first glimpse of
genuine inspiration
in a year and a
half.

'faces up!
to the
weird ceiling.'

glasses 'you look beautiful'
her teeth are a little yellow, she
brushes in the morning. somehow
they're still a Colgate white. she mouths
Iluvu eyes squint quiet smile arches it's
spine and finger caresses the barely stubble of my face. her blonde peach fuzz mini moustache tilts left and kisses false worry, charisma. she takes
it as insult when I read line about peach
fuzz moustache. obligatory insult shes a
woman, women don't have moustaches
haha she stretches like a resting cat and
returns to thought as my suicide
hangover crunches into a headache of
blind relief

relief

pre-supernova
and within the first breath of man
there you are.

there we were.

in looser terms, your lips touched mine.
slowly. an unrushed parade of sleepy dancers all lost on psychedelics.

more than that, I wrote you a poem.
this poem, and plenty more, all of which you saw and smiled to, during the writing of which you were the 'only' on my mind and Frank Honesty nodded in approval even when my words could bite.

in looser terms, my penis pressed slowly into your vagina while you drifted from careful to carefree.
slowly. an unrushed parade of sleepy dancers all lost on psychedelics.

more than that, I dreamed you a dream.
this dream, and plenty more, all of which you saw and smiled to, during the dreaming of which you were the 'archetype' on my mind and Frank Honesty nodded in approval even when my words could bite.

you break my heart as often as you make it.
that is the way of true love, I suppose. or the test before the rest.

and Frank Honesty knelt next to me, wine tilted in one side-finger past and away from my body.
he whispered;
'all it takes is a dose of life
and you'll come back to life.

she loves you more than you could ever know.

you know you love her just as much.'

Why is it always such a battle to keep the plans we make?

We planned a night of wild sex till we both ached- you changed your mind.

Told me you didn't feel like it. You were gone after one go.

A momentary translucence- made in the heat of a minute.

We planned a late sleep in- an afternoon together.

Beautiful brunch, beautiful walk, no attention paid to clocks.

Out of the blue, at noon, you told me brunch wasn't possible.

You said you would go home soon.

My heart skipped a beat but I played along because it was Mother's Day.

Your mom would be home sooner than expected.

Every time I try to swerve our plans back on course- you opt out.

You say

'yes'

in the heat of a moment.

Transient.

Unreliable.

(I hate using these words to describe you).

One day the plans we've made to be together- might you opt out? How can I trust anything you say in passion?

Sure you say 'no, I would never,'

but

you said 'yes, we'll spend the afternoon together. get brunch.'

you said 'I want you till we both ache. All night. Cover me.'

you said, 'I want you for a very long time. Perhaps forever. I would never leave you.'

It doesn't feel like a lie-
It feels like you have no intention to stick to anything without a battle.

Without my burning myself on anger and hurt like I'm forcing you to something against your will.

I won't believe you about our distant future love

until I can believe you about tomorrow.

The forest and my sadness flow
like seedless cherries- the mystic
is musty.

the mist is mosaic.

I have a beautiful problem.

I have a very beautiful problem.

Anvil / feather
complaints, critical acclaim
a sleepy beating, and life floats on again

but the list
had written
a letter
and left.

secretly
we all thought it best.

I recalled
with a
sinking
feeling that
the surface
is above me.

I am buoyant,
and I am
rising.

I am slow
to avoid
the bends.

share with me a life full of apple seeds
and plants. a life bounded only by

--?--

old used bookshops - - - bookships.
set sail with me, won't you? set sail
with me to the ends of this mighty
earth and dirt spurs my moments
to perfect oblivion- full, so full. empty,
with such fullness. you are --?-- and I
am in love with you. you are in love
with me. we are in love. like sour
diamonds and tents full of naked adventure,
riversides, mountainview ride into lopsided
beauty- I am yours to keep, darling, if you'll
have me.

I am a loaf of bread. sweetness lies in more
infinity than information pamphlets and happiness
is a warm gun. my love told me that my sadness
for the world held a wide-born pretension. I am
pretentious. I am sad for what is not necessarily
sad; it reminded me of an old zen poem: One day
Chuang Tzu and a friend were walking by a river.
"Look at the fish swimming about," said Chuang Tzu,
"They are really enjoying themselves." "You are not
a fish," replied the friend, "So you can't truly know
that they are enjoying themselves." "You are not me,"
said Chuang Tzu. "So how do you know that I do not
know that the fish are enjoying themselves?"

the haaaannnggg in hangover grapples
my chest like another sad defeat. some
created battlefield felt my angel control
nothing, control nothing. I cry at constant
implication, and the choice is yours again.
you, with your busy life, pick my heart like
a puppeteer having not yet noticed the strings.
I pull in all directions and wonder why I do
this to myself; why I look for pegs to stick the
strings together, hand you a puppeteer's hand-
book and tell you my world is always ending
whenever you're around.

it wasn't much of a question.

more of an answer.