Hello! I am writing to inquire about your well-being and your recent encounter with loneliness. You wrote to me recently: "I am looking out of the window and I can see behind the curtain of rain and fog sensitiveness is welling up and eerily long fingers of sorrow are creeping up my neck and pushing … Continue reading Letter To You
Month: October 2017
No. 19 Cloud
No. 19 Cloud Like the music that was never made like the road that was never taken like the cloud that never rained. I live my life feverishly in a desire to remember who … Continue reading No. 19 Cloud
No. 18 Filthy
No. 18 Filthy The whole goddamn city is burning its filthy lies to run its machinery and in my eyes there are birds flying over the ocean only to fall and to die starving out of hunger. and there's a man in his castle breaking bones to make a crown out of. Peyman 10.19.17 Washington … Continue reading No. 18 Filthy
No. 17 Graceful
No. 17 Graceful For Isabelle No. 1 Everything you do, you do it with that natural style of a flower blossoming or a cat leaping from the table to the … Continue reading No. 17 Graceful
No. 16 Fat
No. 16 Fat Every time I pass by a donut shop smell of coffee and the frying oil and all the pink boxes straight out a bad cop movie made in the late 90s I want to scream, don't do it, that fat is not good for you, then I step in and when I … Continue reading No. 16 Fat
Prayer
My dear, I have asked the sun to give you a kiss when you wanted a kiss next time. And the moon sitting in the sky ever so lazily, I have asked her to watch over you, when you are walking home alone at night. The wind shall carry lavender smell that you like so … Continue reading Prayer
9 – Screech
who would have guessed, if you listen closely, you can hear colors screech in pain in a Van Gogh self-portrait. My ears are bleeding a sunset. Van Gogh went out to get Absinthe and bandage, what a night we are going to have, you should come. 10.9.17 Washington, D.C. Peyman
8 – Crooked
Never cared to be straightened anyway look what happened to straightest trees I am writing this poem on a table made out of their body. No thanks, I'll stay crooked and write poetry, you live that perfect life. 10.6.17 Washington, D.C. Peyman
7 – Shy
Never been, until that time when the night opened her mouth, and through the slit, red as a fresh cut fig, you came with a thousand laughters blossoming in your mouth. 10.6.17 Washington, D.C. Peyman
6 – Sword
Who is calling my name so relentlessly Standing on the edge of the night? their voice, sharp as the damascus sword, is slicing my dreams. why are they not letting me sleep? Don't they know, sleep is the only country that I am allowed to love you. So here I am, awake as light post, … Continue reading 6 – Sword
One Poem At A Time 