Dec 2012
who stretches and sculpts his hair in the mirror late, all alone, on a Friday night
looking for the God-given hat to suit his frail self-imaginings to impose a distinction that exists as a gravel-clasp low-look remembrance of his eyes meeting his body meeting his head to say his whole is no social white-teeth good-look Prince Charming
but I hope I can charm you anyways.
I'm the kind of guy
who will self-righteously decide he is over you,
but one slow morning of solitude and dream will remind him of the way you used to close your eyes and curl your lips to hum, almost purr, like a satisfied cat, who meant it when you said his eyes were globes and he a globe-trotting student of the universe, and the way the early morning sun over 150 years of neighbourhood cascaded across your left ear in sleep used to birth him into the world like he had never been here before, still years from taking the judges oath or even considering a need for his own little Office of Internal Affairs, and your sweet little figure with its imperfect squalor's, and.. okay, okay.
This isn't a love poem
But I loved you
and I probably always will.
I'm the kind of guy
who cries at the end of sad movies.. studies the news as a history book in progress, yet always goes to bed with a tear in his eye realizing these aren't statistics of Stalin's collateral damage
but people as real as him walking to work in the morning only to be struck into the nether by a texting drunk on the corner of 9th and Trunk or shot in the wrong place at the wrong time for the wrong reasons or even no reasons, just primal utility or passion means suffering in Greek.
I'm the kind of guy
who alternates between knowing nothing, and knowing the absolute and knowing it and knowing you and knowing him, me, woah, what?
I'm the kind of guy
I'm the kind
I'm the
I'm.
looking for the God-given hat to suit his frail self-imaginings to impose a distinction that exists as a gravel-clasp low-look remembrance of his eyes meeting his body meeting his head to say his whole is no social white-teeth good-look Prince Charming
but I hope I can charm you anyways.
I'm the kind of guy
who will self-righteously decide he is over you,
but one slow morning of solitude and dream will remind him of the way you used to close your eyes and curl your lips to hum, almost purr, like a satisfied cat, who meant it when you said his eyes were globes and he a globe-trotting student of the universe, and the way the early morning sun over 150 years of neighbourhood cascaded across your left ear in sleep used to birth him into the world like he had never been here before, still years from taking the judges oath or even considering a need for his own little Office of Internal Affairs, and your sweet little figure with its imperfect squalor's, and.. okay, okay.
This isn't a love poem
But I loved you
and I probably always will.
I'm the kind of guy
who cries at the end of sad movies.. studies the news as a history book in progress, yet always goes to bed with a tear in his eye realizing these aren't statistics of Stalin's collateral damage
but people as real as him walking to work in the morning only to be struck into the nether by a texting drunk on the corner of 9th and Trunk or shot in the wrong place at the wrong time for the wrong reasons or even no reasons, just primal utility or passion means suffering in Greek.
I'm the kind of guy
who alternates between knowing nothing, and knowing the absolute and knowing it and knowing you and knowing him, me, woah, what?
I'm the kind of guy
I'm the kind
I'm the
I'm.
