The dying flower
Wilting, rotting, crumbling
No one hears you fall

I do not want to talk about love today.
I do not want to mention
affectionate contact or semi-regular ***.
The newspapers are bringing forth
welcome divisions between mankind;
fault-lines of irreconcilable differences
to justify my half-hearted attempt at solitude.

I do not want to talk about sobriety today.
I do not want to bore you
with those nervous hours between cigarettes
and how I fill each moment spent inside myself.
******* offers a ladder of perfume and hair
for me to ascend to some anaerobic bliss,
towards an isolated unity between myself

and the woman stretched out on my astral bed.
I do not want to talk about much today.
I have over-thought all that is worth a mention.

Straight and proud

Let me iron your mind
Let the creases
On your daily deeds' sleeves
Smooth down and vanish
The iron of my words will
Float upon the collar of your views
And the little pocket
Smothering your heart
Well, I may burn it
Accidentally - I'm not good
At ironing
But let me iron the back
So that you always stand
Straight and proud

1277

While we were fearing it, it came—
But came with less of fear
Because that fearing it so long
Had almost made it fair—

There is a Fitting—a Dismay—
A Fitting—a Despair
’Tis harder knowing it is Due
Than knowing it is Here.

They Trying on the Utmost
The Morning it is new
Is Terribler than wearing it
A whole existence through.

1764

The saddest noise, the sweetest noise,
  The maddest noise that grows,—
The birds, they make it in the spring,
  At night’s delicious close.

Between the March and April line—
  That magical frontier
Beyond which summer hesitates,
  Almost too heavenly near.

It makes us think of all the dead
  That sauntered with us here,
By separation’s sorcery
  Made cruelly more dear.

It makes us think of what we had,
  And what we now deplore.
We almost wish those siren throats
  Would go and sing no more.

An ear can break a human heart
  As quickly as a spear,
We wish the ear had not a heart
  So dangerously near.

Guess last night got a little intense
All part of your orchestrated pretense
Hence the midnight foreplay, or was everything you said just hearsay
Were we ******* in your room or were those just rumors
Maybe I was just high
That's why I had such a hard time seeing through your lies
Getting caught up in between your thighs
Guess I missed all the morse code hidden in your sighs
Best friends? Goodbye.