Once, years ago
I looked at my dad
And he saw in my eyes
That I was so sad

So he grabbed my hand
And we walked down the street
And he said
"There's someone I'd like you to meet"

He covered my eyes
And not a moment too soon
Much to my surprise
I got my first balloon

I was excited
But also confused
I wasn't sure
How this contraption was used

But my tears faded fast
As I grabbed my new friend
And my dad started smiling
Until I cried again

I was unaware
That my new friend could fly
And when I let go
He got lost in the sky

I watched with tears in my eyes
As he drifted out of sight
If I would have known
I would've held on tight

So I then asked my dad
Where the balloons go
Because dad was really smart
So he would have to know

He described to me
A perfect circus in the sky
Where balloons went to live
When they drifted up too high

So then, once more
My dad wiped away my tears
And he wrapped me in his arms
To remind me he was here

In the midst
of happenings,
poetry flowing
thru the feint vein
of my far-away loving you;

Always;

Life-line to the time
we've twined together;
at night i find the words
and write the weather;

Spinning system storm-front,
the seconds endless passing;

Forever is ever beginning
in your arms,
in my mind;
I'm singing
in the hope
you can hear
me from here.

would you take me with you?
before the snow comes
and my schedule freezes
because college will be over
and my days will start to mold
again like they always were
when drunk kisses at the
bar were better than a
lovers because passion
was always absent
can't help but wonder, why is that?
the past is gone and nowhere
near good or rather closer
to evil and shedding
layers like seasons
breaking even into
new embraces that leave
traces in aches in the places
where skin was on skin was on
skin just get in and begin to make
the future look positive when imagining
your blue eyes trapping my insides
twisting and wishing that you'd only
twist more gather into me gather
my hair into your fists oh how
I wish that this mist wouldn't
clear for a year maybe two
what to do? I am blue
and you are green or white
perhaps dark or perhaps light
I really can't be quite sure
you're a blur
dashing
my hearts a plane
crashing into the side of your mountain
mesh with my molding
don't stop holding me
folding me into position
I like a man with a mission
maybe it's the wrong lake that I'm fishing
because there are plenty of fish in the sea
those fish are too big and not as tasty
to fry, tough guy, big guy, just
say hi and stay high with me
one two three don't **** with me
I just want to sing melodies
keep living my fantasies
walking together with
you through the night
grabbing hands it's
alright and I just
might not let go
so quickly this
time because
the warmth that I'm feeling
is that of a heathen and
your advances are chances
at passionate romances
you're a magician
I'm an enchantress

Camille is purple
tensing her body
feeling lonely
not lonely
enough
to call anyone
all calls are dry mouthed
and stained ***** red
apothic red if you
want her to be
exact although
unnatural
she writes
drunk
and never edits
the words tumble out
of her like kids who learn
gymnastics at a young age
and laugh at her for plugging
her nose when jumping into the
foam pit, so unnatural

Marilyn talks to her and she
feels a little less lonely, and
a little more comfortable in
her abnormalities as she sips
at her glass before chugging
the rest of the bottle while
pondering another until
she realizes that it's no
good for her rethinks
and decides it's a
yes

first light is cavernous,
ochre vivification for
the ruffled goose-down
sage squares

'neath which i seek
refuge in feign dreams,
pores peeled, wakeful,
like a deep-roving shark,

sedate half the brain
and keep vigil, open
every thirty minutes

to secure myself --
perpendicular,
swaddled,
taut.

there are fundamental rituals
with which we are inculcated
in the households of our heralds,  
our inheritance -- idiosyncrasies.

"the day begins when the bed is made."

i devoted nine nights
to avoiding nuestro cama.
i spent six siestas
preferring the loch ness futon

and three on the threshold
to the bathroom
because i couldn't always
bring myself back to face it.

now, just like mother says,
i make the bed upon first light
and la cama rests in a tight corner
on a frame piled high with pillows

like i'm filling up space

i keep my books cushioned
and my homework has become
a permanent fixture, sprawling,
embedded

i've remade my queen's cot
207 times in the last
18 days and regardless,
can't say i've started my day.

better to be silent
than say words
that are brittle
and break
under the
weight
of their meaning.

existing without living
waking and breathing
in short spurts of pain
too ***** to be touched
picked and scabbing
bleeding into dinner
kissing into sleep
choking
pushed away
love this is not
lust preserves the rot
my heart's in a knot
if only I was taught

THEY WERE ALL JUST WORDS BEFORE YOU

daydreaming of *** and actually liking the idea of making deals like "you clean the dishes, i'll do the laundry and take out the trash"