slack jawed in a puddle,
my tongue hurts from making you melt.
claw marks in my arm,
you’re certain I’m here for your pelt.

killing myself with a string,
telling the truth with some bugs.
the loose teeth are rotten, not ripe,
I inch around like a slug.

Tuesday, off-day of this world.
Pale faces ignore the sideways
Skewered poles of the symphony
That we so attentively abhor.

These hands are not weapons,
They are tools. My world,
And the one I share it with is handled
Through them.
Because of them, I can be a part
Of you.

I like to make indistinguishable shapes-shapes with tissue paper that lies around.
I like what my thorax makes, those unintelligible sounds.
Starting in or below my abdomen.
I hope death finds me
With this silly note in my hand.
I hope death understands,
It's fun to not be all that might-yee. To be a layman,
To fully and humorously
Understand just what it is
To have wiggle room.
In the eyes of god I want to be Slime.
In the eye of dog,
I am sublime.

Robert Frost sat in a chair.
Robert Frost wore a hat that
I don’t quite know how to describe
(was it a beret?)
and smoked from a hookah.
He let the smoke out from his mouth
and disappeared in it.

(Robert Frost was not the man
who wrote that poem about
two roads diverged in a wood and I…
I took the one less traveled by.)

Robert Frost was a man who I loved
very much and who I believe did
not love me.

He was an enigma to me
and I was one to him…
but he was effortless, and
I was planned.

My heart was set on Frost but
I never quite (or
I suppose at all)
won him --

he chose her, which
tortured my heart at the time, but
today…
…I am happy,
happy for him.

Robert Frost sat in a chair
smoking from a hookah.
He disappeared into the smoke and
I stared at him,
mesmerized.

He was the cuts on my arms
and the bruises on my thighs,
the bags under my eyes for the late nights
I stayed up crying;
the slump in my shoulders,
the hesitation in my stare --

in every way the source of my misery and
yet in every way,
while blinding,
my hope.

At times it is impossible- to keep balance
When things weigh too much on one side.
The teeter totter effect of a scale fighting
to maintain some perception of equality,
reminds me of parts of my own life.
Vertigo makes my head spin and leaves
an overwhelming sense of falling down,
grasping at any chance to stand again.
One thing must compensate for another
to preserve the harmony we seek.
If at once, a feeling of evenness
presents itself, thank your cerebellum,
It’s feeding the body’s equilibrium.

you remind me of the bruise on the back of my leg
I dont usually notice it
until I accidentally give it a little bit of attention and I touch it.

Then it hurts. It hurts so bad.

But in actuality, the bruise is temporary, like you.

You couldn’t catch the poetry:
The subtle glimpse of eternity that
Stripped for you like a lover.
You were in no mood to feel
The tenderness of another,
So blindly he stood waiting in
The doorway of your soul.
He held the seeds of insight that
You would never grow.
Even as you shared existence with
A thousand worlds untold
You closed your eyes and felt resigned
To let your lips grow cold,
Despite the womb inside your heart
That could have nursed creation;
Despite the boy beside your head
Who whispered inspiration.

*Versailles, France

The special subtleness
that you use to bite your lip
is cunning.
And when your white,
soldier teeth,
come looming from between your gums
your subtlety is lost
rashly breaking the surface
so to speak
malevolently, or violently, or rather vehemently,
sexually, and lustfully
aimed down wind,
in my direction.