notquiteivy.com

Twilight’s are gray

notquite — Thu, 19 Mar 2009 10:54:43 +0000

…that come up, early mornings.

You never know what the weather’ll be.

These are the words we scream

notquite — Sun, 15 Mar 2009 03:36:56 +0000

…tell me, what is Youth?

And then you know, in the lights

notquite — Sun, 08 Mar 2009 08:08:15 +0000

Geoff Rickly of Thursday at The Palladium, March, 2009.

Questions, You Sit Wondering At Night

notquite — Sat, 07 Mar 2009 06:55:17 +0000

…What do I do with it all?

In The Dark

notquite — Tue, 24 Feb 2009 07:19:43 +0000

…you can see the lights flicker in circles. And wash over their faces as their eyes turn upwards.

There, is expectation. There is the night supplanted by lights and lost in the sea of washed and turned colors ebbing in the crowd of breathing and screaming and yelling and speaking beneath old, grasping branches and hanging moss, watched by houses speaking of history. They are decorated and colored, dressed and lined and waiting. As the crowd rolls by, they wait patiently and we are in the middle of it, in the dark , which is not so dark, but heavy and breathing. Colorful and lush, splayed with colors and forgetting, washed around the edges of by a set-sun and time that is not time, but lingering.

And in the middle of it, you remember what it was like when you were young. When you were not quite a kid, but a Youth lost somewhere in the latter part of the teens and wandering through city streets you took for-granted with friends you never thought would leave. Except you’re still not quite a kid, but older. Still a Youth, but older. And you remember what it was like, but know it will never be like that again. Even if you came every year, and didn’t pass for three-more. Because you’re older, but not that old where everything is new again. And time is something we all take for granted.

Mardi Gras comes once a year. It was good to remember.

this is the way out

notquite — Sun, 01 Feb 2009 19:34:17 +0000

still moments stolen from you, thoughts you never saw

coming. the quiet, creeping along the edges like the little things

you whispered in cool breaths; faded ghosts, dissipating sounds

upwards and away, a hazy sheen broken. between inhalations

you see clearly, i’m standing across from you.

…in the background, the cars pass by.

I know why we don’t sleep…

notquite — Fri, 09 Jan 2009 06:40:04 +0000

So the hours don’t pass as quickly.

and shouting.

notquite — Sat, 06 Dec 2008 00:30:13 +0000

i told you, the moments you were breathing
were empty, left alone in spots
and colors. the greatest things you ever said
never told anything worth knowing except
the little things. you whispered, they said
everything.

settling is the lingering i wait for, never wanting

notquite — Mon, 01 Dec 2008 02:45:09 +0000

i always waver on rainy days.

and blow in wind, like the seasons i see changing, outside my window. i hide inside the horrible weather, watching it pass by my eyes, eased by the comfort of disquiet.

There is something in this sweltering

notquite — Sun, 26 Oct 2008 15:55:50 +0000

…cold.

Something in this luscious dark. There is something, undefinable. Lost in the between, slipping between words and slept-off intentions. Something gone, like clouds and stormy weather swirling in circles, breathing gold. There is something palpable, and touchable, lost in clear skies that follow the darkest nights–tempests revealed in the clouds and cool breeze that pass by, exiting day.

There is something in this, wandering.

And we’re waking up in the morning, after.