walk into room from shower
Write message to hopeless love interest on Facebook
comb hair
wonder if I used to lose this many when I was younger
make a neat pile to see if its a substantial amount
eh
itch in ear
walk to bathroom
consider if i should see a therapist about anxiety because of potential hair loss
grab 2 q tips
return to room
cleaned ears
chose to ignore it
seen 4 minutes ago
No reply

I know we all
love perfect geometry

so there I laid
making sense of the scene
staring at the machine
resting incomplete
and knowing- it needs me;
I am the missing piece

But then I wondered
which part would I be
resting above the bicycle seat?
crunching the cogs-
and hogging all the good teeth
but no-
instead disguised in the frame-
-in the open triangle-
-under the icon-
-under the handlebars-
-a part I don't know the name-

but the one trying to make ends meet.

An Irish tap
Between east and west
And still thin sticks exist
And small clouds that
Come in small
And Leave out tall Japanese trees

Ai Wei Wei and his Adam's apple
Tunnel through the French catacombs
And the universal plateau

A desert awaits with needs
Everglades and tall Japanese trees

Elated as daisies and semi tones
touching yellow bones

Fabric scrapes of the lint and
intermittent highways

Make shift ufos with clamoring
pans as protective plans or deterrent
answers

Glamorous
And amorous
Voids the ear
Conversation Awaits
Looking forward
And the rest is history

Frozen, floating
in my tumbler,
my Life preserver.
filling the hole
of the disc's cylinder
becoming something
of lumber
and
Timber!

Crashing with
onto collapsable bed
collapse
something I give
uh oh, I'm
tired
and put me to sleep

Watering the leaves
amongst other things
I see
Inspiration
and ooh,
my poor Liver

Since he had gone mad with the passion. He was thinking out of body. He found neither a gentle caress nor the light pet was enough to express it.

Speaking in third person since his over soul was taken over. He found it was a cycle vicious and human that had him possessed. For every trip was soft, as it was grappled with.  To never remove its placement and to come close to strangling it.  It was nothing of a rational life nor mind.  The body to fall behind and under it would go. Almost too desired the eternal embrace; eyes always closed, To dream its perfection, Eyes always open To witness it.

It was no leap of faith, perhaps trust at its best, but instead of claiming it was of things above we called it love. Something much more close and controlled.

An Irish tap
Between east and west
And still thin sticks exist
And small clouds that
Come in small
And Leave out tall Japanese trees

Ai Wei Wei and his Adam's apple
Tunnel through the catacombs
And the universal plateau

A desert awaits with needs
Everglades and tall Japanese trees

Elated as daisies and semi tones touching yellow bones

Fabric scrapes of the lint and intermittent highways

Make shift ufos with clamouring pans as protective plans or deterrent answers

Glamorous
And amorous
Voids the ear
Conversation Awaits
Looking forward
And the rest is history

From where do we gather such illusions
People’s portraits on medieval displays
with icons on the sides and
all around

it makes sick
that we can have drops in the bucket
to which there is no lid;
and it overflows

I cant pay attention
or want to listen
nothing matters
or makes sense

there is no mound of dirt
there are no mountains
we are no trees
growing
and learning

I found I am obtruding
Against the ceiling
Im like bubble wrap
or a balloon
waiting to blow
or to bloom

I wished I could disintegrate
into a bomb of flowers
like the credits
of the pink panthers

and acknowledge
the illusionary trick
and peoples portraits
on medieval displays

so we talk about speculated numbers
and death in the plague
and its all so vague
waiting to die

for all I know
is I have 95 minutes left in my last class
my body is sore
and no one loves me anymore
and so quickly
be kicked

this is no story I can dig

sooner than be crucified stretched
close inside my self

Aries bound I need boundaries
Not to be the rebound
but I believe things beyond
and so work with some stupid clock
but we all do that do we not?

not astrology - though logically
there has got to be some piece of you in me
or some "one" that we all come from
and pull on the long robe of
when we find ourselves in need of love

What doorbells and picture frame
take me behind the scenes -
to the make-up and gossip of God's escapades?

of course times of a willing wage; both the wars and lustful ways

in a club he slapped the room with a rage- as the beat grows fonder
and more closely - immediately forgotten
even as it just begins

but of course only after, reminisce
with our pure imagination
the scenic route with a violin

whether its out or just come in
or **** like the economical loot
depending how you chose to hear it
and you can still choose

certainly the sounds that aren't there
that we think count like the accents
that shape a world of difference

is it enough for you to redo

I find too often I smile with a frown
I am a boundary but still Aries bound

So I said how I felt
and you left
and I never heard from you again.

