Brooka

Janus

I'm of two mindsFace scarred with frostFace warmed by vernal light I'm frozen extrememerciful temperanceAnd I'll hold you with one handand push you with the other How can you, unknowinglymeld your bea...
Posted by Brooka on Wed, 11 Jul 2007 08:32:00 PST

heart like yoke

there was always a placecarved out of memoryhedged with shadowsdiffusebut golden in the middle i never spoke itno one ever spoke itbut we swallowed itlike a warm, quivering yoke like a hook on a rope ...
Posted by Brooka on Tue, 20 Feb 2007 08:42:00 PST

Eden (I'd rather be alone)

Here we are, in todaywith all manner of imprecise ways To feed the courant beneathfodder for sad, tea-tipping moral debates Embraces are gestures that culminatestranger, stronger wavesracing towards i...
Posted by Brooka on Fri, 27 Oct 2006 09:14:00 PST

<<dit>>

on a string it's meas an unexpectedsojourner in your palm when the airis new with clean death I want to know that you're of a different threadthan I was that you're weaving at a different slant than I...
Posted by Brooka on Sat, 21 Oct 2006 12:32:00 PST

"apple, apple, fallen in the water"*

we're drinking tea we're seeing it all, as before, but better I am with you, and you are with me I am in love with your mindyou are stroking my mind with your tongue it is all like an apple, fallen fr...
Posted by Brooka on Fri, 20 Oct 2006 09:23:00 PST

Fabricated People

Just some food (for my own) thought, basically.  I've been thinking a lot about character-making and possibly doing a series of paintings of characters - actually creating personalities thro...
Posted by Brooka on Tue, 14 Mar 2006 05:53:00 PST

The Old Nails...

So, I finally got to see Trent Reznor's little ensemble called Nine Inch Nails tonight.  It was the best concert I've ever been to, because it was not only engaging in terms of set list, visuals ...
Posted by Brooka on Sat, 11 Mar 2006 11:55:00 PST

paint a metaphor

don't try to quiet the old despairand stifle it in a box painted with keen attention to design and color and form like me don't paint your eyelids with glittery crushed beetles(don't keep painting you...
Posted by Brooka on Sun, 26 Feb 2006 09:47:00 PST

old patterns, new devices

old sad dance of words you'd never seeunless i dressed my vanity in a broochand sent her over a bridge for the afternoonto play with her reflection in the pond old crying name calls the syllables hoar...
Posted by Brooka on Sun, 26 Feb 2006 09:15:00 PST

"i keep my visions to myself"

this songis like a warm/cold recessi can't decide carved into a mountaincrawled into the hollow of a pine treeof a fire pit visions are scripted spiralsthat you hush with your tongue to the roof of yo...
Posted by Brooka on Sun, 26 Feb 2006 08:59:00 PST