Once there was a cow. She had a well. "Neat-o," was a word that she liked to use, and she often used it to describe things such as ball gowns and large crowds. She frequented clubs, not the sweaty kinds where European dance music is played, but the sophisticated kinds where people tie sweaters about their shoulders and don't dance unless classical music is playing, and even then the only movement is the bob of a head from side to side as violins trill past notes that human ears should be able to recognize. She didn't mind it when people used the word "****," but that was probably because she didn't understand them, being an animal and all. She helped herself to seconds at every meal and had a goose follow her around to taste her water before she drank it just in case it was poisoned. "Not to be rude," she would say, "but sometimes I wish there were less geese in the world." I don't take offense though, being human and all.

She had a pet that drank liquor heavily, and often slurred his words to the point of….this is difficult to describe. His hair fell into his eyes and he could touch his tongue to his nose in .01 seconds (if he'd been sober for at least 10 hours). He tested the water with his **** cheeks before diving in, belly first, and he never wore swim trunks (ever!), but that was simply something that ran in the family. You could always tell when he was sad because he would try to fit the cow's feet in his mouth. It was a matter of opportunity, but once the moment presented itself, he never let it pass. He liked the color red, but mostly because his blood became that color when he ate gooseberries or mint leaves. He secretly liked lamb, but he didn't want to tell anyone because all the ant-eaters and water spiders would have looked at him differently after that. He was very concerned with his image, you know. He liked to say things like "****-berries" and "I'm not done drinkin' yet," but only when the sun was down (which was not often because he lived in Alaska). He slept with a towel on his head and an egg between his legs to practice balance. He knew that one day, no matter how far away it was, he would be King of the Jungle.

Footsteps should feel like rose petals, velvet and red,
when you’re not soft enough
I can hear you approaching
wearing your father’s shoes. They used to clunk around as you walked;
they used to be too big.
Now they fit.

I know I shouldn’t hold you without arms,
but I am too in love with this
and it’s getting to my head faster than the things you say when we're falling asleep.

I’m telling you about things I felt
because you asked if they were real feelings or simply colors
and I don’t have an answer yet but it’s coming to me.
Now,
about last night
I only cried because you said you were afraid
and my heart goes out to you:
the only thing you have to fear is your mind.
I made a new color today.

I thought I would be able to tell you more
but isn’t that always the case
filed and boxed and put on a shelf because no one bothered to look close enough
or pay their bills.

I wasn’t going to say it,
but I saw a heart hiding under your bed and I think it’s mine
don’t keep it too long
don’t think I’ve forgotten it

Sometimes I think I won’t ever be enough
and that you won’t ever realize it
so, so sorry.
(Too bad you’d never experiment)

I’m always speaking but I’m never listening
all I want to do is hear your voice
clear
as a glass of water
but I keep putting a spoon in and stirring,
stirring until the water moves so fast that I get ****** in
half asleep and dreaming, forgetting the meaning
of oxygen.

I guess I was trying to show you something you couldn’t see
just like time—
there’s more of it than you think.
You watch me closely but you forget
blinks;
you forget the ripples in a pond.
Before you know it, dinner will be over
I’ll be full, and you’ll be wondering where
my appetite came from.
Didn’t you know?
I’ve been hungry for years.

and imagine God and you’ll see him or it or whatever you imagine
and it comes out as a misspelled word
                                                           and time
and you don’t have to write it down for the world to read.
but at some point it’ll start to feel normal.
but for now I think we’ll just stick to formalities.
but I am only making up for my lonely childhood
but I get jumbled up.
but I wish you were. sometimes I do.sometimes I forgetspace
but I’ve already taught you a couple lessons, so I should keep the ball rolling
but you can’t always count on people,
come back
crazy right?
do what they say
do you ever look for things in the world that just aren’t there?
especially not yourself.
fill in the blank
go eat
I am a character of course,
I can tell you yes or no,
I feel like I should apologize
I guess that means my imagination controls what God is.
I guess that’s nothing new.
I know I’m not the first to say it,
I learned once that if you close your eyes
I like to think I know people on a level that no one else does
I was only trying to touch my toes before I got too old to keep trying.
I’m odd that way
I’m programmable
I’m scared that I’ve lost my touch; it won’t feel good
I’m sorry if it’s news to you,
if you’re so hungry
it feels new,
it has been too long since i’ve written
it’s better if you just read, they told me, it’s better if you don’t say too much out loud.
it’s easier to have no power than to have all the power in the world
it’s easier when someone knows how you feel
IT’S NOT THAT EASY
like not kissing for months
look harder. they’re always there.
meet
nice
no, I know you haven’t been waiting,
some guilty pleasures are more guilty than others.
sometimes people get stuck in between two feelings
stop crying
stop yelling
take up some space
then again, I suppose that’s rather normal.
There has to be some sort of inner monologue
to
too long since I’ve pressed my pen to paper and expected it to move.
use your imagination.
waiting to come out of me.
what an odd fetish you have.
when?
whichever you would like to hear
you,

it has been too long since i’ve written
too long since I’ve pressed my pen to paper and expected it to move.
it feels new,
like not kissing for months
I’m scared that I’ve lost my touch; it won’t feel good
but at some point it’ll start to feel normal.
when?

