You are lost in the school,
a speck against the sea bed
as the water rushes cool
through thirsty gills,
******* oh-two as it's spent.
You keep up with the group,
swim through the rivers rough:
posting poems about the news
as if I weren't seeing it enough;
thus, the impact you have on me
is as small as a phytoplankter
but blooms fast into irritation
because the sea could engulf you,
because you evaporate under the sun.

Your kisses ferment my blood
until ethanol overwhelms oxygen
and I am burning
from the inside out,
intoxicated.

but I have to say that the poets here, unknown behind computer screens, inspire me more than the "famous" poets ever have, no matter how many Pulitzer Prizes they've won or books they've sold. They may have guided me to the road of loving poetry but the awesome people here are the fuel that keeps me speeding along it.
So yeah, thanks.

I feel like I should do something important
to achieve some important result
to feel like I had done something worthwhile
rather that sitting here with nothing
but a bookmark a few hundred pages in
and a screen littered with metawritten words that don't rhyme
put in some sequence to represent
the flowing of my thoughts
some uneven syllable arrangement
I want structure like a new London building
where the glass is black and unresponsive to the onlooker
but from inside
from inside the world is clear and unbroken
apart from the seams where the glass meets
apart from those small strips of darkness
because why merely wish for perfection?

I am dust
seen for an instant
when your eyes and the light
are lost in a moment
and I am caught
in the crossfire.

I am dust
losing control
with every burst of your breath,
driven wild
as your fingers throb
through me.

I am dust
seen when your mind wanders
and vanishing
when your eyes
find
something
better
to
look
at.

"Do you wonder which paths are
severed each time you
make a decision;
do you change the world's vision?"

I am more absorbed, he said,
in how others' paths
intercept me.