Its interesting how things backfire.

Every september feels a fresh start
and yet a brisk end

If you want some understanding
stop taking everything for granted

I cant profess
I can confess

an *** kicking or an *** kissing

basket hats are out
the autumn is in
I can feel it
the leaves are falling
and I feel I know everyone that passes
**** this is religion.

Coffee makes you ****.
Even if you just had a ****- if you drink coffee,
you will **** again.

its like some weird impulse,
like pavlova dogs and the bell.

I wonder,
while taking a ****, though not having had a coffee today,
if we were somehow enslaved by some previous higher society
of mass corporation
that made us drink coffee and **** when we had it,
as some survival method no doubt.

Cross things off Instead of erase and feel lost
but you dont have to think I am lame because
its too late to wear aviators-since its not the summer
and I got arthritis.
Feeling swept up in fall like brushing leaves off the sidewalk

I was captain bazaar with my sidekick
flying in on a broken engine
smoke rushing out the side
trying to lift a plane
the subsequent pain in my wrists
and the rest of my limbs
brought me to this bridge

its another thing;
multifaceted.
clever coat
and correct.

I could smell the horse **** rubbed into the rusted banjo strings- only by the ends did they still resemble their first form- hay.

does it quiet down quite like the boat built for thrones. quilt in a flashy pattern to hone those that moan in distress to a tone that goes without oars. Ours Uranus envied. tightly like the slipknot that slowly brought the cone to breath.  The cone held depth but no more than the test we cheat and skip fast like all the rest. arrest me nay but may it be known there was no one that groped this 20 dollar bill tighter than any other mans addiction. hopefully one day we believed. but probably a night, this endless feed would fulfill its fight. return to a swarm but perhaps alone, remove the breath that basks afloat this bone.

quick to a dust.

proud as sun.

your goodbye, a smile. and a wink that was won, maybe you felt it. close and come near. but maybe distant, hidden, and nonexistent was it, like your fears. slipped from the pool off the diving boards divorce. we felt its return to fame as a belt on the mane. all was quiet on the sunlit stage. silhouettes to a frame and my cranium to the cane. like a gap was made. in the space, now what remained was a scar on my head where the hair was shaved.

light and it worked.

but still had doubt in our dour faces, tears tumbled out.

and then soon, we become confused.

were the lights on the streets those of the moon? when could we find them slip through the grass. on a tired binged morning would I sleep at last? was it past the noon in the night we prayed. is that the question? is there any redemption, am I too tense then, for the 9-5 man to realize his wage? is the question the question or the answer we seek. it pressed against the kidney we guessed, and then flipped we questioned was it the appendix. or the pancreas. kings cross saint pancras would suggest rest was not the best option.

we sought cooperation. none we got but maybe a salt shaker flipped, one grain above the edge,  95 proof, 51% off the ledge, weight against, the bourgeois rent, patience spent, and the place went. weary eyed gentleman. welcome then to the court. you should have all received then, the letters we sent in envelopes  with stamps and other bores. spiraled with a speed down the barrel we swore bent. but soon, evident, to be straight like all the rest.

Is it hard to breath fire?

I always wanted to know.

quick like baskets.

cross legged with the ivy
silhouettes come clear
the wear isn't there
and it seemed never was ever as thin as a hair.

Demented is not a subordinate
grey
nor subbed to explain,
But instead every color there is
And self evident;
Cream:
Which is no tone
But texture to grow.

