I'm just going
to make
more of these

at you
until
i get

in
side
you

and
live
on

there
past
here

what
am
i

you are just
a place to type
things

things that
make me squirm
and shudder

and rock
back and forth
in my chair

on the way
out of me
typed

into you
my neck
twists

i often don't know
what this is about
talking with
a blindness
feeling its way
along
always embarrassed
that you may see me
feeling my way along
laughing as i miss
everything
every **** thing
clumsily by
being so **** dumb
to  its nearness
yet
its dearness
robs
all i have

This garment time
made of illegible
old paperwork
and garden slop
and almost always
ill fitting

encumbers
everything with
smears of meant
and wasn't meant
and peppermint
and I never meant

everything did i
and I never meant
every time did i
ever mean what i
sank down
in the mud of now
on my knees to say

but today with you
being gone and all
on the way there
to not here or this
again but not again
or ever again i guess

outfitted in today's
threads ticking quietly away
like some bomb vest
hand stitched of veins
and thin bright tracts
of beliefs writhing
in dreams of ruling

I have chosen
my perspective
oh ****
it *****

not overly concerned
with beauty
i think and realize
it's topological
these lines
describing
curves and ridges
as if my heart
on skis
determines arcs
and the snow clad land
undulates to fit

somehow downhill
i am rising

it is these physics
of compression
and expansion
under your gaze

that unbinds me
why does my heart
have a ripcord

why is it
so easily pulled
even spectators

a drift is prepared
shift now
sinking and reaching

clutching and grasping
thumping now
i try to hold myself still

so here i am small
as if aware
the bulge of my generation
in the human timey sausage
shrinks and is past
it's peak
a sag
in the lag
and inside
a bog
imagining i'm
exploding
with life
with every
line sublime
scratching out
this is fine