Fingers make contact with hands,
                                             we can’t stand like,
butter
flies
     on
       a
tree branch

amidst a strange wind.

Fluttering above
trees rooted in sidewalks,
out of sight.

And it feels like
the texture of our shirts
is truth,
    the cat fur,
       the bed sheets,
           our clenched teeth,
Molly whispers in our head
a meditative melody,
and we’re rollin,'
our infinite eyes
hung together
in widened silence,
enjoying a good lie.
Indigo children
with no words, just hands,
applauding the feeling,
dreading the end.
Time past,
grown up,
deflated,
we come down
to see that
sober is just
categorizing
adjectives.

we rejoiced
when the sign on the parking meter said we could park for free.

your kind hand
in clumsy mind,

we strolled.

we were caught between the arts and business district,
so the shops and eateries weren't
sure if they should be cool or classy.

we strolled.

we passed an army of delis now abandoned.
a greek place,
a gelato,
a couple of hotel diners,
we rounded the block,
came back close to our start,
decided on the only restaurant
that was open.

as we were seated,
the already present patrons
stared ceaselessly, with no blinking.

people always stare at us.
i think they have trouble
categorizing us.

we aren't fat.
i don't wear affliction t-shirts,
you don't dress ******,
we are caught somewhere
between the summer of '72 and indie rock brats.

our waiter was uneasy,
he had black hair, a beard,
a voice that squeaked and stuttered
as he boasted the organic and local support
the restaurant waved as their prideful flag.

order taken, people still throwing quick glances,
the music was right up our alley.

we took turns saying the names of the bands.
Cake, The Strokes, Spoon (the setlist's favorite), a deep cut from Bowie's Low, and a multitude of indie darlings that i can't remember.

i fell in love with you again.
i guess that makes the fifth or sixth time.
your child's eyes,
warm laughter,
and noble concern for the ****** state of the world.

it was good conversation,
it was good food,
it was a pleasant warm-up
for the remainder of our
getaway weekend.

1.  Inability to throw away possessions


ive never been able to get rid of the bracelet you gave me. my cat broke it the first week i had it, but something about throwing it away wraps my wrist with a sensation of betrayal- like im throwing away your company with it. the string still sits on my nightstand.


2. Severe anxiety when attempting to discard items


even though i’ve never worn them, your jackets and shirts outline my bedroom- curtains that block the clarity of what once was with a dressed up version of you i’ve never been able to tear down.

3. Great difficulty categorizing or organizing possessions


it was when i began to leave my thank you notes beside screws, and love letters near lighters, that i realized i’d forgotten how to feel the differences between them.

4. Indecision about what to keep or where to put things


disregarding the good because of the bad feels like an admission of defeat to a ruler i never knew was in charge. when i pick up the way you held my hand, i dont mean to put down the way you wrapped yours around my neck- but i only have one drawer and its not big enough for the two of them.

5. Distress, such as feeling overwhelmed or embarrassed by possessions


when i offer an apology, it is because the amount of landlords that have evicted me for having too much inside myself is more than i ever learned to count. im afraid that i will never stop living in someone else's home, loving in someone else's heart, before i learn to build my own.

6. Suspicion of other people touching items


each day feels a little lighter- as though someone is removing a stone from a bag i didn’t realize i had been forced to carry. ive yet to understand if this ease is unwelcome.

7. Obsessive thoughts and actions: fear of running out of an item or of needing it in the future; checking the trash for accidentally discarded objects


you’ve not read a book in ten years. your novel still lays on my nightstand.