So stop with the divination
and calling my name

I'm right here

On this, honest
Double take
I'm looking forward

And not clinging to dreams
Ones I must obey and perform
the practice of wishful thinking for
in the name of
A mighty god

When I am right here

So stop the divination
And name Calling

I'm alright and I know it
I didn't need you to tell me that
I was another thing to worry about
Reluctantly finding the answers in my subconscious

I will sooth say
Loosening the gates
And letting all the folks in,
Into my humble castle
With exotic carpet hospitality
All are welcome

And we will be friends
And join forces
Without illusions of sums greater than wholes
But with a purpose to share what's worthless and worth all

I sat back in the the saturated black
The magnitude of conversation with the deaf
The thick thicket soon to be illuminated
By a wicker man
Something sinister
But something at least, is better than nothing besides the breeze

To then fill with leaves the flames would raise
As children to set loose and torment in little cages
giving glances desperation and dipterous demands

I wanted to say I was so sorry that I lived so far
In a New Jersey accent and feel the words slant

My sweet, pretty, well versed commodity;

This was to become my mistaken novelty and spectacle
that I will have felt I should not have lent

To anyone else. For this was no prize,
and not a second hand desire.

This was of the most simplest love to provide.

Laying in bed with you using me as a pillow to trust in youth

I now laid in bed alone and thought of you

and wondered how I might of soothed better,
not seemed to have used you,
not faced the truth,
to lead on to lose.

Now you were gone
And moved on
but instead I seem to feel
the distance grow in my chest
and I know I am responsible
that we lost the will
so I am sorry
I still live so Far

A time for things vile and sublime
turquoise and lions

but perhaps panthers instead
would raid the forest

And instead of sleeping
at night
forges the pristine plight

one of courage and control

of risk, yet a roll
and a flowing water fall

and amongst
other things divine
to recall
the sun to rise
not in the day but night

Physics cant fix it
I need a chemist
I appreciate the limits
and entropy

chaperoning heliocentrism
I captured that cat
with whiskers painted on
like a football player
you are a quarter back
but either way a star
but I am a lineman
and take the hits.

this is all intentional.
and this isn't.

Is this seclusion or am I being seduced
I am Ostracized
but yet you move to the other side of the room
it easy to see how I am confused
when you make all the calls
and yet I’d be expected to call you.

I knew enough
that falling

Down these little steps
was enough
to break my neck
maybe strip my skin
or hit my hip

and never walk again

Down Below
Where it was too dark
You Would Follow
and it was all so
indecipherable
For you to know
what it was you liked or ever wanted.

Preferences seem like a joke
or some volatile masking smoke
that soon leaves
when you can identify what you need
and soon you love it all
after hours of hate
Was there ever this fate
or was it a choice this whole time
then the decision was so difficult
but why?

Fate is a water that this stream has seen before
long since it was ever formed
and left the second after it was scorned
and some how stays
like some cold warmth
that chokes you
to warn you you might get soaked.

Fight in the office
But it's still a box
Thought you were an island
But you were just a rock
A Strange shape sure
but silent though nothing's wrong

Isolated from The legend
And you don't belong
;Something still sounds off
With the way you cough

I mean we both know your lungs aren't so pure
And your teeth are too long
But since it's out of fashion
To withhold the cure
Stupidly, So is it To be strong

A maze with no walls
They move too
But sometimes stop

Are you stupid
do you get it?
there are rhymes here
and there and everywhere
anywhere- meanings besides what you read

christ give me meningitis
or some sickness to display
the esoteric **** that I say
as a ailment to amend
or **** me
- but nonetheless to do me away-

I don't mean to pry
but why do you read?
to learn to become someone else?
we'll make the best of it-
I transgress the evident tip;

please refrain from adapting to the ego of a million towers
I see you wander
- all of you
with your collars-
while I sit on my *** and bite my callouses
and listen to mid-popular, music
and I feel taller
as I submit, again and again and again
since theres no limit, to my drivel
and the **** ill say and do
till you reject it
and even then I continue
when you sit there and read - as I do with myself in revision-
you- as I- come to a wall - or worse a hole
something to take away neither the pain nor the gain - but the attention
or compassion from my life and yours too
I struggle to have these metaphors and hidden meanings rammed down my throat;

to take it in - perhaps make sense- perhaps be happy again

to accept , move to whats next, not regret, gain a lesson, begin to clap and to win

and establish new intentions

But I struggle to have these metaphors and meanings hidden rammed down my throat;

