i must admit i've missed the touch of pen
against recycled paper, recycling thoughts
and sensing coarse unity against
the edge
of my right-most finger and its adjacent palm-side.

it is with somber truth from which I can not hide that I
shout
for you to r e a d my w o r d s;
i know not why,
but these are my offerings in such a life;:
all i can honor for a god or a friendship or the strangeness of sequences,
all i can serve as a side to my heart.

at times
i wish
i were more
blunt,

and at times
you throw a glance
which shuns my person
into shyness,

these s e a r c h i n g e y e s run-a-marathon
while you look away,
seeking a face of interest. it is
silly, on my mind's part,
for even if we find a point of interest, it will
remain visual;
these teeth, this tongue-
we forget our purpose when it is most desired.

as it stands, i am a bird alone.
no, i try but remember not the last time i took off with another:
i am single, i am solitary, i am contradictory conflicts
.

through contradictions words stand strong and i will always have you,
even in death I will write you,
even in life at its fullest,

apologies fly like fireworks;
my obsession with my premature death is leaking onto pure word-pages and suddenly the sanctity of poetry is
tainted

but it is looming here,
in this atmosphere,
this knowledge of the end of life before it's started;
and that is why danger is seductive
and adventures are a weakness,
and that is why:
I love with all my soul.

you feel pianos speaking to your fingers
and i'm afraid to let you slip through mine..
unbearably bare in slow motion,
first our center and then the edges,
your lips soften mine.
warmth: inside, and out,
the energy that travels from the
first kiss through my body, through
my abnormally beating heart, my
sensitive stomach.
i hear words in my mind and
you, melodies,
and this is so scary i'm ready to cry.
precious as we, here, are, now,
i manage to think how i'm thinking all the wrong things, how
i always manage to feel so
insecure at times like these, how
i can so easily f
                            a
                                l
                                    l
                        in
            love
with you, how i shouldn't  because i
                                                                      n e e d               w a l l s , because
mine are missing, how
it's too soon to show you these
words of mine, how
god laughs at me so, now, here, how
am I always so
crazy, so
swept so
easily?

i greatly wish my words were great
because in describing us here, now, i
am losing my senses, i am
losing my thought patterns, i
am afraid of my strong intimacy, i
miss you!
(do you allow me to exaggerate so?) how
Strange how this all came about, how
mystical the world is, how
wonderful that you, too, believe, that
we, together, naïve,
i wait for wiser words,

b r e a t h e

(my worried thoughts pierce such calm,
calculate the ways i fear of letting
such beautiful precious moment:
your lips in slow motion, your
eyes with truthful intensity –
slips through my fingers:
sand so delicate i'm not worthy at all..)..


wiser words do not arrive.
it is me and you, here, now,
and my heart which breathes as if it's drowned,
and melodies i wish i could hear from your soul,
because this irrational pain from such unbelievable joy
makes no clear sense in my mind, my
eyes, my body, my
mind surrender to sleep,
surrounded by your body, your
arms, your breath on my neck, (this for the
first time in a while i let one get
so close), i
sleep softly, safely, i
must have cried in such dreams
that night, and when i
(frequently) awoke (momentarily), i
felt myself smiling although
the words were climbing and i,
silly, now i think, i
did not stir to write them down,
for fear of your disturbance, and
please, when i read you these words at some later moment of ours, if
this is too much for you to grasp,
please,
dismiss my thoughts as
exaggerations, as
no reason to slip through my
longing fingers, because they
want to be with your piano'd ones
and they are most afraid of:

losing

(again)

because they were once told
(when they left a love):
it is only once you've lost all,
that one may truly be free
[and they are tired of such empty freedom]

your screaming cigarette smoke rises and i,
in anticipation,
know not
what
to make of you and your-
my!
my misinterpretations of you.



your exhale clouds my kingdom and i
am walking with intention,
trying
not
to mention
that my bloodstream is swimming with-
(drowning in)-
the friction
between us.

soft-spoken?
a shady spectacle,
that cigarette is,
exploited by your splendor…

bear with me! I’m
baring my soul, your
spirit-
[make me drunk on your truth!] i
know it-
(tho’ hidden by soft petals,
pollution—{your
body}) – exists, it
is brimming, is
dancing
at the edge of
your smoke, (your
exhale clouds) my
vision,

…, my apocalyptic intimacy:
pure, untainted thought
shared in mind- (no words required)-
a b s o l u t e l y g r o u n d e d !



your
inhale, (i
watch you dying!), you’re
still alive, my
(cough) inhale, I’m
dying!- you’re
watching and I’m
still alive,

on the brink of chaos, i
watch,
on the brink of perfection, i
write
you
with
fragility,
but speak
in harsh ironies- you
do affect me, i
regard(less of) your
opinions,
the ones clouded by the ocean
of your self-imposed
poison, (this
catastrophe of your
tidal tombstone).

condescending? i
told you, no, i- i
just speak in
mundane repetition
of scarlet lies,
mundane motifs
in this life.

