We met in a crowded room.

Your dark skin shone
as a contrast to your pale teeth.
Neither of us said a word,
but our bodies did speak.

You glanced in my direction
and my breath went cold.

I thought of what it might be like
to dive deep within,
really deep within,
what makes you
uniquely
imperfect.

If for one second
we could truly know one-another.
What a wonder it would be.

We could swim with the thoughts
inside each other
and be truly free.

I want to be immersed
in all that you are,
so that one day
together you
and I
can
be
1


11/26/2012

One bright red
peony
inappropriately tucked in
your lapel

pierces the greys
of your suit and the sky.

Stiff-legged people in
soggy black shoes stand an
impromptu shoulder-width-apart-

Sharp and flat
piano keys against the concrete.
You stand with your arms around me
like you think I'll fall.
But I think probably I won't.

Somewhere behind the rain
guns are firing ceremoniously
and trembling hands rest delicately
on his folded flag.

(But I -
am peeking past
a sterile wooden door
afraid to see his sunken chest.

How small,
how
very
small he seems.

And he lifts his hand
and waves to me
and I'll never know
if he's saying)

Goodbye.

I Am Eleven Different Shades Of Regret Tonight.

One For The Way I Left You. Hand Prints In The Quick Sand Of Our Last Memory.

Two For The Way I Was Too Afraid To Love You The Right Way, Blade In Left Hand, Afraid Of What I Was Capable Of Doing To Myself, And To You.

Three For The Heart Break You Wore On Your Sleeve, Unafraid To Tell Me How Deeply I Hurt You.

Four For The Emptiness I Left, The Broken Promises, Picking Up Your Prices, Scarlet White Lies, Written Up The Length Of My Skin.

Five For The Way I Waited For You To Tell Me You Needed Me. Over. And Over. And Over Again.

Six For All Phone Calls I Never Retuned, The Facebook Messages I Never Received, The Text Messages I Didn't Said Because It Was Easier For Me Not To.

Seven For The Self Hate

Eight For The Way We Turned Out, Afraid Of Our Own Shadows, Empty Handed And Worthless.

Nine For The Way I Missed You

Ten For The Empty Jaws We Held All Of Our Resentment Inside, Bared Tight Until They Bled.

Eleven Because I Never Said It.

I Am.
So.
Sorry.

Those nights in which I stumble to bed,
Makeup still intact,
Jeans and shoes remaining,
Uncombed, unbrushed,
Unwritten and undefined...

Bring on the days
In which I don't give two ***** about anything.

The scientist-psychiatrist
the psychologic sociologist
has proved with his statistics
and his data-riddled literates
that nothing will be crippled
if they sweep the city clean
if they slay not only Tybalt
but the whole Verona scene
so they ****** it from our hands
from our brains and those to come
as the Ravens sear across the lands
and bindings come undone
They watch the pages flitter by
and cackle with delight
as the populace of fiction
by their hands is ripped alight
The licking of the laces
by the hungry tongues of flame
will ravage on the characters
you've come to know by name
Montag barrels forth and finds
the Fahrenheit has risen
Hester screams and claws her mind
out of this hellish prison
and Dorian will clamber up
to sit atop the pile
and weep for Pictures yet to sup
upon his looks and guile
And you'll watch as they obliterate
the city from within
de-storying our Paradise
so it won't be Lost again.
But I, Calpurnia? I warned you
that the fiery clouds would rain
I told you all, fictitious youth,
but you called me insane.

Someday
When the storms of doubt
Or the fear of failure
Cease to haunt
My plans for the future
I will rise
And break off my chains
And ascend to the stars
To realms that I belong
Today I see
A misty horizon
Where cares and wants
Try to bring me down
But fight I will
And in strides and leaps
I'll someday behold
A field of victory

You are beautiful
Even though your eyes are lopsided
And your tummy is a bit bigger
Than the ones in the magazines
It seems you are perfect

Your hands move
As if you had wings tied to your wrists
Every step that moves your hips
In sultry dance
Makes my hands tingle
In wanting to hold them close

Your voice is warm caramel
That drips from your mouth
And paints your shapely lips in honey
Tugging at my soul
And pulling my voice from my gut

To express how truly

Very beautiful

You are.

Where to go
No-one knows
The horizon seems so far
Unreachable
Indefinable
Voices in my head are at war
Truths that whisper
Lies that scream
And a mind misled by doubt
Stuck in a maze
Lost in a daze
Searching for the only way out

you are absolutely necessary and utterly unimportant.
you are not important because
everything is important and important means
you are better than the mud
you are not

i can say this because
i want to be content. and to be so
i think i must owe myself to everything. because every little piece makes the puzzle, every tiny drop of paint changes the color, whether
you or
i can see it. down to the atom, every rock that
i step on, every bird in my ear, every bearable sting of guilt felt from swatting a fly, they have worked in perfect proportion, each paint drops precisely suffused to the present shade of my experience. and if
i am to be at peace, my life should not be measured but
i must be accepting of
everything as it comes.
i find this possible in realizing that the stretch in my smile and the tears on my cheek are all just as needed in shading me. no single experience makes the man.  and to be accepting of the summation
i must accept that every single experience in my collective past was utterly necessary. every single experience, and each minor detail of each experience, and how they  scatter on the surface like little melting beads, and how they eventually sink and mix; all single molecules of paint diffusing in the only proportion to make the present shade of my life, none more important than the other, down to the atom, ultimately equal.
not in quantity, but in quality
everything equal. what it means is that
i love you. but
i love the sweat greased ball bearings of dirt in my boot
i love the percussion of infection drenched nerves in my foot
i love the salt stick of your skin and staunch of your cough as you beat through the barreling wind. and
i love the invisible river of shivering brush waving like cilia down the valley. into the bioluminescence of our L.A. colony.
i love you if you love me and
i love you if
you hate me.  because even your hate will drop like paint into me and change the shade to something
i have not yet seen.
i know we have different eyes but
i think this works for mine.
i will love you in equivalence to every molecule
i breathe.
utterly unimportant and absolutely necessary.