The American Virgin

* Ask a Virgin * About Me * Poetry *  Virgin(s) *
Rekindling America & her spirit, her lust for sprawling adventure.


April, 18th 2014 @ 01:23 / Permalink
ilive4thefunk:

Loop ✨

ilive4thefunk:

Loop ✨

I don’t know what to call this

I have been considering the oddities 

involved in meeting someone new.

Perhaps a dinning hall your sophomore year,

or at a frat party down a few blocks away

from your dorm, that house where rumbles

can’t be told apart from a passing el or a deep

base line. And the approach, an awkward intro

that inevitably leads me to shake, twitch my smile,

and say something just out of place enough to

make her uncomfortable. I regress, wish I hadn’t

said a thing and wish I never met her as soon as her

GPA becomes apparent. I wish I never met her

the moment I approached, when I realized, 

for a brilliant spilt of a second, that I am not

the man my father was. I am the man that lies

beyond a crowded dance floor, gazing gently 

into a passing girl’s eyes, just drowning for

a smile in my careful direction.

April, 17th 2014 @ 00:18 / 1 / Permalink

XVI

yasmin 

—ambling through the hall

ways in 

her graceful manner—

discovered something

positively marvelous today among the

walls,

among the pupils,

among the plaques

and chipped pain of t

he ol

d catholic school.

she saw the 

tramps, and niggers, homosexuals

, and sadists.

she saw the

priests basking in sin

, she saw the lonesome birth

of a child,

the death of a nation.

she tilted her head

to the side,

and began to convulse 

—it was such a time

ly manner

just as the poor

little son of christ

approached her ear and whispered 

‘marry me,

my sweet

magenta.’

April, 16th 2014 @ 23:47 / Permalink

yasmin

midnight loves, forever,

sleep.

the stains of saints

fallen behind the clouds

mouth-off the 

old anthem 

of charlie and I’s

lost romantic novel,

garnished by

the sanctity of throats.

(garnished by

the insanity 

of horror and

insomnious apathy. )

so close your eyes,

my sweet yasmin,

(for I too am enthralled

by the 

night.)

April, 16th 2014 @ 23:40 / 2 / Permalink

I don’t have a drinking problem. I have a sober problem.

April, 15th 2014 @ 23:48 / Permalink

Untitled

telephone pole

     stuck

             out of

the great

      barren lot—

loosening 

the cracks

            in blacktop 

&sending the

earth

her

     great 

   signals

of

       talk (&

some small

voice)—and

balancing

      on end,

    a stretch to sky,

she is slightly 

                  beyond

                              my reach.

April, 13th 2014 @ 14:03 / 1 / Permalink

I just want to meet someone whom I can have a fucking semi-intellectual conversation with.

April, 12th 2014 @ 15:19 / 1 / Permalink
"Only people of a certain disposition are frightened of being alone for the rest of their lives at the age of 26, and we were of that disposition."
High Fidelity
April, 12th 2014 @ 12:21 / Permalink