i could delete your pictures,
i could block you.
i could sit and write a million "i hate you's",
but it doesn't change how i feel about you.

i could delete your number,
i could force my your name down my throat whenever i feel it coming up,
and if it does come up i could puke on it
and flush it like a bad memory.
will this change how i feel?
no.

i could find every song that speaks about the hatred of a love that has gone wrong,
and belt it out at the top of my lungs.
i could burn every poem i ever wrote about you,
and swear to never write another one.
but not even this would change the way i feel about you.

you can check me a thousand years later
and you'll see that my love for you will never run dry.
(h.s)

Sweetly stomach-sick
again.
Plummeting back into
my puzzle-piece niche
among more notes in the same key.
We’re a messy chord,
played by masterful,
but drunken hands
on a piano
wavering on the brink
of broken intonation.
Just close enough to make
you want to sing
along
and hold the right notes in your throat
bring the decibels up
to a thrum,
vibrating in my chest that
calms down the sick
in my belly.

It feels good-
in the most nerve-wracking way
to look at you looking at me
like that again.

Yellow
fissuring undulations
breaking through
inky navy-
street lights casting reflections on
the lake out the window.

Flecks of neon
marking locations
where the party is still raging,
where people are still
chasing the world of delirium
and ***,
breaking over distant trees.

This is the place where America's
rich come to die
after a lifetime
of toil
chasing the American dream.
And I suppose that means the American dream
is here in Florida,
where sweat never dries
and mosquitoes never sleep,
where retired bankers
and ******* dealers
can finally get their slice of the pie-
separated from the suburbs by twelve foot tall hedges
and automatic gates.

The young don't care here-
they're too preoccupied
with The Chase
and neither do the Old-
because they're tired out
from a lifetime of being young.

This is the place
where America comes
to roll over
and spend its final hours
alone,
bitter,
and wealthy,
taking naps in the sun-
having more than earned

a little rest.

Sitting in de street
Spitting out a reggae beat
Rollin up a sticky spliff
Jammin out a reggae riff
JAH knows I take the fattest hit
"**** this ****** is strong as ****!"
I see a glint in the eye of a guy
On de street, just passin by
He flicks some cash in me cup, and I begin to smile;
For in my heart of hearts I know, he feels my reggae style

We wander, lost and unfound
Our lives, stories untold.
Weary souls, we walk an endless road
In the light of a burning star,
We rise and fall.

You may see the universe in our eyes,
Bright stars swirling in the deepest black.
Aren't we all waiting for the same thing?
By the side of dusty roads,
Waiting for love to cease us in this moment.
And we let our hearts lust, and be wild.
Because only then are we alive.
Love is pain and pleasure,
Sadness and joy,
And everything in between,
The darkness and the light,
The wrong and the right.

Let the storms take over
And the wind howl through the night.
Let the tides rise
And the waves rush to the shore.
We are everything we've ever wanted to be,
Everything, we can ever be.

There it is again, the craving.
I can feel it crawling under my skin.
The need to feed is too strong,
I can't move.
Not until I have it.
The poptarts put a dent in it,
But it's not enough.
The cereal, better,
It's coursing through my veins.
I can feel myself getting stronger.
The pepsi, it fuels me,
I can do everything now,
No one can stop me.
I will be satisfied for now, maybe an hour.
Then the urge will return and the cycle will start again.

All of those things that we would say
In those enraptured, early days.

‘I’m crazy about you baby.’
‘You make me crazy.’
‘I’m so crazy in love with you.’

But the ending had other intentions.

Although
I guess it all turned out to be some kind of true,
Just words
with different dimensions.

I am a camera.
My skin-- a metal slab,
cold and real.

Time touches me like love,
feeling me up as If I slept with it.

My brain is a roll of memories
embedded in flashes of time.

I have seen life--
**** and unclothed.
I take it all in--

My crystal eye-- the grand abyss,
looking back at me.

Oh do I terrify?
The world I built with memory.

I have seen life--
depleted, dead--
living in pictures.