that's an order, corporal

Yeah, tumblr totally ate this a week ago, and I only just noticed. WHAT.

Here dwell together still two men of note
Who never lived and so can never die:
How very near they seem, yet how remote
That age before the world went all awry.
But still the game’s afoot for those with ears
Attuned to catch the distant view-halloo:
England is England yet, for all our fears–
Only those things the heart believes are true.

A yellow fog swirls past the window-pane
As night descends upon this fabled street:
A lonely hansom splashes through the rain,
The ghostly gas lamps fail at twenty feet.
Here, though the world explode, these two survive,
And it is always eighteen ninety-five.

This ocean, humiliating in its disguises

Tougher than anything.

No one listens to poetry. The ocean

Does not mean to be listened to. A drop

Or crash of water. It means

Nothing.

It

Is bread and butter

Pepper and salt. The death

That young men hope for. Aimlessly

It pounds the shore. White and aimless signals. No

One listens to poetry.

No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief, 

More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring. 

Comforter, where, where is your comforting? 

Mary, mother of us, where is your relief? 

My cries heave, herds-long; huddle in a main, a chief 

Woe, world-sorrow; on an age-old anvil wince and sing— 

Then lull, then leave off. Fury had shrieked ‘No ling- 

ering! Let me be fell: force I must be brief’. 

O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall 

Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap 

May who ne’er hung there. Nor does long our small 

Durance deal with that steep or deep. Here! creep, 

Wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all 

Life death does end and each day dies with sleep.

If I had known

  Two years ago how drear this life should be,

  And crowd upon itself allstrangely sad,

  Mayhap another song would burst from out my lips,

  Overflowing with the happiness of future hopes;

  Mayhap another throb than that of joy.

  Have stirred my soul into its inmost depths,

                    If I had known.

  If I had known,

  Two years ago the impotence of love,

  The vainness of a kiss, how barren a caress,

  Mayhap my soul to higher things have soarn,

  Nor clung to earthly loves and tender dreams,

  But ever up aloft into the blue empyrean,

  And there to master all the world of mind,

                    If I had known.

you dream in the language of dodging bullets and artillery fire.

new, sexy diagnoses have been added to the lexicon on your behalf

(“charlie don’t surf,” has also been added to the lexicon on your behalf).

in this home that is not our home, we have mutually exiled each

other. i walk down your street in the rain, and i do not call you. i

walk in the opposite direction of where i know to find you. that we

do not speak is louder than bombs.

there are times that missing you is a matter of procedure. now is

not one of those times. there are times when missing you hurts. so

it comes to this, vying for geography. there is a prayer stuck in my

throat. douse me in gasoline, my love, and strike a match. let’s see

this prayer ignite to high heaven.

A good way to fall in love
is to turn off the headlights
and drive very fast down dark roads.

Another way to fall in love
is to say they are only mints
and swallow them with a strong drink.

Then it is autumn in the body.
Your hands are cold.
Then it is winter and we are still at war.

The gold-haired girl is singing into your ear
about how we live in a beautiful country.
Snow sifts from the clouds

into your drink. It doesn’t matter about the war.
A good way to fall in love
is to close up the garage and turn the engine on,

then down you’ll fall through lovely mists
as a body might fall early one morning
from a high window into love. Love,

the broken glass. Love, the scissors
and the water basin. A good way to fall
is with a rope to catch you.

A good way is with something to drink
to help you march forward.
The gold-haired girl says, Don’t worry

about the armies, says, We live in a time
full of love. You’re thinking about this too much.
Slow down. Nothing bad will happen.

I’m preparing myself for an extended period of loneliness
That will begin very soon I think
I’ve illegally downloaded two new depressing songs
I’ve placed a copy of Good Morning, Midnight under my pillow for easy reference
I’ve printed out the tablature for every Morrissey song I know so I can sing them to myself
Alone in my room
Just a few things are needed really
To make me calm
While I figure out a simple, clean, and effective way to kill myself,
With minimal stress for the person who has to find and dispose of my body
But I’ll probably never think of a way
Because I’ll probably never kill myself
I’ll just lie in my bed suffocating myself with my pillows
While listening to the four songs you said were your favorite
And maybe burn myself a little with the iron
On special occasions
And the next time I’m in a subway station,
I’ll stand a little further on the yellow line
Or maybe the next I’m at your apartment
I’ll try a little harder

You saved my life he says I owe you everything.

You don’t, I say, you don’t owe me squat, let’s just get going, let’s just

          get gone, but he’s relentless,

keeps saying  I owe you, says  Your shoes are filling with your own

damn blood, you must want something, just tell me, and it’s yours.

          But I can’t look at him, can hardly speak:

I took the bullet for all the wrong reasons, I’d just as soon kill you myself,

I say. You keep saying  I owe you, I owe… but you say the same thing 

          every time. Let’s not talk about it, let’s just not talk.

Not because I don’t believe it, not because I want it any different, but I’m

always saving and you’re always owing and I’m tired of asking to settle the debt.

          Don’t bother. You never mean it

anyway, not really, and it only makes me that much more ashamed.

There’s only one thing I want, don’t make me say it, just get me bandages,

          I’m bleeding, I’m not just making conversation.

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I have to tell you,

there are times when

the sun strikes me

like a gong,

and I remember everything,

even your ears.