question, Kyra?
2. I've got no answer to give.

Default two:

1. I hate to say this but we had so much fun when you left.
   
2. S'pity I left.
   

April 23th, summer's death.

Walking up Tunnel Mountain, I had snowflakes in my eyes. The sun was tapping me on the shoulder as it hid behind the blanched bedsheets in the sky. A green and black tie-dyed jumper isn't going to coat my arms in radiating heat this chilled afternoon. You needn't fool me today, young solar. I've got this feeling in my frosty bones that summer ain't nigh.

Vancouver.

Tick tock goes the clock in the middle of town.
Tick tock goes my mind when you're not around.
Tomorrow's gonna be a crazy day because it's not what I do
it's always what I say and I feel more alert.

People's misty breath mixes in together,
bitchumen takes it all in this city of
coast mountains and blue sea.

Too much wild, wild west,
too many frozen fingers
to be warmed by it and its belly.

I know it's spring
but it's nothing.
We've got indications to do
what they told us to do
told us to do.

I was looking at our stats
and it seems like I've given you
too many pats on the back.
Yeh, I know it's a sick fact.
Yeh, I know.

Mmm, I think I see
how we're going to take it back
to mediocrity.
Level average for me.

Too many clouds to be sleepless in Seattle.
Too many chimes to hear that sickly rattle.
Sandy, sandy, sandy sun dunes
in March.

Spring, spring
your colours are popping.
Ring, ring
no telephone ring.

Are you still here or are you going?
I can't see your footprints in the snow
so I guess you've been gone for at least two days or so.
Or longer.

Or longer.

crystalise.

The ink told me not to look straight into the sun
but I was hypnotized by its sweltering
Heat that evaporated the snow.
But after all that, the white will go
the white will go.
To where, few do know.

Then you're left with a liquid that's
Too great to handle
With these two small hands.
Faces on telephone poles,
faces on telephone poles
stare at me whilst I'm struggling to hold
this clear catastrophe.
Summer's got a monkey grip on me,
you see.