Darling what your words have claimed, is true. I have grown an affintity for you, and, but a mere fatuation would undermine my emotions for you. You could be as poor as the dictionary can describe it, but I would have no dispute with breaking bread on a futon in a one bedroom apartment, for my darling I would have you to share it with. I cannot explain in any way or word what linkage I feel towards you and what imminent, unborn quandry, disagreements or dilemas we might face. I'll be over and above to put those problems to their knees, shut them down and subjugate them. Eye, there will be exceptional recherche, eye there will be dissatisfactory and atrocious, but I vow to never slant in our interconnection. I'll stand by you during quandry and I'll stand by you in a war, because not only my heart that loves you so dearly, my soul has grown quite fond towards you, that never before have. And in all verity, I have gone far more than fall in love. I vow to preserve and protect thee love.

How can four computers
fail in the same way
simultaneously?

Sometimes I want to shut that drumming sound in my head
The pounding of bothering with everyone's problems
How easy it is to project your torment on others
But how difficult to hide it within and persevere

Like a loose cannon it shoots from your lips
Not concerned where it lands
In someone's bed or someone's hand
It blasts in their face and leave them anxious
Your worries have left your cushion
They've have now bedded in my mind's prison

I feel so ***** and robbed of my peace
Your problems you've cast on to me

Though I'd like to help
I've realized now it's getting a bit
It's become a habit for you
To send crytic clues in your worries
And wringing your hands in desperation

So for now I'll pretend my cup's full too
My mind's occupied and I need my space
I can't jump in for your every whim
Give my life to run around your din.

Then you'll get angry for not helping you
You label me as terrible and bad mouth me
But seriously I care a flying rat's ***
Your problems are your making
Your mind is a cesspool of worries
It's never going to end
Till on your internal reserves you learn to depend

Come sit with me
in the velvet textured
yellow flower petals
and whisper the words
that the stars never speak.

the vast blackness of the night sky
holds me tightly
and gazes at the colors surrounding your heart
in a way that makes even me jealous.

and if my face appears
in your dreams tonight my love,
would you recognize it?

Pursuing new things.
Focusing poorly on life’s routines.

Losing the novelty.
Struggling to maintain new habits.

Missing long conversations.
Craving unceasing attention.

Struggling now.
Disappointing failures.

Fearing novelty alone drew me.
Longing to know what’s best.

Did I ever ride one of these casino busses?
That's how I met my wife.

Is this weird enough?
seven measured spans of ten plus some,
this bit, this collection of second chances,
in how many?
in ever,
how many spans of tens have passed, without me?
or,
without the star stuff Sagan says  
I am made of?

or I am made? I was.

That's the measure of my worth,

nay, I say.
Rue the day I told that lie

shall be my epitath, should I leave without
a-counting
them there ex
acted, mockinbird killin' days and ways we was

when we was
never governed, as a people, or a tribe.
as ids,
we was wild injuns, us kids was. we did as we pleased.

life was fine,
livin' by the river, you can imagine a cloud

occlusion of green greasewood smoke
softening a barely waking moon
four thumbs high at sundown

keeping fairy tales down low enough
that grandpas
can snag

-- and release and come back jack, right here
--to this dangling hook

and it's always gonna be this way

catch and release,

life's story your story goes on.
You never lose your place,

that's mortally impossible
to pose a

quandry
quandary (n.)"state of perplexity," 1570s, of unknown origin, perhaps a quasi-Latinism based on Latin quando"when? at what time?; at the time that, inasmuch," pronominal adverb of time, related to qui"who" (from PIE root *kwo-, stem of relative and interrogative pronouns). Originally accented on the second syllable.

pronomial adverb, eh?
Writers were warned away from adverbs,
back when grammar tyranny strained
at knots and gnostic gnats magi-ifical
add-on augmented at your own risc

made you notice
tech times change faster than Timex

Sinclair-- sorry, senility function was left on from earlier missions

Force-recon recollected war stories being moved permanently into fish story status before
legend adds a layer
of gloryshit
at funerals.

Reduced Instruction Set Chip, chip
chipping is
addiction diction
A.I. *** us a whole Yah bus win, it's
Free Play day at the Ol' Folk Home.

We sing old songs on the way to Viejas and
laugh about all we left in Vegas.

that is all

Like the tortise came to
finish last you appeared

During a quandry where
I was already cornered
Looking up into the
hollowed and pale face of
failure, pereptual dissatisfaction

I felt you like the sun
wraps its arms around
a body dripping in frigid
lake water

after a jump into the
cool blue which seemed to
stop time

just so I could reach out to
grab your heart
before it could fall out  

I have you now
I've tied you into me

Where the time stopped
our souls got to sit together
for eternity
they would dance into each other

in celebration of our union
they saw the meaning before we did
and we didn't need much time to
notice it too

In this moment
I feel no fear

For the first time
I looked down into
the water and
it's *clear

2013/3/18

*This is part of a conversation between me and a girl. We both write poems back and forth to each other. This poem is in response to her asking if I was telling her how I felt about her "between the lines."


The language found between lines,
Is purposely caged within confines.
The tumult found within the head,
Leaves the best left unsaid.

Does it even matter that we see,
The words hidden in each degree?
What good would come if then,
We listened to the words within?

Maybe the best is better left,
Between the lines, thought bereft.
If you wanted to, you could express,
Those three words within your chest.

But how could I come to believe,
That I was not being deceived?
All the evidence poured out over months,
Has left me unsure of all the wants.

Maybe freedom of heart is close,
Maybe it is what I want most.
Even now, as I lie in bed,
I wonder at those, words left unsaid.

If you can decipher such curious rhymes,
And even still read between the lines,
Then you should understand my quandry.
And understand why I don't know if I'm free.

Because sometimes, no matter the rhyme,
There is nothing you can do this time.
Nothing will erase the past,
For me, acceptance will only come last.

If you can't imagine why I hold back,
Then perhaps take a small track.
Imagine it from my point of thought,
And maybe then you'll see why not.

If others read this, they would know me insane.
If they read ours, they would know pain.
If they read yours, they might not see your best,
But what they should see, you're a beautiful mess.

Again, for C