Why do you hide your face
behind flowers,
or posters,
or pictures,
or books?
Why do you fling up your hands
and sneak away at parties?

Stop that;
come out.
You’re such a pretty girl.

How strange it is
To be known
By everyone,
Yet still feel lonely.
It's
all
the
same.

To Paint a Water Lily

A green level of lily leaves
Roofs the pond's chamber and paves

The flies' furious arena: study
These, the two minds of this lady.

First observe the air's dragonfly
That eats meat, that bullets by

Or stands in space to take aim;
Others as dangerous comb the hum

Under the trees.  There are battle-shouts
And death-cries everywhere hereabouts

But inaudible, so the eyes praise
To see the colours of these flies

Rainbow their arcs, spark, or settle
Cooling like beads of molten metal

Through the spectrum.  Think what worse
is the pond-bed's matter of course;

Prehistoric bedragoned times
Crawl that darkness with Latin names,

Have evolved no improvements there,
Jaws for heads, the set stare,

Ignorant of age as of hour—
Now paint the long-necked lily-flower

Which, deep in both worlds, can be still
As a painting, trembling hardly at all

Though the dragonfly alight,
Whatever horror nudge her root.

I'm just so tired
I can't wait,
I don't want to wait
I want it now.
I want to get away
Away from it all
Set free, be free
Let go.
But I want you there, too.
The problem is,
the dilemma is,
the trouble is,
I just can't seem to find you.
With glimpses I see ogres.
And they are not you.
I just can't seem to find you.
No matter the time spent,
Even with the short glimpses of you,
they fade,
it seems as if you can't be found.
Impossible. Impractical. Useless.
Do you want to be found?
Must it be this hard
to find you?
Centuries spent
walking through this tunnel of thought
the one that curves and spirals
the one that is dim
the one that is cold
the one that just doesn't end.
I want it to end.


I'm just so tired.