Apathy untangled
with a disgu sting sticking to my
mouth(
probably from the alcohol)stinging my throat
which wants to sing, and no no no no I won’t
punctuate, fluctuate, or be
bee be-
cause i’ve already been
stung, wrung, and hung
and I’m still not dry.

Oh jeez, is pleasing
I
could ski down those slopes yo-
u
call eyelashes. Stuttering with my e-
y-
es. As your butterfly eyes, fluttering my
o-
h, my. I’ve never caught a butterfly, but
o!
once one landed on my hand, and
I
guess it's about timing
&
once & placement.

so lunch depends
upon

a red-winged black-
bird

glazed with strained
honey

beside
some nice pickles.

my ******* hands
are attached to
restless wrists wresting
control
of this keyboard.

I’ve got to put something down
and I don’t want my fingertips to stop dancing on the keys.

My hands move faster than my mind can think
today. Today,
I am a writer. Yesterday I was a poet
and my hands could not keep up with my words
which could not keep up with my thoughts –
thoughts (n): dreams computed by the mind.

i am strange, i
am not real.

i
am complex, simple.
i

am
important,

interesting,
unexpected,

and (
next to nothing
) the most

significant unit in the world

i!
is something poetic,
and especially not.


i am one – no
i am the root of one,
negative one.

Could thou, sweet flower, grow in any garden
besides that closest to mine, just past the fence
that bounds my lush, ever-growing heart? And
weak shrubs cannot veil you, for lucid scents

prevent and taunt my tangled garden, green
and always lacking. At times I descry
those delicate petals kissed with color
and wonder – and wonder what could have been
had I not left your strong seeds out to dry,
had I overcome two stigmas' azure.

Regret is such a reoccurring dream.
I would soon whack redwoods and evergreens
that overflow my empty flower bed
and plant my cherished flower there instead.

I don’t have time to care;
it’s too early in the morning to open my eyes
and be someone worth judging.

Sleepwalking with an intention
is a way to escape reality
in a pocket of reality,
a way to bundle up
and only show a little
white triangle in a blazer pocket.