Maybe I'll clean up my act, just to be good.  It did give Shaun the chance to look deeply and most mournfully (nicely empathetic) into my eyes once upon a time ages ago...



(sonnet #MMMMMCMLXXIX)


I'll wear my heart upon this sleeve in pale
Excuse as oft as suits my fancy, whence
Ye all kin chide to no avail from hence,
Whiles I rebuff aught notions in betrayl
Of better sense, cuz nothing here is bail.
Or if some fragile thought seems vague defense,
Tis vanquished ere I've managed to gain thence
A foothold, and I'll be thus stripped and frail.
Ah, love.  Do thou but tempt me with the poor
Suggestion, ye kin laugh 'til ye are blue,
I'm prey, tears dried until tis proven fer
Whatever that twas aye, a jest.  I'll rue
Me folly, cherry-cheeked, and pray whiles your
Much wiser sense erm, coughs.  And yes, I knew.

20Oct16

I don't give a ****

The **** doesn't give a smell
The smell doesn't give a cloud
The cloud doesn't give a raindrop
The raindrop doesn't give a splash
The splash doesn't give a ripple
The ripple doesn't give a shiver
The shiver doesn't give a cold
The cold doesn't give a sneeze
The sneeze doesn't give a snot
The snot doesn't give a ******
The ****** doesn't give a dirt
The dirt doesn't give a bacteria
The bacteria doesn't give a rod
The rod doesn't give a fish
The fish doesn't give a fin
The fin doesn't give an end
The end doesn't give a death
The death doesn't give a grave
The grave doesn't give a flower
The flower doesn't give a root
The root doesn't give a plant
The plant doesn't give a strawberry
The strawberry doesn't give a seed
The seed doesn't give a sprout
The sprout doesn't give a leaf
The leaf doesn't give a stem
The stem doesn't give a bud
The bud doesn't give a flower
The flower doesn't give a petal
The petal doesn't give a pollen
The pollen doesn't give a nectar
The nectar doesn't give a honey
The honey doesn't give a sugar
The sugar doesn't give a grain
The grain doesn't give a flour
The flour doesn't a bread
The bread doesn't give a toast
The vein doesn't give a blood
The blood doesn't give a heart
The heart doesn't give me up

And I already told you,
I still don't give a **** about it!

You've got convictions,
mumble poems to yourself,
lost at your front door.

You sip cigarettes
just like how your ex used to,
long and ferocious.

Still wearing his clothes,
but wearing the next guys shirt,
your heart on your sleeve.

It's all for non-sense,
we're all nihilists these days.
We all lack beliefs.

You have convictions;
a speech only you can hear.
Foot steps on concrete.

Like turning off the light but leaving on the lamp,
you can see the corner of the room where it is,
where the boxes of pictures collect dust,
where the old letters start to rip
but you keep the lamp on
for fear of losing sight
of boxes you hide
from yourself
you lie


you miss him
and you pretend you don't
you feel it every time you kiss another
inside you tighten up and get a chill in your bones
you put the memories away but will not throw them out
becuase in the back of the room you still see the door by the lamp
and you still wish he would come through it and say he's figured it out

Lipstick and teeth marks
on my **** remind me that
there are still good days.

The way you laugh as
I coax you into *******,
the sun hanging low.

Hell is above me,
I'm the **** at the bottom
of the universe.

Half heartwarming smile,
half blood curdling charm, and
lack of self control.

I fell apart.
my art isn’t what I want it to be and I found your shirt in the wash.
i’ve been crying into clean laundry and I keep wondering if you’re feeling a heart break this strong.
I know you’re not.
but god can I pray to the universe that there is some sign of your emotion.
you always thought you were like your father
always leaving and cycling back
again
and again.
i will wash your shirt a million times
but memories don’t clean off.
please don’t coat your feelings in steel
why am I writing this?
why is this the way my brain cycles
around and around and around
why am I the over dramatic poet and you the cold hearted artist?
is art and poetry hand in hand?
or are they as different as the sky and the sea
don’t they meet?
but also stretch aimlessly on and on and on.
you be the sky
and I’ll be the sea.
we will always touch
though we stretch on and on and on.
i’ve been crying into clean laundry
and watching it cycle
again and again and again

love will tear you apart- make you bleed on the floor. it will be the very death of you as you know you. a new season is being ripped open with the force of an angry 6 year old on christmas morning. there is no going back, no round trip to this breaking away. you are forever separated by the glass door you have just exited from, free from the chilled air inside but now you begin to melt like an ice cream cone on a hot summer day.

love comes crashing down in waves of hate. hate so potent you realize all this time you had forgotten what it meant to be completely drunk on an emotion so negative, your teeth will ache with longing to sink deep enough to break the skin.

but once its over- that’s it. the wind will calm and the tide returns to normal. small waves flow in and out with the eery silence of mourning- not loud enough to speak of. your quiet weeping remains though the crowd will have left by now, no longer entertained by your sorrows, no more pity left to hand out.