You.
with blushing cheeks of the most
captivating red,
skin of the softest of
yellow,
personality...
with a certain
spark.
I choose you.
Pikachu.

The oven is lively,
It’s been scrubbed clean of blue.
I watch it immobile like a Crucifixion lemon head.
Always I will love Lemonheads.

I know why the oven is so lively.
It is filled with laughter, as I laugh when I think of you.

The exterior is growing bright now,
The suture in my fingers is energetic.
You are climbing up, up, up.
The oven sings praises of you.

I know why you are singing, oven.
I granted my favor, and you granted yours.
She is returning now, her essence beats loudly.
My songs are caressing your neck.
Songs that are yours.

Greetings, hearth.
You are not going anywhere.

Absolutely

it will end how ever you wish it.

Absolutely

someone will hurt you.

Absolutely

You will be saved.

I looked for a corner,
somewhere quiet in the library.
how exciting, an e-mail with opportunities
from a professor who cares.
i want it, but I can't help but
feel a little sad,
wherever you are dad.
tough love.
scrunchies, a book of matches,
and crumbs from crackers
sit in my pockets.
laundry basket, mile high
way past the brim.
i wasn't kidding when I said
you'd find a bottle of whiskey
hiding in there.
and all I wanna do is get through
college, I think.
I want to be a strong woman,
for now,
a young lady.
flash-backs to all the fun times.
my hand writing drifts
in shapes
to the sound of
a music box.
the curtains created
pretty shadows that
danced upon my arms.
I tried to be cool,
reading the newspaper.
I wanted to look
oh, so serious.
I am a joker.
I am your equal.
Yeah, salty dog?
Which aspect?
Can I say these things in poems?
I read the words,
why can't I marry my cousin?
these things keep me from
my sleep.
sweet dreams, candy-man.
oh, canyon creek,
where shall I go?
a mind hole?
a gold mine in the
gutter of my mind?
blind.
thanks Conor,
for the milk thistle.
is it fair to choose what
we want to hear?
did they know that 2013
would be so strange?
Professor Coker
wants something typed,
******* i gotta go pick up my bike.

The United States has not had a bearded President since 1893.

I could speak in the tongues of men or angels
but do not have love
so I’ve a voice unfrequent,
low and lacking form, the colder undercurrents
particles diffused unrecognized into dark
syllable vibrations fallen dead in the air
dark things in black waves with sadness in their hands
their weight too much, their form too great, too awful
to leave the vast, the silence
to be understood

couldn’t say, couldn’t tell
I turned, you were not at my side
turned, I was alone

quiet quiet
twisted tortured by a dark thing anguish
midnight in an empty lay, colder than the ground and felled
smoke between my dragon lips I suffocate
the earth’s last forrest burns to the ground inside my chest,
I beg, at last
I break