8. Functional impairments, including loss of living space, social isolation, family or marital discord, financial difficulties, health hazards


i havent been able to bring another person to visit the garden i spent years tending to. when the water stopped coming in, i’d no choice but to begin withering- and i’d rather go peacefully than to be let down again because i trusted you to end the drought.

this morning I awoke to find little lettered squares imprinted across the side of my face,
           then didst I realize, that cyber space had finally done its number on me
                        slither slather blither blather slobbering  cyber chopper
              knee-**** hackneyed pavlovian dog speak of impetuous  heartlessness
             stereotyping  label blasting  categorizing  pigeon-holing  generalizing
      multi tasking bifurcating bloviating palaver,  ever clingy maudlin  inflamed impassioned souls
         trolling   the myriad  disparate windows looking for some misbegotten stimulus  
so invested in their hatred and fear that peace is the most threatening thing they can imagine   ------      and me?
the sneering cynical maladroit among the masses of averageness and mediocrity...

Looking at this world with tears in my eyes... with sadness in my soul...
There's so much violence, so much hatred...
As if we were trying to make our own species extinct...
Some say the apocalypse is coming... but we are the ones making that happen...

Our ignorance and lack of understanding have become our worst enemies... They've transform our hands into weapons, made our eyes see the world with fear, and have filled our hearts with hate...
We have stopped wanting to learn... we have stopped asking questions... We let the media tell us what to think... walking around this world like zombies... Like blinded idiots... like two year olds throwing tantrums, not wanting to listen...
We just point fingers... and blame, not one, but all... Putting every single person in a box, categorizing them... generalizing ... believing in every single stereotype...
Not wanting to see that every single person is unique...
We might belong to a certain group, community, race, religion... but we are individual souls...
We were meant to be different... Different aspirations, different lives, different cultures, different colors...

Imagine...how boring would the human race be if we were all exactly the same... Where would we get our different life flavors? How boring would we be without the mix of colors... without our different traits??
We were meant to be different... designed to learn from each other... to love one another in our differences...

We must stop putting labels on peoples' foreheads... we have to start by asking questions, by learning their stories, and by sharing our own...
We must teach each other love and respect, Start to pave a better world for generations to come... teach them that our differences are what makes this world such a colorful and interesting place... that's where the real beauty hides... that's the real life treasure...

But first, we have to learn to see with our own eyes and hear with our own ears... Throw away the guns and fill our mind with knowledge... that's the most powerful weapon that we, as human beings have.

Share the love, the wisdom... see the world with an open mind.
It's time to Stop the hate.

See I will remember you.
My brain, categorizing as it is
In its Obsessive Compulsive ways
Remembers everything-
Filed away to one day illicit
An emotion I know not of now.
I will remember your fingers skillfully tracing
My outline, your breath
Against mine as we lay
On the bed you made
Up with new sheets.
I will remember the new
Sheets and your excitement
For them as our sweat moistened
Their crisp newness on that
Balmy early summer evening.
I will forever remember purple:
The color of those sheets;
The color of anything favorite
And happy and nice and You.
But that was then and
Years from now, as I walk
Down the street in a town
That's not this one, my
Fingers interlocked in the
Hand of a man who is not you,
I will see a girl pass
Me by in a lovely purple dress
And I will remember. I will
Remember the night
When that girl was me
And that dress was mine
And that color was yours.
But, there's the rub, the
Sandy rub after a long, hot, sweaty
Perfect day at the beach,
The salt to the sweet of
This all- my brain will store
This, everything, store it away
And I will remember. I will
Remember the leaves that crept
Down your shoulder, permanently
Inked into your freckled skin.
I will remember the look and
The words and the touch.
But will you? Will you remember
The way I smell of
Sunflower and stale smoke
Coming in from the rain, blue
Eyes peaking up from
Rain specked spectacles
Gleaming in the dim light of
Your livingroom?
Because I will, I can't help it.

Combinatrax. Anything of this persuasion is considered ageless beyond the matrix. Beyond time displacement, space and spaceships beyond the reach of human contemplation.

I battled evil spirits when temperatures were frigid with no mittens crossed wooden bridges over rivers just so these words can be delivered.

Combinatrax. Anything of this persuasion is considered ageless beyond the matrix beyond time displacement beyond the oasis for nothing is complete without every piece.

who's receptive to this message? The tree of life provided me the weapon inside the zodiac divided in sections, categorizing five elements if i wrote this backwards you will still understand my penmanship *****.

