It was May
and I was drunk
and I was sitting on a rock somewhere far away from my mind
and my heart and all those other things that you need to survive.
I was thinking about the ocean
and time
and how much my feet hurt.
You see,
I had walked all the way out there
to look at the waves and lost my shoes
along with my mind and my heart and
they’re probably swimming out there somewhere;
I’ve just lost sight of them.
The ocean is funny and sad
when you hold it in your hands your fingers can either feel like they own the world
or as if the world can, at any moment, slip through the cracks.
Time is funny too,
and like the ocean,
you can only hold a little in your hands.
In other ways it’s not like the ocean at all,
trying drinking Time and I’ll think you’re on some drug that I’d like to get my hands on.
People describe time and the ocean similarly
and for some reason I think I’ve got it figured out
but I’ve got it figured out in only the way someone sitting on a rock in the middle of the night with no shoes and heart can.
They describe the ocean and time by telling us about how enormous it is,
they try to tell us how deep it is,
how wide it is,
how tall it is.
They can stand up and tell us facts about the beginnings of it and how they think it will end but when you look at the fine print both of them say that they have about 90% left to be discovered.
When you look out at time or the ocean who is to say how much your seeing?
Is the the horizon over there or is it just how far my eyes will reach? Can I predict the tides and the sky and the next person to stumble around the corner?
Maybe I should just go to sleep.

It is when the rain
Begins to pour
And night dawns
That I get this craving
To write poetry

Once in the darkness happily frog of a spiritual nature. Headaches, backsprains, cars, trains Collie flower external forces from within keeping sanity formed and misinformed to be performed subconsciously.

Raspberry weather, all that can be, is: Fire chocolate, rainbow water, scatter, skittle, settle, spatter, paintings in mausoleums and brush strokes on duck motes. Even thus can we free dumb consequences of restricted criteria, enforcing secluded measures of claustrophobia. Phoebe is Ross or Rash from a diaper is for there from the English Chandler over a river flames. What Radio is Fred Astaire or brave ***** Wonka? For how long it can procure the inadeptability of such a matter in which verbosity and vernacular are viscous and volatile while futile fusions ensue. Sad days continue before the end of the finish line which is really just the beginning of a midsummer nights mare or stallion? Which is washed and which watch blotch can stand out from under the table and dreaming?

Come to me quickly for my seagull is being engulfed by a Mexican oil spill taking up my drinking air craft carrier of water. This is the dawning of an age, the page, of an Aquarian agrarian humanitarian race against time and line and mind in space. There is no end. Only the lettuce that grows under the marriage of devil's advocate and illiterate angels flying above our beds.

What can be now. It is so. For today is merely a shadow revolving through light so tinged bright it can eliminate need for an incandescent city. Please save me. Be me. See me. D3. P.O. Box 34012101 I won! I...
I'd like to thank the academy.

SUR-REALISM                                                                              --


                                           ---

                                                                              -----manifesto

I might be ******* if you ever find all of my poetry about you.

When I was sad
I asked you to hold my water
and as I emptied the glass into your hands
you began to cry
seeing me with the empty glass
the tears falling
into your open hands
you created a lake between the seams of your fingers
nourishing it with your own
and when I finally held my glass out again
when I had the strength to carry it
I asked why you were crying
you told me
"I merely hoped my tears were enough to make you see the glass a little more towards half full"

and that's when I knew I didn't deserve you

more than I want to forget
I want to remember
you are a quiet calm
that I want to detail as you sleep
the tint and shade of your eyelids
as you inhale
exhale
illuminated by a soft glow
I want to remember
your voice was a river
when whispering about love
rushing, returning
in a rhythm
that matched
the slight upturn
of the corners of your lips
as if you just remembered I'm next to you
I want to remember
the small noises of your nature
your body ticks
like  a grandfather clock waiting for the sunrise
you make tiny noises in the bottom of your throat
as you move
you have told me you love me thousands of times
without opening your mouth
I wish to touch you
but I am afraid that if I do I will disturb your surface
as if you were water
ripples running over your skin
more than I want to forget
I want to remember
every piece
of you

Inside all of us there lies something to be discovered
and I think the spark you put at the bottom of my lungs might be enough
to remember mine
you are a fire and I am ash
brand new, I feel sorry for eventually suffocating you
I hate cities
I hate people
but I love persons
I would get on a train right now just to watch
people spill like water into the underground
seemingly searching for something within the tunnels
some simply a way out
others a way in
some just to sleep
I saw a man with an airport under his skin once
and a woman next to him with clouds brushing lips with her fingers
they were holding hands
and I swear I heard the boarding call faintly as they exited
I hope he remembers to breathe
sometimes it rains on the subway
and sometimes you can't keep the sun out
people are always rushing to some
unknown endpoint
I'll sit in the corner and ride the blue line until they kick me off
far enough away so they can't touch me
but I can touch them
sometimes I'll close my eyes
imagine that this train is taking me home
imagine going down a snowy hill at 80
looking next to me, there you are
so I put on the brakes
"I only want to **** myself, I don't want to **** you"
I'll open my eyes
and see the life around me

maybe
I can
stay just a little longer

Some people wear their hearts on their shirt sleeve
I wear coffee on mine
Fallen from un-cautious lips
Like careless words
Hot and steaming
Spilled down the front of my chest
But the same
A temporary stain
That proper washing will remove