*******.
why don't more people read and respond
to my poetry?
am i doing something wrong?
am i not good enough?
am i fake,
do i miss it more times than i hit?

this thing feels so real to me
and maybe
a select group of other peers--
but am i just greedy?
i read other poets on this site,
and let's be honest,
some of them are ****.

but i like
some others
and i try to engourage
these talented few

but when some fourteen year old has 257 fans
and she's not a REAL poet
that ****** me off

i know
'everyone has something to say'
but some of it's not relevant
or even coherent

and 'one man's trash is another man's treasure'
is a ******* gimmick if i've ever heard one

and i don't ******* understand that.

i know i shouldn't be looking
for anyone elses' approval,
i should just write
whatever the ****
comes into my head,
but maybe i'm a selfish *******
and the viewership of other poets
really means something to me

you all know
what this feels like,
i'm sure

i just signed in
and i have 168 'notifications'
AND NOT ONE OF THEM IS FOR MY OWN WORK.

am i needy?
am i feeling unworthy
of my own 34 fans?
do i feel misunderstood?

seriously?
sometimes i feel
like
joining this site
was a sick joke
on the part of my consciousness
sometimes i feel
like an amputee in
a three-legged race.





(you'd think that i could find solace
in real friends that are interested in poetry,
but those people don't exist for me)

a high school football game.
the field is ablaze with juicy roses
and doves.
the athletes suddenly drop thier pencils,
their coughing hands made of melting wax.
all the trombones are falling apart, and
the flute players are losing their *******
under the bleachers, throwing away secrets.
heartbeats cracking broomsticks, the nuns
were always hitchhikers with resounding
gag reflexes.
i sail forward, snatching the time bomb
from the quarterback, snuffing out
a pall mall on his right eyelid.
the dead angel is summoned to slay
the horrible hippopotamus. she is ancient.
she has a mouth full of cavities and peace
in her veins.
the truth is a piercing thing, whose bitter tongue will decay me.

i cast off pure light in the cellar
i steal kisses and pray
with my tongue sticking out
ask me for a paper favor
& i'll send you a geranium poem
molded in the shape of
a silver swan swooning
i am the sandman's pupil
fighting an epileptic fit
& growling at the governor
i gave my love a cherry
she tells me how it tasted
i gave my love a chicken
now let's start a revolution

i've got to get you out of the sun
because your smile is
making it's way towards my heart
it's wrapping around my head
and i feel dizzy

you are a sunflower,
i will stop to admire your beauty
on my traveler's journey

if i close my eyes
i am alone in a black hole
being eaten by elephants and eels

but when you smile,
oh god you smile
and it's so sweet,
even from so far away

i am burning in
intense white sunlight, but
your silhouette brings water
flowing between rocks and kingdoms
you bring hot shadows of x-ray light
in the twinkle of your eye

i am an ant pushing a cart wheel
in the streets of your mouth
i crawl over your hills, in between
your whirling mountains of grief

i dream of blue skies and freedom
i live in my mind, around paths of
earth and under blue rocks
i can swivel on my heels and
pluck out my eyeballs
throw them in the dirt
but i can feel the sunrise
with my hands

with my hands, i will feel
your undulating valley
and i will pinch
your empire
with a towel wrapped
around my head

my thirst
lives in my cheek
and my tongue

your dress
will dance and
fly in circles
and turn round and round
in my head until i die
in your arms for the night

sweet rest from far, far away.