- so instead I pollute, to avoid the swallow
and then what besides the hopeless chase, of my self that I lose
that you and I become- nothing- reduced- to simply follow

You were just a Barmaid
but I was just a Nothing
well worse anyway
but there are a few things that you taught me

besides the feeling of your stubby thumbs upon my face
how they would stick
and how I'd want them to stay
or your little lips
when I couldn't resist
and Id just give in

or the time you finally let me massage your back
I wanted to think it mattered
it certainly did to me
but I am such an *******
since I couldn't just say it
how Id love to massage your back for the rest of my days

and when sometimes things seemed to be so perfect
somehow I just couldn't accept it
Instead I get scared I say the exact thing
to push you away

I tried telling you
how I had this problem
how I was insecure but it wasn't so simple
and I was too caught up in my thoughts

but you helped me get out of them

and this is where you helped me mature
to grow and learn
and then amongst other things that you taught
there were some that you make clear
for me to observe
but then others that we both take a part of
e.g. falling in love

I wondered if I gave you any lessons
if I helped you learn
I wish I did
something that would make you want to come back

thinking of how you'd walk cross armed
with your bag
trapped in the corner of your shoulder
which had, something written on it
something like marrakech
something like that
and there was some funny font
and an elephant
or so I remembered

and so I longed

things were different for us
from your family that showed you love
and my parents who were far from it
Its why I ended up as a poet
musician, and an artist

all these ways I need to express
how I feel since I am too impressed
with everything too often
and I find it hard to say what I mean
But thats not to say you might of found it easy
hopefully this isn't just me fooling myself
Thinking you might have feelings.


I have my normal response
to be rash and tell
you all about how I feel
But I realize now
I need to be rational
as you have to know
this time its real

I get scared of waiting
thinking you already
know what will be.
but you once told me anything is possible
and so you give me will
to wait patiently to not be so emotional
because I am very emotional

but I wait
anxiously
for how you feel
as I know that in the wake of this
you will have to give me the will

We speak so ludicrously of our losses
wishing our condolences:
a useless phrase.

- - to make the differences
living wishes we must expect
and expect to give.

Where men are gay for their beers,
and never integrated with the world’s clock.

Where men **** away their fears
on a wall only as big as the spot
they need.

All these fields
and the health they yield
all mushy and dead
from the crops
that would from the veins of grain, rot.

wrestle with the puzzle
with only your finger
or maybe a single straw cold glance

Maybe a bed of saw dust
would fix the pain in your Head.

No feather pillows
to comfort and cradle the mind.
to address the metal wounds
poverty to shelter me
and never too soon
if the distance of this curl in the sheet
might seem as distant
as this scene
as the movie passes it plays in
double, half, real time

As the flat valley
where a palm tree grows
in a puddle in my palm.

Mended the electric circuit
of the frequency of your body and memory

Finally slicing that grain of rice.

for the parted message like a divided sea,
fragmented slowly, evaporated

stuck in this resistor.

that makes it so tedious the final drop of condensation
finally becomes
a summer ants
last
breath
on a cold winters day or perhaps it was so little
like the smallest petal
falling down
as the pedal of a bike
cycling
up and down
through the largest
park
or maybe a roses thorn lifting the dirt up
ever so much
that a bit of dirt
amongst the frost
would rise up
the loudest sounds
as the heaviest dirt filled cloud
one this frozen water
could no longer hurt.

I feel uncomfortably cold talking to dead love
doing things I dont want to
and, feeling shoved
into the future.
Into paths, lifestyles,
chosen for me
not that escaping would make me free

I could run
but what from?
everything?

