You Fell at Night

You Fell at Night,


and by the time i found you
the sun had dried up everything
but your soft petals
in a heap on the patio
with the broken glass

no one heard,
no one must have looked
out the window to you
or else you would have been
swept up and thrown out
or recollected and replaced
on display, and i would
never notice until someone came home
from work to tell me
what i'd missed

but i found you, and came to you
and in the chill air the sun
felt good on my goosebumps

while i gathered you into my hand
and shook the glass from your stems
and carried you in while you cried
petals all over the carpet,
all the way to the sink
where i put you in
a tall glass of water

and when i carried you back
to your place on the patio
careful not to spill
and gathered up your petals
from the floor to the sink
i only had a little trouble
washing them down
the garbage disposal

Sorry to post another non-verse block of text, and my apologies to James for bumping his poem down.

This is just a bit of an addendum to the previous 'house-cleaning/keeping' post, where I mentioned something about us trying to expand and whatnot. We've been offered a domain name and free hosting from Horatio, the founder and head honcho of the Rampage Network (www.rampagenetwork.com), a growing webcomics community. Horatio's interested in digital publishing in general (unless I'm mistaken), so it's not as awkward a fit as it may appear.

Bottom line, someone's offering to host Pedestrian Protection and more or less give it the royal treatment. Right now, we'd be the first of our kind over 'there' (the Rampage Network), but with a decent chance to gather more of our ilk as time goes on (again, unless I'm mistaken). Excellent chance for some more exposure/recruitment, and I don't see anything wrong with escaping the mire of Blogspot's multitude of blogs.

I'm for the move. What do you guys think?

Caps

Caps (The Firefighter)


YOU CAN'T LEAVE
AND STILL THINK
WE
ARE GOING TO BE BEST FRIENDS
WHEN YOU LEFT ME HERE
YOU DID

AND YOU CALL EVERY TWO MONTHS
TO TELL ME HOW HAPPY
YOU ARE
WITH STEFHAN THE FIREFIGHTER
AND INVITE ME
SKIING
WITH ALL YOUR NEW FRIENDS
AND PRETEND
I NEVER TOLD YOU
I'VE NEVER SKIIED

you want trifles? i got trifles. i don't think i dare put this one on my personal site for fear of lucy (aka YOU) reading and recognizing her boyfriend's name/occupation, but it's something i wrote that i didn't hate immediately, so in the name of fertility it's up for grabs.

Spring cleaning.

Just a couple of 'housekeeping' things.

First, welcome to Matt (is it?). His arrival makes us four strong... provided James ever comes back.

Secondly, Chris is going to be putting up some guidelines for a project we'd like to get working on, a collaboration/compilation of sorts. Non-internet publishing might be involved. He'll have something up eventually.

Also, since we're growing in number, we might want to consider expanding in purpose and presentation. Right now, Pedestrian Protection is just a typical, obscure garage band (of poetry), but would you guys be interested in approaching rock star, record label-mode? That is, trying to gain some sort of readership, finding means of exposure, etc., etc.. Or should we stay as we are?

Finally, update. Post. Create. Comment. Twice-monthly sucks. Chris wants a weekly schedule, and I'd push for something even more frequent than that. Anything is good, so long as we're fertile longer than we're fallow.

That's all from me.

The Singular Self

the room is a husk
insides dried up
there is no one here
but a man’s straight thin line
which in the evening, so frequently
leads off to
the dark

it leads him to run
far across corn fields
always-bright
away from anyone and
anything at all
to strip off clothes and
run naked, to peel away into the dark
where no one can find a man
who wants to be found but
has no way to be visible

the clearing of throats and rolled eyes
the clicked tongues of conversation

he will instead run into the pale places
the poor places
piss-poor, no accomplice
but humility in the face of
the single self

the single self

singluar self

//Exquisite Corpse//

//Exquisite Corpse//

If only your veins were filled with oil and your skin were paraffin
people would rush to your rescue,

If only your mind were made of wax.
If only your soul burned absolutely clear,
absolutely efficiently.

If only we weren’t forced to leave something behind

What an elegant, absent apparition you are.

Filled my car with gas today.