winding wool is mindless

she said, well maybe madam,

yet look at the lovely machine,

all red and cream plastic, that

winds in a way we cannot do

by hand.

look at my work which evolves

while working this and thinking.

i folded her goods tidily, packed in a

nice paper bag, said nothing

except mere politeness and niceties.

then got on with winding.

mindfully.

sbm.

The smooth surface
Life shining off veneers
Nothing gets etched
On the fragile surface
Meaning has no place
Living contrary to life
Tenets, there were none
Slippery memories
Sliding off the edges
Nothing lasts
Edges are defined
Chasms are wider
Fathomless depths
No warning signs
Just on the surface
Makes no meaning

Tonic and breweries.
This home is beginning to resemble a boy again.
I don't remember moving in but
I don't think I'll ever forget each wall
As they stood around me, and
how unsafe I felt within them
Without them really knowing that I was there.
I've always had this theory that
Non-habituated houses collapse more easily
Than the habituated ones.
When put through a hurricane, you were the non-habituated one
And you didn't recognize my presence inside of you.
When we collapsed you only felt your own pain,
But I felt mine as well as yours.
I don't know if you know that I still feel it.
I don't know if you know that I feel it every single day.

The first time I looked for shelter again I found one of your floorboards
In the space where my heart was supposed to be.
I didn't know how to cordially invite you
To walk all over it again-
So long the creaks it would produce wouldn't scare people away.
It gave motivation to the dreams however,
I was in an empty home and you were always sending me postcards without a return address.
You claimed you were always just about to move in with me, in these postcards,
But everyday it said the same thing.
It was a recurring nightmare.
I hope you never need a return address.
I don't think I can stand the pain of feeling you smell my tears on paper from 100,000 kilometers away.
I thought I could, but not anymore.

The scent of your presence always reminds me of tonic and breweries.
Because you drink when I'm there and you drink when I'm not.
I don't know how I associate heaven with the scent of someone
Who loves to fill bottles with secrets and then swallow them down with someone else's pride,
But I do.
And now and again I still wait to see if heaven will keep me sober enough
To watch me get drunk without actually drinking anything.
We burnt down bars, night-clubs, wine-galleries and cupboards of bottles,
But I don't know why I felt the same euphoria then when you threw me into the flames.
Maybe heaven was really a smell after all-
I'm still trying to find a way to love its wrath without smelling its scent.

The crowds always
looked the same
on every street corner there,
people with disheveled hair,
the look of desperation
hanging out
near the local burger joints.
I found it very strange
to see Western
corporate business operations
so out of place.
Like who really wants to eat
a burger and fries
in a war zone?
Maybe it wasn't desperation
& when I look back
and think about it,
it seemed more like anger,
not hunger.

I used to be able to forgot who I was
The easiest way was to stare at my hand
I was young
Nine or ten was the last time
After a while I would look away from my hand
and I would not know where I was or who I was
I would be fearful and magnetized
And question where I was,
Who I was.
I remember asking
"Is this real?"
"Whose eyes are these?"
Yes...eyes,
It was through rapid blinking that would bring me back
to life as I know it
I never knew what I was experiencing;
A seizure
A mystical experience
A temporary return
Whatever it was
I cannot go back
No matter how hard I try.

We need no one's approval.
We are poets, not pleaders.

They'll cry at your birth but not your funeral.
Don't worry honey for they don't know your worth.
They'll stop you from learning yet call you dumb.
Don't worry honey for they are themselves illiterate.
They'll cage you in and blame you for being a pet.
Don't worry honey for they are not birds as well.
They'll call you a **** while they'll have too many girlfriends.
Don't worry honey for they are all hypocrites.
They'll **** your dreams and call you weak.
Don't worry honey for your stronger than they think.
They'll wed you off without asking your consent.
Don't worry honey for they'll surely regret.
They'll take away your voice and call themselves right.
Don't worry honey for barking dogs seldom bite.
They'll break you down and collect sympathies.
Don't worry honey for God is watching silently.

And if you ever wonder, Why me?
Don't worry honey for they do it all out of envy.

I have
often wondered
how a woman
would react
to an honest
man.

I have
often wondered
how a man
would react
to an honest
woman.

Just to be
naked
does not
ensure
honesty.

Lifetimes
of saying
and doing
what we
think
the other
wants.

Shapeshifting,
veils,
the dance
of deception.

Perhaps
they would be
too stunned
to react
at all.

  ~mce

He really isn't such an extravagant specimen of humanity
The other day he told her that he wasn't a mess
And the funny part is that he believed himself
He believed that he wasn't so pathetic as to deny his masochism whilst depriving himself of sleep
He believed that he didn't send messages to random people on HP because he was lonely and maybe just maybe that other person would live in south africa and get to know him and love him
He believed that he sent those messages because he wanted to help people
His pathos of trying was so painful to watch even he stopped seeing the reality of his metaphorical wrist and literal subconscious
And even though he watches good shows and listens to good music and has valid philosophical opinions that are well structured of both he still second guesses himself
He still doubts his ability to be anything in life but his dreams are real and o so powerful
He has become a farse
A pathetic dismal farce
And the worst part about this farce
Is that this farce somehow still believes that he is different and better farce than all the other farces out there

Yes he hates himself
But he has become so good at lying to himself that he doesn't even believe the words as he types them on this screen