My heart leaps up
at the smiles of strangers
that glance at me on morning trains.
A simple nod to my existence
and understanding of my pains.
Let me not die should no one smile at me,
but since I'm young, simply smile and offer up my seat.

My heart leaps up
at the smiles of strangers
that glance at me on morning trains.
A simple nod to my existence
and understanding of my pains.
Let me not die should no one smile at me,
but since I'm young, simply smile and offer up my seat.

Tell me your love in sweet sonnets
and confess to me everything, impassioned.
I want to be raving,
feeling every passing moment with quivering ferocity.
What which was so unlimited suddenly become impossibly small.
Words too impercise.
Motion holds me too tight.
Only explosions of myself could make me feel alive.
It is too hard to simply be alive.

I was wondering
"Do I ask too many questions?"
But instead you said:
"why do you ask so many questions"
So I smiled and replied
"I guess I don't understand you"
I should apologize for being curious.
But sometimes I wish I could change myself
for you.

When I speak with you,
I choose each word meticulously
as if I’m writing poetry.
I try to imitate your speech,
sometimes
because I hear that
makes people feel more connected.
When dawn breaks
and I wake
I feel
the wit of the staircase
creeping beside me.

I can't speak with you
because all that come is argument.
But when I try ignoring you,
I'm, still left uncontent.

I make apologies and eulogies
for the past of you and me.
But alack the day, alas
I'm still the one who bleeds.

Quite honestly I should hate you,
it's reason, simple truth.
We're squares and circles
even in our youth.

But the idea of you and who were
interests me so much,
I can't forget who you can be
so to intangibility, I clutch.

Your small silver fish
dangles from your neck
and slips
toward the light
illuminating my face
and shrouding your own.

I shout profanities
loud.

There is no beauty suddenly,
it has drained
down the storm sewers
that
I am so afriad of
falling down myself.

I yell profanities
loud.

Suddenly hysterics.
I have no sunflowers to give you.
They have shriveled
and molded.
And when I sow the seeds,
so you may reap.
You are gone.

I cannot find you in art
or Whitman.

Oh Margo, where are you?

You're no enigma though,
so perfectly crystaline
a lattice of exactitudes
that I can make no assumption
about.

I scream profanties,
silent.

It is only during night,
sweet night
that you can be found in
my magazines.

I want to pull off my skin
and paint with the blood.
Cover everything.

Where have you gone?

Polar bear drowned in the snow,
come to the North
and watch the sky with me
and laugh for a moment
as peace comes
through tea
and
under blankets.