Be a Wizard
splash your confetti at me
and disappear

I did my research
but I don’t remember any of those words

but Ill see you when you are near.
I can feel I am closer
to writing in a notebook
just to find out how it hears
than to recover
or restore
a binding,
that looks as though it falls before

your beanie cap
and you walk away
so different each time
is that not reason enough to love you in the mind

as day shifts                                                                                                                   and the longer you stare
to night, security lifts                                                                                                                           into the air
from my sight.                                                                                                         the more convinced you are
Now begins the                                                                                                                that something is there
extensive fight.                                                                                                                     and if you look hard
one imminent                                                                                                                            then you will find
and brutal.                                                                                                                                             that in fact,
Not of the Mace,                                                                                                                you've lost your mind
but of the Mind.
Though pain,
does ensue.



           by the
gloved hand's shadow
behind your head,
foot, neck and eyes,
above your hair
and just behind
your shoulder.
Darkness seems to
take on different
shades as you stare,
the void nothingness.

When I was younger
My mother
wouldnt buy me a gun
or a dog
or anything fun.

However with an expensive taste
I would feed my moth my cashmere vest
then that didn't fit
Only to encounter my long lost love bank; Mathilda the stray cat!
And mind you, collarless and deep in debt,
I'd find my moth
and feed her that.

its the impact
and the implant
that survive this stance
this attraction

I want it to last
between us that we could advance
into another level
of human being

one that obey rules of action
to behave in
and stay that way
we then trickle into separate rooms

choose our future
I know its cocooned either way
and then cached into the files
in that steel frame

when we then return
rolling out like a rolodex of information
waving it in front of each others face
like a roll of hundred dollar bills

and we undo the band
hand out a few
in either direction
to which their rolls others will add
I sincerely appreciate it.

In the Library

sitting for hours

and I waited for something to happen

tired and agitated
I lifted my flowers and sticky fingers

arranged, into to gentler
and more efficient
bouquets

I left through the weighted silence
that pulled on the room
like gravity
which couldn’t go unnoticed

before leaving, making my small contribution
that was modest,
mediocre, humble
saving a tree and shutting off a light
a bumble bee and it worked

I thought you were more like other females I understood perfectly

And you werent
and thats what I wanted

split teeth in romance,
empty gaps not in lack

I wanted to touch my nose against
yours

and I would have to recognize ours might not fit so perfect

so whilst I imagined

my backlight dimmed
and I was more certain
that I was what I wanted
to be liked by others
And not remain Hidden

There is no forward or back
I can't
Make, Progress
each time is fresh
Besides the fact its baked
under a pilot light

On a stage
The same height
as the eyes of everyone who listens
Im learning lessons each time

But Maybe you aren't even looking
this way
sharing a pint
but really,
you each have your own
thought thats not the point

and Im part
of the furniture
we've argued if I constitute a local
but sometimes you come to a come to a wall
and other times it just grabs you and pulls
you into the sheetrock

I live in a fantasy
Im the best singer
and everyone is listening

I don't know if I am
made of wood or metal yet
this curses will weld
or melt
maybe they will catch flames

but Id expect that they were in the foundations
and really, its simply covered in felt.

Fit for paper pen and pencil maker
later's marker and before's sharpener
both seem too dark, but have returned
to grade the present and give it gifts and misfortune
in that order

typewriter shoelace alarm shaker
always tingles, soon right after
and awakens to spin and turn
over open fire to timidly book burn.

oh you brick laying arbitrator
I am pleased for your concern
and then there are sometimes no more words
that enable an unsure future to grow and learn.

"No, No Charge"
I said at the bar
in a foreign language

-as he handed me the coconut-

Butting heads
Throwing checks- and chips
across the felt table

the burn
as the shots go down
dont hurt- I turn and say

"Me no parle anglaise"

and she grabbed my hand
in the caffeinated stance
I assumed the trance
and joined the adjacent positions
The bridge
of her nose
disappeared and I continued to ignore the impulsive thoughts I had

So I read up on the positive qualities of coffee
and thought about meaningless ***
contemplated prostitutes- the idea of course-, and laughed in cautious blues  
I thought of one night stands- the ones she would want to have-
and how little they meant
and how insignificant liberty is really
like the empty bottom of a 12 inch tom

But the pounding
and drumming
are coming from my head. no where else
for a man - who wanders in another place- and expects
to know where he's headed.

