Fall in love??????
Everything that falls eventually breaks

Rise in love????????
Everything that rises eventually falls due to gravity
  
So whats the pount of being in love whe someday it will all be just broken pieces

Then a wind blew from northern
To here up a skirt
And the silk stockings
Hued like mist tween the mountains
Over thigh through a valley to
here adrift woman scented
Smoky rushing through vein
As fire arush  through blushing
tip onto the pyre
lit anew
That brief heaven glimpse upon a promise grew
A future
I am here now
As I tilted and
Honored
My grandiose
Windmill
My darling

Anything can
look like a poem
and sound philosophical
simply by moving
the words on
different lines.

Am I doing it right?
Is this
really
talent?
Art?
Effort?

I think I am trying.
Really, I am
I go back and change the order
and I break lines
where it sounds right
But it does not take me long.
Not at all.

I try to be
intentional
and call it natural rhythm.
Instinct and style taking over
I alternate between
agonizing every detail
like When to Capitalize
and publishing free form poems without looking over them twice.

How is writing supposed to feel?
Should I labor?
or should it flow?
Or do I get to decide?

I think the things I talk of
mean something
at least.

But am I just
pretentious?

fooling myself into thinking that
using common poetry formats
somehow makes my work worthwhile?

The lungs of who you are betray the bones of what you've become.
I could keep you in my hands for as long as I can hold my breath,
but that feels too long.

You're trapped around the grave of the person you wanted to find in me.
I can't be her for you.
Even for one night.
I can't be here for you.

You know it's true that your hands are tied between two more.
I'm not with you anymore.
I got the last laugh now you deal with what comes.

You miss talking,
and my ears don't miss being talked to.
You wish this was different,
and I do to.
You still don't want change,
but my bones are broken, and through them I feel my lungs.

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.