Lets show them what I see, the letter C, the sea of tranquility, Yemeja proof read this read for me.

Pardon me but i must beacon your attention for more then 10 seconds, this effective mass burial method is so well measured. She calls it the ocean.

I started the trends must I show you again?  Normal configurations are dismembered and disconnected self execution methods occur after dawn but before breakfast.

Blood red moon.

Lilith said death is the adjustment to her mood.

Timeless writes rereading keeps you updated destroying frustration **** your favorite this is not a statement but a vibration for those are who are lost but made it..

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47.
I heard my own voice break, stutter once then stop it. I heard
A sentence started confidently halted by the sudden absence of a word.
Stumbled and I sputtered trying to find it back, something once so simple gone now. When you first met me, did you know you’d show me your scars?
I had a heavy heart, she carried a door, it’s shattered pane all wrapped in plastic and she asked if I could fix it, come by a little later help her put it back on hinges. “See, I’m far too upset to lift it and it’s not for my house,
It’s my mind's.” When you opened up the door, what is it you thought you’d find? But you see i never fixed a single thing in my life, and whats worse i dont know what im doing. Im attempting to make sense of this. Categorizing apathy with sanity, but one of the two I surely lack.
So i guess well just drown it, with poetry, liquor and repress any other facts.
But the pills made her sleep too much. And she couldn’t keep happy as a result so one day she just gave up on taking them.
And that day she had called you, she’d locked herself outside of her mind.
She was spiraling and spiraling and tumbling down into darkness.
Losing all faith in the light, the night whispered in her ear:
"If you dont want to live, theres no reason to continue here"
How quickly did you get there? And what were you thinking while pulling up? What fears flashed in front of you, taunted you, walking to knock on the door?
I remember it. That story you told me came back clear tonight here while writing. And you should know the feeling never left me-the weight of my heart-when you showed me the scars in your words, when I looked in your eyes and I heard what you said how you probably would’ve died were it not for to care for yourself, and how someone had stopped you. How you seemed to look through me to some old projector screen playing back the scene as you described it on a movie reel, as real as the minute when it happened, that memory moving behind me. Because this is still a huge part of my life, and its getting harder to find the difference between a pen, liquor and a knife.
Theyll all cause me harm,  one will be temperate, the other will leave a permanent scar on my arm.
And I sit in my apartment.
I’m getting no answers.
I’m finding no peace, no release from the anger.
I leave it at arms length.
I’m keeping my distance.
From hotels and anything and blood on the carpet.
I’m stomaching nothing.
I’m reaching for no one.
I’m leaving this city and I’m headed out to nowhere.
I carry your image.
Thats me being honest
And if you hear me, I think of you often.
That’s all I can offer.
That’s all that I know how to give.

I stood on the pill gray surface of a moon with my eyes closed against the pitch. Deafening silence encaptulates me swallowing every cell as I sit cross legged in the stomach of it. I felt her. The pump of her heartbeat colossal in the deep. I dissolve and recoagulate 20 trillion kilometers from her belly. White dwarf her ultraviolet laughter washes over me charring me black. Just beyond the speed of light I fight the cold vacuum spiraling  through fathomless rings of planet sized asteroids she has caught within her gravity. I accelerate through her categorizing every element naming some as I go. Her molten core flows pure silver. Radioactive, attractive in totality, she is stealing my electrons and I'm losing all equilibrium. With reckless abandon I arc through her nitrogen ice eyelashes and lips play supernova melting me again into a pool of shimmering metal reflecting her every facet fractaling in infinitum Eye couldn't capture unable to dilate in time. The mind could not comprehend it driving to madness decompressing time. Switching polarity with her smile I float awhile in her warmth basking in total integration. Resting on the glaciers of her clavicles. I run my lips on the molten surface of her neck, and my hands found the small of her back marble smooth in the bitter black. Hair of plasma on obsidian shoulders cradling me as I reform. Her finger  like Olympus Mans presses into my arm and she says something that I could not reproduce even after infinities of calculation. In this brand new mode she runs like code. Strands of proteins or DNA playing over mine becoming prime. The restorative gravity that brought us pulls atomicly until we are not.