The General impression
that the fading away bit
had already taken place

But something still  stirred
Like the fortitude of cellos - But only what they've faced
its like you’ve        chugged
someone else’s         blood

it would look so hurt
but its on the inside

pouring boiling water over jello
but its already been made
The recipe had taken place
That part is over

oh contain yourself
“Its in a container”

Settle down
-“I am a settler”

-of this fair land
-
-you belong here
-its not fair
-You cant do wrong
-But where?

but its worn.

There is this consensus
you are washed up
but whats a shore?

Chants from hearts, that can't repent
-I hear from every bar, in soho
and lament
wading the streets
I see
sanctioned off
where I expected sheets of steel to fall
-from the sky

Is this religion?

Dormant disco *****
still turning in sleep
as big as the sun
and so they repeat

and trash, floats towards
then past, the bin

each platform captured within
as a pagan amulet;
persistence permits
and I await initiation

or the decision to elect I leave and project-
across golden maps fading brown, the endless claps on ears that drown.
An incorporated business I suspect awaits a future of decent respect.

everyone shouting "just let it happen"

and then at last a log cottage or cabin I built with my two hands-cremated where the stumps still stand. Of a series of misfortunes I depict this was to be the one I loved the best, for it was robust and could last. It would begin suspended in detention and later appear on murals and epitaphs. As solidified commands.

Graffiti, graff and moss would all overwhelm a tired future of eternal past whilst the wind whistled back through the cracks- "just dance" and "laugh".

How I hope to be remembered
How I cope to be remembered
are never the same

So I impulse
bought some headphones
That all
It ever is
A pair of Bose
Not saying I didn't do some research
Oh I did plenty of window shopping of specs and all that
So I bought
Them off
eBay
and they told
Me
"It's yours"
In an email

But I know that
The world is mine
As long as I pay

The steel bedframe you helped me pick
Is so cold
and Now you sit
In the cafe we used to
And we'd argue the most complex things about whether we'd work or not
And that time is long since gone
Facing away from the street
You have your next man cornered
So he maybe gets his stuff together better than me
While you inquire
And offer him the world

5 inches longer than my hips
It drags beneath the floor
Stooped picking ends Up

If it was storage I lost
Then that is what I sorted
To be waiting for my return
And everyplace is an arrival

Some wheels still moved
On smooth grooves and grins
In varnished pavements
Whilst Waving in passing

Since these are the oil lengths
That will separate this way from that
And so will continue

As a thousands hues above the ground

Sleeping through steam and mist
Atop the Atlantic
Or beneath with
black transparencies during the existential technicolor discos

Of arranged meetings of faux upholstery
some that moved with the tunes too
Though most that stayed glued

With that oil that never seemed to dry
Yet managed to keep everyone there in place with no reasons why
And though closer to tar this was not one that flew in through our Olympic airways nor trains or cars

Oh cars
With melted chocolate on the plastic grips that stayed for years
On stretches of land for legs of chairs to soon expand

Some moments are so carefully placed in a room as furniture
Never to move
With or without the planned dance

And through the options here in the sky
Here I will decide
With open window entertainment
which destination and journey
I will ride

Sometimes you get a hand you simply like
and you won't know if you have the right pair
until you get to the end

but in the meanwhile you are investing
into q 2 -same suit
just hoping this is the one

and you won't let go
they just look so perfect together

since you know theres no difference - or perhaps the slightest
between the worst cards and the best
quote on quote

since setting is half the story
what everyone else is playing affects yours
and I know its hard to follow
but there are rules you know

so instead
bank it all on a feather
whilst you wait for death
just remember
to know when to go all in
and also
when to quit.