It’s just that…
(no. never mind.)

i wait for you to appear anywhere that is not under my skin,
or under my eyelids,
in the space between my thighs when i lie on my side and rock myself to sleep.

i do that,
you should know.
i rock myself to sleep like a baby does on his mother's shoulder.

for you i wait under a starry sky,
for someone who gets the way that i birthed you,
for your maturity and my forfeited release of you,
my heartbroken relapse of painted-over, washed-out days.
starry skies add reminiscing to their picture
and i, with you, am forced to collide
crash and burn our mended memoirs, hope for a replacement

for you I wait,
my dear replacement.
I close my eyes and type you out and maybe something good will arise from my madness.
I do, I wait for you, I do so sometimes and you do not arrive and I am blinded that you are busy and I am less important so you will visit and I will wait,
wait,
wait longer and longer and then I will have missed
all the other words that could have come my way
which I deflected in the hope of the bone you may have thrown me

you teach me wiser things than you think you know, you know?
I gather wisdom from your child-like behavior,
sift it like sand in between my own two hands,
clasped fingers,
cup your wisdom as my eyes are shut and you come to me,
and I write you out,
and no one else will understand, I suppose,
but the one that will:
if it is you, now,

buy me a rose and that will be our sign.

our kisses were as soft as our hearts & this must be the seed of all that came thereafter,
and all that didn't see light outside my mind.

perhaps our soft hearts led to my current introspection and my disposition when it comes to
pens, papers,
and all that lies
between them in truth,
in confessions by
soft tongues in shaky lips in scattered sheets in paling cheeks and blushing eyes,
in that which lies
between thought and its expression,
between brutal honesty in the heat of an oncoming summer,
in mosquito bites and my sweet blood which attracts this
violence, this heatstroke
sunshine;
it is divine,
like we imagined,

it is hectic like we desired,
it is nonsense and is madness and knows no explanation other than our
awkward silence,
our differences in imagined futures,
our various degrees of love/hate passive-aggressive
actions and feelings and resentments and appreciations;

we both are optimistic but you believe in that which counters my belief and it is
strange and unexpected and before you,
i needed someone,

and after you,
i need to be alone

my polygamous relationship with you distances me from the monotony of monogamy and makes me feel lonelier than the loneliest mundane monogamist. my mere apologies for my misendeavors, the malnutritious morals of my miseducation propose metal mirrors and castaways controlled by cutting carvers, craving crazy letters and loyalty from lengthy lies and lonely lives. lethargy overtakes and vowels reign, raining drops like rainbows and rocks in rivers, rusting relationships, rusty railroads at intense intersections entwined in everything inside and nothing on the outside anymore except these
muscles. we are back at the beginning.

my mind marvels in the magic of the memories, the madness of the morbidity and the hesitations of your reaction. his, I take, is misunderstood as my misfortune, but it is not a miss, my fortune: it is a fox in feathers colorful like friendships 'fore their forfeited and feigned approval, forced for fear of polygamy tho' it promises the purest pleasure, the most personal independence and precious pearls of princes, princesses, powerful, plight-less

poetry.  peace surrenders,

souls surprise themselves, surprise their cells, call for curious catastrophes to take place. colorful and calm they coincide with cooperation that can not contain the context of truth, of teases, of teasers and targets and tonal dualities and we endeavor, we endear you, we dare destroy the darkness of the devil in its disguised diamonds.

words lie at my feet like pebbles of poetry and I promise personal demise, deterioration and ridiculous obsessions- there's madness to be had and fragments to be written and I play with silly alliteration instead!

serious and serene you stare as if my sanity has slowly faded and I sternly helplessly smile shyly.  I suppose you are sincerely offering me your blessing before parting, so stumbling slightly I surrender…


if this is the prevailing promise of mere mortality, I'm graciously aware I was worthy of words.

loss
and rainbows where two edges meet
orchestras of cellos (purposely out of tune)
shallow gasps manifested in rest notes between the spaces of off-key melodies
mosquito bites and your suggestion that my blood must be sweetest but I can't take you as a compliment;
this is not a time for threats, my darling, nor is it a time for deaths. it is not a time for spaceless thoughts nor for confessions with political motives under white garments of smiles and spices and seductive entices

the breath gets deeper even if only for a moment and then the gasp returns:
     the window blinds my glasses
      the windows blind the masses
       the windowblinds conceal the sun from me which hides my sanity and peace behind the instruments and their voices but it is probably to be found in the rests where the bars meet each other at the edges, where the silences collide and burn as substances react to oxygen and oxidized carbon and I don't feel god and that is startling,

it is starting to sound like a long bar of rest notes
or a mind which deciphers like stars out of their constellations
                                                       out of their occupations
                                                       out of their spheres
                                         like stars unaligned
                                         like lies out of signs in the open blinding sun shining minds sparkling like water after a chemical synthetic process (like most of our bodies) and my condescending opinions on all who give in to fabrications and useless surgeries and drugs to feel
or to stop feeling, or to reverse the effects of
our sadness our misery our traumas and dramas
without seeing them face to face, eye to eye, because to turn around blindly is
so. much. easier.