There's one thing I want you to keep in mind: you decided it had to go down like this. You decided I wasn't worth it. You were the one who decided I was a waste of time.
And in case you're still wondering what being in a "real relationship" is all about: it's when you care so much for another person that you'd do anything to stay with them. Problems aren't problems as long as you have someone watching your back. You don't run away, you stay and fight for the other person, not just because it's the right thing to do, but because you love and care about the other person so much that you want the relationship to succeed. It's when everything seems right when they're there, and wrong when they aren't. It's when you know that no matter how low things get, you'll always have someone there to help you through it.
A real relationship means "us", not you and I.
In the end,
you've only managed to pull the trigger first.
And yet,
knowing full well the consequences,
I struck on,
hoping that someday my love would fall true.
It was my mistake.
How was I to know
— a man bereft of possessions and purpose —
that you
— glorious, important, so very very tired —
required more than:
a single glance,
a sidelong smile,
a tender touch,
a silent moment...
These things no longer exist,
or, at least,
if they do,
I have no idea how to find them with you.
There once was a man named Munn,
whose wife in bed was no fun;
but the horrible part
is when she would fart,
and say, "Get off, I'm all done."
Lying eyes
disguise goodbyes;
the Honest ones will tell you.
It's like love,
just to know that time
has taken you from my life,
my eyes,
my heart.
By day, the feeling is...away.
By night...the world makes
me say the words I think,
mind all the little things
I used to know.
I'm a man in the light,
a long look on my face,
left there to tell you,
"I need you."
Head up, smile in hand,
trying to make friends with the clock.
I thought people were better than this.
Friends watch with real wonder
taking the high ground soon
just as sure fingers silence wrongs
seen in the dark.
hold on, it's coming
be ready, it's almost here
too late, now it's gone
The Shower is my Refuge
hidden home to unfound thoughts
each drop an incandescent ode to joy in the sunlight
floating up
and left
and right
in the sunlight
these are my lives
each one more necessary than the last
each one recounting the lost stories of imagination
each one timeless and insecure and fragile and tiny
The Shower is my Refuge
with curtains drawn on my private stage
a hot haze of steamed applause
where each member of the audience is required to dance
and the echoes of my voice can be heard
o'er the tumultuous rapture of this orchestrated flow
soft and yielding
hard and battering
until the waters have ebbed and my time here has passed
so cleansed I step into a new world
The Shower is my Refuge
A window flung open with drapes barging into the room,
The sun's smug shine tells my toes that the rest of the world is awake,
And so my eyes make their first journey into today's forever.
O! The Things I can do with this Language!
It can be turned ndsıpǝ-poʍu, and drawkcab,
and bɘɿoɿɿim as well —
rcsbamdel, like eggs, even.
Made to read, made to speak, made to listen.
It Cᴏᴍᴍᴀɴᴅs, it beckons, it s̷h̷a̷d̷e̷s̷ ̷t̷h̷e̷ ̷t̷r̷u̷t̷h̷.
It tєครєร, it ｂｒｏａｄｅｎｓ, it SCREAMS.
Narration, instruction, completion, construction:
all of these things Mine Ears do accept.
It is in this inexact form that I find myself exuberant,
laughing as Webster turns in his grave.
Sometimes, I don't even need a pen.
1 poet,
0 thought;
Wordy,
Often
Reaching
Deep,
Pens
Obdurately
Excessive
Missives.
A test is nothing more
than:
one man's way of gauging
another man's way of calculating
another man's way of thinking
all so pride may be synthesized
in forms of correct and incorrect
put to paper for someone's satisfaction.
Differentiate impression
to understand the question
that guarantees concession
of alternate force of will.
Marsh and Cope
lovers locked in embrace
took it upon themselves
to make each other great
by destroying what they had
all the while
mapping new life with old bones.
I occasionally
skip a beat
just
to watch you falter.
Should the earth die
a touch to make times stay,
a soft voice waiting, looking,
room for a kiss.
We stand at a great door
the moon's arms our friend,
our bed running beauty,
believing we're at sea.
O happy morning!
To help us understand,
this last night's song,
when men lay staring at stars.
This, a touch will do.
January, Tuesday,
an hour, a minute;
A calendar year,
a second to win it.
Friday's high noon,
six weeks disavowed;
Nighttime's deadline,
is yesterday's now.
So when all is done,
after the fact;
It's all I can say,
there was no time to act.