I have short stack
-not good for placing bets-
the feeling of trapped
comes back and back again

so instead of working hard

I sat on the lap of santa
but with a protruding silhouette of death
not so much asked as
demanded better hands

Chicken has always been
there for me
I have my strobe lights
as police
and backyard decorations

ear buds in
and so it begins:

A true beat
is all I need
Long drives
that turn into streets

If the switch is clean
then touch the twitch

"I'm waiting"
from my bedroom door
For all the love I can offer
That is what I deserve

But now only in a dream
Magnified, this is the beginning

no better time to start
beer is my drink
"I party hard"
"I'm a Machine"

Ill play by your rules
I dont have my ID
But you let me in
"For the win"

I'd prefer to not have to correct
-Then you are biting my neck.-
The type-os in the morning

So I am on top
of things. Cup in my hand
but my cooled sweat gland
says this is fall or spring
but no club of a constant winter

On my way home
But I still want the boom

I want this song
on repeat
a better deal than up the street
"ACE!"
and all those cliches

(No I don't want this to end if I haven't found a special friend so goes the story of the personal party)

Better beers for the same price
and for the time being this shall consume my life.

Next me is a wall
or rather a semi wall
for alluding to an imaginary pathway that guides
or rather
divides people who want to study in the casual study room versus the quiet area.

There is a circular hole in this black wall next to me
and past the black paint, I can see the particle board
that makes up this wall. Then past this particle board
there is space- nothing, a power supply to the outlets built in that I am using now , a camera maybe, cables to the tv on the other side of this semi-wall.

Next to that are my 2 wall chargers that charging my computer
and my phone. And of course my phone, computer
but also, Casio watch and two band-aids- barely visible on the white table background.

Before me
is my laptop
not you,
but my laptop.

next me is my water bottle
metal
a used paper towel
moist
hand cream
closed,

three books

my headphones

next to me is an empty seat
and you are not in it.

but you are not even so specific
as these objects,

you are vague and elusive

you are always leaving
whoever I think you might be

once
maybe right here even
opposite where I sit now
we sat together
and tried to study and couldn't
I gripped your thigh tightly  
and desire for you
and an assertion of your presence
and my true love for you
flowed through me
so legibly

and now the spirit of love
has left that person
and passed through so many others
who are also
not
here
now

Disregard and reject me
with disinterest
since you can't tell I'm just depressed

every start
waiting form
every essay
waiting to be born.

I is in progress
or out of service.

She laid there on her stomach and gave me her heart on a silver plate

It was so much more than letting me into your fort

I didn't recognise it at the time
But I should have said
You have been the best thing that has ever happened to me
You are special to me - I don't want to be with anyone else and I mean it

I didn't though
Even though that's what I really meant
But it wasn't just because I was scared
When you told me you ****** that 34 year old guy I met one night- the one night we didn't hang out-
I sorta refused to process it- not that we were together -but you mattered - it's aggravating contemplating the things that we cannot count

You told me it matters the day before we spoke for the last time -
I said some additional stupid **** when you said let's just be friends for the last time yet again-
Just to really kick it in.

I wonder if I could have just said it all to you then
But Alive and well you are
So much more intimidating - especially to date
I know I could say it now
But I think I could only say it knowing now that you are dead

Grazing off the Screen
the little things that you sometimes wrote
I came to collect and keep close

So slow, does my lung breath
as a palpitating tremor
shaking
and stirred within
the mind that thinks

"when will it come?"

In expectation
desperation
dire attention
is required
to keep
My tears from crying

this dialectic
meta-dates.
I dictate:
"will I detect"
in rhetoric

"if I shall have expected it to arrive"

In sugar cubes
complete, and on time
as diamond brick streets
to tumble down as ice to melt
down my cheeks into my mouth
they leak


or welled up in pools
or on diving boards
with clay platforms
spongy stone floors

Blowing back and forth the reeds
to feel the river pour
as a wheat mill to turn in torque
to establish the width and paddled
chore to show off as a nimbly plotted
game of over lapping arrows and empty treasure troves;
of the destitute dialogue dominoes.