if you ran away itd have to be digital and thats pathetic.

its just downright sad you have to eat bites of gigabytes to survive because you cant swallow meat, that to live unfettered youd have to string copper wires through your veins, but youve never been anything but capital p Pathetic so you think you can stand that idea.  

after all, it was the unfeeling internet anonymous who taught you to breathe deeply when you were anxious, and how the messy act of human reproduction worked (imperfect and fleshy, you thought). they taught you words your living tongue refuses to pronounce. between chat programs and status updates you formed multimedia connections, held fast by streams of text and data, and even now they seem more real than anything reality has presented you.

in an era far away with a hint of nostalgia you freely immerse yourself in childhood where your friends homes are only a click away. you feed them dinner with a sense of purpose. Technology has made it possible

Thoughts surrounding thoughts, leaving no room for simplicity.
Drowning in doubt, no such thing as positivity.
At first the world seems sweet, handing you everything, with dignity.
But as each day moves forward, you lose your grasp on serenity.
It moves not steady, but with no predictability.
So it's time to say goodbye to hopes and dreams and say hello to reality.

He asked me.
I agreed.
Which way to
the show please?

time was ******,
but it still
comes & comes.
Have I luck?

this one has
nothing to
do with that,
but he asked.

Open? Like
critters in
Heidegger?
That ain't right.

glimmers of
"progress" &
light from a
brand new love.

I asked him.
Tonight we...
well, we'll see.
crumbled leafs.

Anglophilia
An early passion
one cannot say
when or why
perhaps his father's admiration
or was it his mother's apprehension
for them

Leaves of sweet ruby tea
hot ginger pasties
glory of candle skinned  ladies
the warm eyes and cold hearts
what lovely cats you have

Avon flows, its quiet cenote waters
surrounding the poetical urns
Cheery children
noses against windows
those of shopkeepers
that smothered
Napoleon

Yes, Avon flows
the timely midnight trains
to a myriad country stations
all the many
noble selfish
ideals
Joy of bright roses
in a small garden below
where the Keats still play
Adam and Eve
and hear the City's pride
its mechanical soul  
sing its hollow lonely tune again
Oh, where did all the angels go?

Funny how we woke up in the morning
and pretended that tomorrow never happened—
strutted naked in mirrors celebrating our youth,
laughing, knowing suns and moons couldn’t do the same.

We borrowed our arms from the fridge
and peddled bicycles with bad breath—
trading war stories ‘cause we knew
if we came back alive
life would still be the death of us.

There is nothing
Like the wind
When it sweeps
You
Off your feet
The way
The walls
Stand purple
Filled
With dancing
Indians
The prickles
Of the pines
That walk
Across
Your back
Then
They tell
You
To go
Back
And start
Over

I’m standing on the edge of a broken porch in New Jersey,
pink 3 AM clouds around a bowl of stars.
This jacket’s been warm for nine years.

Yes,
I still despair sometimes.
But I am learning to claw out of it by writing it.

Also, Jesus.

Tonight on this porch I’m thinking
what are symbols of happiness, what is
happiness, experience of it, etc.

I think of:
driving an overpass into the city tonight
all that color like spilled Christmas lights
like driving up into the sky.

--Think of:
7th grade boy with an earring and soft eyes.  
Angelo.  His name is.
Translating the story into Spanish for his friend.

--Of:
The blue, the green.  Of the reef.
Pacific silence.  Coconut cathedral.

Of: The Avett Brothers song, The Perfect Space.
Of friends who are like that.

: Africa, all seasons.


Also,
Jesus

Poets of pretentiousness
say my poems are ****
they think emotions lie inside
large words that no one gets

Poets of Pretentiousness
say the shoe doesnt fit
watching them contort their feet
to walk within their niche.

If you come as softly
As the wind within the trees
You may hear what I hear
See what sorrow sees.

If you come as lightly
As threading dew
I will take you gladly
Nor ask more of you.

You may sit beside me
Silent as a breath
Only those who stay dead
Shall remember death.

And if you come I will be silent
Nor speak harsh words to you.
I will not ask you why now.
Or how, or what you do.

We shall sit here, softly
Beneath two different years
And the rich between us
Shall drink our tears.

I miss you lying next to me
This bed has never been so cold
And though my arms are free
To spread - -
They lack your chest to hold.

I miss your rhythmic breath
I crave your steady warmth
And those silent stolen kisses
good night - -
realizing now you are my solid strength

I lay my head to rest
And set sail into the west
Where I find your beautiful embrace
Always - -
Completely fills me best

I bid thee sweet dreams
my love. Reality is far from near
Yet tomorrow - -
Will surely prove me closer
To your realms.