anna streams her consciousness.

For a long time, I couldn't write at all. I'm trying to get back to it, so here it goes. I started writing this a while ago, but couldn't finish it until tonight. I've been reading too much Kerouac lately, and it shows in this. : ' D


I asked The Doctor 'what's your schooling'
Skeptical but fascinated
By the cures he held.
He didn't take his eyes from his perscription pad
In the alley behind the the mom and pop gas station
Drove out of living by the guzzlers up the street
He said i watched a soldier sew up his knee with his two hands
Grinning past the pain
Said he usually choked at the sight of blood
But could hold his breath in an emergency
Because we're all capable of things unimaginable
When we least expect it.
He said he saw calves being born still
As the babies in any hospital
Bloated and sad as any human child
Who hardly made his mother proud.
Said he saved all the pretty ladies
From their own red lights
With sores on their arms and backs
Healed them with a touch of his hand
Stolen from their own street corners
To a safe hospital bed.

He said he hadn't had much in the way of teaching,
But he knew people, and he knew them well.

Cigarette ash fell to the frozen December pavement
Followed by a boot grinding the ground.
And I had a vision
Of who he might have been
As i stared at the prick of light
From the end of his blunt.
He must have been one of those zen men
Who crossed the country time and time again
Finding glory in every corner north and south and east and west
But there came a time when his quest for nothingness
Became nothing to him.
Disillusioned in the ecstasy he should have felt
When he had no possessions under his belt.
So he threw off his big ideas
And bought himself a car.
Roared out of Memphis into the heart of things.

Now he's in the alley
Selling 'life insurance' to the kiddies in the city.
I was dreaming these things as i stared at his boots
Caked with dust of this and every other town
Where he did his business
And he tore off the paper from his pad
With alarming finality
'but I know how to make people feel something'
I tucked the paper in my pocket as he turned to leave
But before he faded into merely a midnight mirage
He looked back at me with strange dark eyes
Meeting mine: glazed and grey
And in a fatherly manner
That seemed not at all misplaced
Said 'get on home before you freeze'
He strutted off into the night,
His boots clicking on cut up pavement.
Sound stopped and my visions waned
And I wonder if he'd been there at all.
But I blinked back my disbelief
For his papers proved my insanity.
I sent myself on home.

wow, can i just say i love the way you write. Your words seem to flow so easily and fluently. If i was to say the parts that i like i would be reciting the whole of each poem back to you and would be here forever. I really love the first poem. Just perfectly written. Follows as easily as a story and pulls one in to read the whole of it. It must have taken some time to write these and thank you ever so much for sharing them. Keep the talent coming x

Wow those are awesome.

I didn't know where this was going at first. I think it shows. I finished writing it after a particularly intense dream. It's not neccessarily about the dream I had, just about dreams in general.

Night Narrative
Window memorial, outlining the horizon on single paned glass.
Ice crystals show me God in twisting pictures
As millions turn away.
And I’m torn into five hundred pieces
Spread out in several different continents
My body is broken before I’m finished
Getting older.
The sun rises higher each day until it is spun out of proportion
And I forget my purpose and where I was born.
But there is wisdom in the phrases
That she spits without shame.
There is a spark within me
When I simply hear her name.
Whatever the weather
Or the sound or the words,
She brings me into her story:
Full of off color remarks,
Grins and circular language,
And I can’t tell if I’m torn
Or mending.

Lights fall from far off planets, sunset on 42nd street,
Sunset on Wisteria: sunset everywhere I turn.
Rays of silver light linking generations to the sky.
Lives fade as the lights go down
And I kneel; sigh.
I fade as the fog dampens a still earth.
We fade in the dark and hide in the day;
Resorting to figments for companionship.
Talk to the dirt that I grew up in,
(as a sickly green plant)
Speak to the cold, still ground
That gives maternal arms.
I don’t want to sink.
I don’t want to leave my home.
But I’ve been thinking too much of myself
To ever stop alone.
And I’m less and less a human child
Than a shadow of a story.
And I’m less and less your friend
In my tar stained skin,
My ragged eyes forever closed and sunken.
I’m becoming less
As I see more.
I fade so quickly when my reflection fails
To deepen with the sun.

And I hear her voice,
And I feel her skin on my own.
I am brought back to my tragic
Dark, off white bedroom.
My subconscious never fails to impress
To frighten, to wander.
Now there is nowhere else I’d rather be
Than stuck inside reality.
I’m feeling whole again,
And all I had to do
Was open my eyes to meet the sun.

i LOVED the first one. i simply loved it.
it has this air of like... strangeness? but it really feels like you have something to say that's important, i just don't know what.
absolutely entrancing.

dream sequence
she branches off from paradise
cutting time off our arrival
in brief chunks making the night
shorter and less deadly than before.
She kills the lights on oblivion ditch
afraid of waking wood fairies
and lazy deer.
she grins into traffic, eyes flashing blue
and violet as cars head for the underground.
the forest creaks and whispers
in and around our heads
and I can hear the radio humming
scratching at the speakers
and my eardrums
barely audible over the gentle din
in my swirling brain
colours speak in low tones
every shade a different voice
laughing in quick eerie clips
echoing through and in between the
noise of the road, breathing
and groaning and yammering

her hands are locked in spirals
and feet touch the desert floor
rough carpet meant for abuse
coughing up seasoned cigarette smoke
from yesterday or last year
that can’t be washed or beaten out.
her eyes open and close
until time is measured by the movement of
darkened, fragile lids
cool breeze grazes skin
the human race collectively shivers
and I smile at my insignificance.
Stale midnight fogging glass as my eyes go under
(salty water floods my vision)
and I watch the phosphorescent glow of the
H-bomb city where we grew up and wasted away,
tried our best to leave
without really trying.
I'm wondering if she sees it too
already knowing that the figments I am most proud of
are the things I hate the most,
my sensible mind pulling me up
pushing out happy lore
to drive me from my crazed fevered state.

coarse and seasoned traveler
lost in thought and off the map
she bites her lip holding in a chuckle,
(a turning point in world history)
glances in my direction, around but never at me
unable to see the world
in black and white
so she oversimplifies humanity
and the sights sounds and pain of her existence.
she crosses off days and people
with ink from her lips
and swears that time kills,
excusing her fast life.
the space between us thickens
and memory grows thin
black sets across the scene.