I think
your back still arcs
like a feather.

But I still called you *****
from time to time.

When you put your eyeliner
on, I thought of different dreary places
where darkness could reside
peacefully.

Dream catchers litter too many of the beds
we have occupied.

When I hear about your new best friend,
I want him to know that you
know how to pull teeth out with your tongue.

The creamy bowl of the clouds
laundered the sky, pulling pollution
against the washboard of our love;
and your legs were always open underneath the table,
waiting for my fingers
jaundiced by nicotine.

Sometimes u didn't know if
no
was the right word.

No
was the right word.
it would have retained
both of our
sanity's
even in vanity.

It seems that
no
is the better kind of stain
than
yes
and all of its incumbent pain.

No
would have been better
than twenty-five feet of intestines
being tugged constantly..

Better then
the peeping heart
and
broken warbles.

Better than matinees.

Better than
runways
and
leaving landing gear
on my heart.

Better than
love itself.

The drumming of our hearts reverberated through the air,
Filling me up; forcing the laughter out of me,
faster and faster--
louder.
Your fist slammed and slapped down on the table,
tears sprinted from your eyes
but that over powering, illuminating smile never left your face.
That music kept pouring from your lips,
splashing over the floor, flooding the house--perhaps the block.
Our laughing didn’t die, not for a very long, wonderful while.
I was drowning in your chords and notes that make up that beautiful howling.
I was drowning and I was happy and I was laughing and I was crying.
The feeling of being so happy you just want to cry can persuade anyone to fall in love.
You kept punching the table, adding to the harmony of our mutual happiness.
Your smile.
Your laugh.
It’s all music; all a concert
I’m just glad you let me be your audience.
Thank you.

All I came up here to do was to make a poem and to get some extra credit now with that said I guess I really should earn it.

Now I don’t know what kind of poem you really want, but that really doesn’t matter since your already here and have already given your two dollars to Japan and my job Is pretty much already over before it even began.

Now I could do some Dr. Seussish stuff and just rhyme words with wish and ish that would make a mish and then you would find a magic cat fish, but that would be kindergarten repeatin-ish.

  Now this may not be fitting with what you planned, but I’ve already told you that I don’t care what you want I’ve doing this for me, Te he.

  Now that Dr. Seuss is out of the way maybe there’s something greater that I would like to say.

Now two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could to where it bent in the undergrowth; oh wait I’m sorry that’s not my poem. Hmm I’m stealing other people’s stuff I guess you guys aren’t getting your money’s worth tonight.

Now I don’t know what I could really bring up that isn’t ****** up, but maybe you could rejoice since you get to hear this magical lyrical voice.

  Now this has pretty much been off the top of my head and hopefully you haven’t been wishing you were dead, but hey I think it’s been pretty okay.  Now that you’ve heard this and have planned to leave your seat I would like to convince you that you shouldn’t stand to your feet.

  Now this has made me feel like the man I do hope that you’ve understood the sarcasm and jokes since this wasn’t only made for young folks.

Now since this little fling is almost over I would like to get yo numba, but who am I kidding you didn’t like this part of the show so I’ll just go, but before I go I would gladly like you to know…that there is no refunds.

His Grieved eyes stare down the barrel
Teeth clenched, dressed in flame, she's got a soul to steal.
            As faint rays of day trespass
A ravaged passageway
The long forgotten bell tolls,
Accenting this tired tryst,
With the accelerating sunset
Dying the skies a capillary crimson,
Just another piece of scenery
Behind this scene of deceit.
 
The burnt shrine supports his skull,
As through tears torn tapestry and shattered glass
His vision is over powered by the pin-up with a pistol standing
         Point blank.
 
The dilapidated temple calls for one last mass, one more sacrifice
A fantastic funeral pyre paid in full, with the sins of Helios.
 
The words escape,
“I love you”
Only her tongue matches the sky
And theres no way to block out her incandescence
 
His tears of scarlet
Splash against the cold steel his teeth grind
All his hopes, all his dreams...all that he is
Now just organic graffiti
Splattered
All across the neglected floor of a forgotten Church.

With the horizon swallowing the sun,
she vanishes in the dusk, 

And as he falls, so too, does her ring.
Two bonds broken, death they sing.

The dissonance feels indiscernible now.
My favorite bench became home
for both of us.

You didn't scorn,
rather embraced me from the beginning.
And the sky opened;
the stars glowed only for you.

Watch them glow,
watch them sparkle for you.
(I bet you didn't know this was for you)

Only poetry was being written.
A screenplay coming to life.

Avant la prochaine fois, manquer,
avant la prochaine.

There is no cure for paranoia
except a loaded firearm

I paint the war
It is laughter and invention

with loud clicking gasps
buried in the seed of fraternity

Some girls just like something very traditional. does that make them any less of a woman. can a woman be a traditionalist and still be a feminist? I think so. I think that what we shared in that time was exactly what we wanted, to fall back into structured and secure roles, because we'd been through the centrifuge lately. And that may not have been who the both of us were at heart, but it worked to heal us, to make us both better for the future, and most importantly, less cynical. I think that what is most feminist about any relationship is the ability to choose. I've been in relationships where I'm the dominant one, and others where I'm not. It takes the ability to check your own self and being a pragmatist, because if you love someone you will change for them. You won't change your personality, but you'll change the way you approach a relationship if you care about them enough. I think that's what feminism boils down to. Allowing both partners to choose their roles in the relationship instead of having them chosen for them. So, **** it, my girl wants to be Susie Homemaker; that's her choice and I lay my head on that.

When I'm drunk
I think about you.

Ironic.

I just want to purge you,
but I'm not that masochistic,
because missing you
will never be harder
than not missing you.