I feel like I should apologize
no, I know you haven’t been waiting,
but I wish you were. sometimes I do.sometimes I forgetspaces
                                                    ­                                                  and time
I guess that’s nothing new.
it’s better if you just read, they told me, it’s better if you don’t say too much out loud.

sometimes people get stuck in between two feelings
and it comes out as a misspelled word
do you ever look for things in the world that just aren’t there?
look harder. they’re always there.

I can tell you yes or no,
whichever you would like to hear
I’m odd that way
I’m programmable
then again, I suppose that’s rather normal.

There has to be some sort of inner monologue
waiting to come out of me.
I am a character of course,
but I get jumbled up.
it’s easier when someone knows how you feel
and you don’t have to write it down for the world to read.
but you can’t always count on people,
especially not yourself.

some guilty pleasures are more guilty than others.
I’m sorry if it’s news to you,
I was only trying to touch my toes before I got too old to keep trying.
I learned once that if you close your eyes
and imagine God, that you’ll see him or it or whatever you imagine
crazy right?
I guess that means my imagination controls what God is.

it’s easier to have no power than to have all the power in the world
I know I’m not the first to say it,
but I’ve already taught you a couple lessons, so I should keep the ball rolling
nice
to
meet
you,
but for now I think we’ll just stick to formalities.

I like to think I know people on a level that no one else does
but I am only making up for my lonely childhood
what an odd fetish you have.

go eat
if you’re so hungry
IT’S NOT THAT EASY

stop yelling
fill in the blank
stop crying
take up some space
come back
do what they say
use your imagination.

she’s camouflaged red and brown
voices appear closer than they are
so if she closes her eyes
she can play tricks on her mind to keep from breathing too loudly.
just keep dividing – she says
just keep dividing.
(whose name is my name?)

she’s alone in the room
where it’s dark and where it’s silent
like the grave you dreamt I was in last night,
now you’re ashamed to admit it
it was going to be a secret
it was going to sound silly once I put it on paper
(it does)

she didn’t have to say the boy’s name (riley)
still, it was out before we knew your ****** orientation
and they told you “the door’s over there” but
you knew you were glued to the spot
because sometimes words feel like concrete.

she should have known it would be a mess,
she should have known that when she cleaned
she would find your ring
somewhere beneath the couch or the rug
and she would wear it quietly until you forgot it was gone
(it is too easy to be silent and too hard to speak)

she found her faith in something different
lying beneath a persimmon tree, begging to be picked up
before it rotted between the orange, cinnamon fruits
(my teeth feel soft)
but now she has to write down her secrets on a peice of paper
slip them into her pocket,
where we can all be blind to what she's done
(just keep dividing keep dividing)

she thought becoming a woman was more than being able to bleed
she thought her voice would be soft
she thought her eyes would be quiet
she thought she would feel something new (some sort of reverence)
but she’s been walking with her eyes closed
and asking for more than she needs
when all she really wants is for people to see the inside of her soul.

i said i didn’t miss you so i wouldn’t
but you made me
listen
to things you wrote, gave, made
did it say something about love? she wonders these things aloud
it’s hard to keep them in when you’ve been thinking them so long
without even noticing.
sometimes just noise is enough to change a person

I haven’t looked in the mirror, she lied
because she was self-conscious about being more beautiful
and about changing so often.

if there is enough to go around, let’s all cry.
all of us.
if you listen hard enough beneath music, there are words
and they are talking to you.
why is it so hard to do something you don’t want to it says
questions that don’t have answers

why is it so hard to do something you do want to do?

what if I just go back?
what if I never go big – just go home
sleep in a cabin
eat fish
become something greater than myself
before I become less than I was before?

I keep trying to think of new ways to touch you
sometimes you touch me back
but often you don’t seem to notice me here
I just need you to need me back.
but I’m alone in more ways than one.

listening to you again feels good.
why did I never get through to you?
why did I never get to BE with you?
I don’t care who you were, why wouldn’t you let me see? why wouldn’t you let anyone see?

you try to forget the things that plagued you
but they have a way of coming back – me, it’s because I want them to.
I like the despair of old fears, of rekindling something dead,
of sitting by a campfire in the woods alone thinking about what you should have said to your parents before you left
or what you should do when you’re in love with more than one person
because no one plans that stuff
no one plans dying.

where are the metaphors you ask
and I tell you they are in the universe, full of color
full of something that we try to understand but have too many names for

I am going to ask you one question, and you have to promise to answer.
promise.

get lost in something
and you can start to tell the difference between you and someone else
if you feel sad, that’s okay. just stop trying to hide it
just stop trying to hide
just stop hiding

who are you?
you promised.

please, no one talk about how
they frowned, how
they looked processed (like canned meat)
and lowered their voices in pitch
because that's easier than changing yourself.

I'm sure eventually they'll make me
king of something.
until then my nose will keep
growing and I'll have to find a way
to fall into God without a vessel.
spicy food?
actually keeping people's secrets?
just put something in the suggestion box.

it's this feeling -
these uneasy moments when I'm unsure
it's his smile that distracts me from the memory of yours.
why? do I choose?
do I let myself become succeptable?
your love is a wall - or is it hiding?
must I search for it?
I'm done pondering.

I just can't shake this feeling that he has something to teach me about God.