I've been hunting
In the forest of dreams,

Getting drunk and
Listening to Jefferson Airplane
For the very first time.

It's a night for dreaming I suppose. I've just broken the barriers of love for a man I've known so long that I've nearly forgotten who he is. A piece of furniture in my strange little room.

I'll make a list
Of the things I see here
Apart from his lingering eyes:

A musc stand
A jewelry box
A chair
A dress - Not mine, though it was once

Young girls and their blues
Come to me from the feather in the meadow.
Listen for the ticking of my footsteps.

That's poetry.
God that's poetry.
Why can't I write like that?

It's like looking my enemy in those bright, tremoring eyes
And facing my envy with my ego and my ahmmer

That's beauty.
God she's beautiful.
Why can't I be beautiful like her?
Why can't I appreciate Jefferson Airplane like she does?

I've convinced myself that I hate her for her moral depravity.
For so liberally spreading her character and her legs.

I know I hate her because I hate myself.
And because everyone loves her, not me.
. Ad were I half the human being I portray, none of this would matter.

Understanding is a virtue hard to come by.
You could teach me how to love if you try.

My husband will sleep with his head all buried down and at the foot of his bead.
I'm certain I'll abuse him, emotionally at least
He'll have to be the hardest or softest poor ******* tht ever lived.
I tread on everyone's good emotional graces with my obtinance and determination in being obstinate.
It is, as it always will be, about my happiness.  
I'd rather have my country die for me.

Stream of confidence:
Consciousness and the problem with it is that my mind moves faster han my hand can crsft
Door, bell, whistle, heart, *****, therapy, tea, love, mint, ice cream, mother, father, ring, matrimony, and there it ends.
Matters only of the heart.
I'll eventually ***** all of the rest of the things that I haven't wanted to say to anyone anyway.

I feel as though someone is in this room with me
Maybe that's just the distortion pedal talking.
Listen to those drums
Like a heartbeat
Like a war cry

I swear the Earth just moved from beneath my soul.
Once, I bet, I;ve had that kind of primal instinct

A hunter
After his dream game
A drunken huntsman never misses his mark

You are
The puckered kiss
Of lemonade
On an August afternoon

You are
The sunset
Watching me fall prey
To the same August moon

You are
Well-spent hours
On the telephone
Sweetly sighing

You are
The gilded lilies
In their valley-bed
Gently lying

I am
A love like a river
That drowns
The dreams of hope

You brave
The troubled waters
Daily
In your little love-boat

And when
My soul will leave me,
Unburdening
Its load

You are
The other end
Of my life's journey

To you
I am owed

I had almost forgotten
The unhappiness of my memory.

The wind caught word
Of your scent
And lifted me onward
To a future in which
I could still hold your hand.

I kissed your lips once more
In the tears of a dream.
I felt departure
As a meaningless journey
On the basin of its river.

I have taken so literally
The strong arms of time
As they've held us apart,
Giving way
Only to memory and ashes.

Loneliness cradles me as a mother
And I,
As a child,
Sleep.

Dreaming of saving grace.