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I want to be the pillows
& not our
12 or 3
the window stays open
& It’s just
you and the sheet
the light always
goes out
just like I’ve got two thumbs
two bugs and a poem
too many
nights on our phones
maybe I’m too
dumb to say it
maybe just
desperate to
count sheep
I’m making up
colors for summer &
kissing you in
my sleep
Some recoil at the scars,
some wish to know how you received them.
Uphill grinning
spinning webbed-breaths under
Spring's spilling through
rows of roses, tied behind
vines that could rip anyone red
are all the
quiet notes about pretty

& what a Sunday for sailing
blossoms through drying hair and
fickle feelings about an old poem
on a blanket, how fitting

but i'm trying;
i still find rhymes under
fir trees and still get
tired from laughing

i still ask why without crying
denying only while smiling.
this is 29 in a wine glass

stretching the afternoon like my
legs in the morning
pouring out yesterday's moaning
& sure as every bird i'll be
a blinking throat
counting her money

but for now i'm just
two hands
taking an orange home
for it's honey
that slow blink never helped you (y'know)
and thanks but
my voice sounds the same, still
i can't count on
whatever rule about numbers you used
it is useless

and even
a forest of poets couldn't dig it up
or a ship, full of it
i'd swim under the mad waves
away from them

so, by my bones i speak
every language i need
finding more that
love is like a field
kept by wild things
as open as a child's eyes
with
all of this room to
keep growing
I felt and then fell, I
did not even jump
I flew to kiss lips that
knew nothing of love.
I bent and I borrowed
forgetting to say
I held something with you
I do not have today
although there are storms
be there
break and decay
our love it made
hurricanes
look simple like rain
i have been
clothesline dreaming
screaming fits, saying
i've prayed, praying i'll
say what i mean and
you've been that
poetry pouring out of me
a bleeding but you are the
portions of a reality
i only see when i sleep
my god, it's been
seventy weeks, oh
and the colors i cannot see past
twelve shades of torture your body makes
anytime you do anything
it's all
brown and green and mean to me
i mean i need it
it feeds me i mean
i don't think you mean to
i think it's just
me meeting me sometimes &
that's meaningful right ?
tell that to me at night
to the dark and stars and all of the
quiet questions i guess i guessed the
answers to
tell that to me in my bedroom
ask me the time this time &
i'll tell you about that time i thought about love and saw a burning bed
ask me again and i'll show you
say love again, love
i've been dying to show you
I drink too much and love too fast.
This life of mine's not meant to last.
The world I seem to occupy
will never see me eye to eye
when rules which bound our fragile lives,
leave us fractured,
in disguise.
But if I went a different path,
and found some peace in all my wrath,
could I escape into a realm
where'd I'd be captain at the helm?
Rid my soul of all the fear,
that there is only order here.

Do not follow what they say
and don't just live from day to day
Fight away the nine to five
and find what makes you feel alive.
Be strange.
Be weird.
Go search for you.
Climb the peaks and sail the blue.
The high you'll feel is not unreal
just emptiness you wish to heal.
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