I'd like to be your space between starting a new sentence and picking the words up from behind dusty knocked over shelves

I'd like to be abstract in the way that you can cut me apart precisely and place me in misunderstood misplaced directions and give me the power to be able to yell at the top of my lungs and call myself art

I'd like to be a thousand miles right of where I am standing because home is the breath where you gather yourself up and home is when you have to stop dancing because your laughing interferes with your drinking and home is this song over and over and over

I'd like to kiss you a thousand miles right of where I am standing but what I am boxing up and categorizing as pain is not unique

it is just pain

I'd like to erase you from me and reach inside my head to free my brain from your rose thorn words like what I need to hear is the only airsource wonder of your distorted reality

I can't tell if I want nothing to do with you or I want everything at once because love is this song and that space and the way I stop from laughing and drinking and dancing love is this homemade pain and love is this art love is every mile

love is all of these indistinguishable thoughts my pain is not profound but I will yell whether the people who have cut me apart view
me as art or not

Label guns drawn
They force us into boxes
Blindly yelling who we are  
Consumed with pointed fingers
Looking for easy answers
Categorizing
For strategizing
Who they want for fraternizing
Humans prepped
Know it's just a broke machine
Those aware
Come from what we choose to leave
Hard hats worn
To protect
From their obscenities
They work so hard
But can't define
Who we decide to be

E.Poe
*January 2014

The technocracy gathers the museum pieces categorizing ideally to undermine and de-emphasizing objective understanding for the sub-categorized priest-craft, drafting a temporal framework for God. In bargaining as it accentuates its void for evangelism.

This classification, this legal ordinance, this academic dissertation and that context of its time.

Then Mary...

© S. Wesley Mcgranor

and this is a body
no two be the same
nor know other games
just riding front seat in the shotty

This is a crash spot
and this is a safe rock
I'll bet I'll make the sky knock
on any given day lot
Battle sounds commence from the subbourbon style spindle
watch it as it dwindles make the whole thing *******
smooth out the rug and the ripples in the universe
I'm knew to the sacred curse,

       and the flip sided eye, where good end evil always tie
tell the truth about a bunch of lies and take the time to solarize
darth vader's out of breath and luke wonders what is left
I guess it's out of step to take your very father and his neck

ride on the verse of jesus' name
virtuous atrocity subjected to society
internet infected and brimmed with idea
pursuing motivation in a the middle of an ikea
categorizing everyday humans of banter

Labeling labels,
Categorizing divides.
Envisage division:
It is not visionary.
Illusion's melody rings crystal bells in my drums.
(beat)
So out of time,
My tongue with my mind.
Somewhere in the process between the conception of a thought to the articulation of that idea,
Ripe fruits rot and fresh seeds are censored, over analyzed and watered until they drown.
Enthusiastic wonderings chase the boat of a moving tongue,
But a distorted image I project unto myself,
And to you.
Tongue is held...
Boat missed.
A label I staple to these
(prison)
Cell walls.
Trapped steam won't cease to rattle this kettle.
And so,
Under confident musings will wilt,
fold,
And

t
  r
   i
  c
  k
    l
      e

      a
      w
    a
    y

But they will forever be buried in the soil of my blood,
So if someone is to find me and has the time to spare,
Let them take a *****,
And dig.


May 2010

we've been fighting over the same things for thousands of years
religion, money, power, land
things that keep us separate
things that keep us fighting

keeping us in the dark

shouldn't we have realized by now
that categorizing humans stagnates progression

because when you're blinded by

ego
hate
ignorance

"differences"

how will you know which direction is forward?

What makes us different
can not compare
to reasons we're the same.

we're the same, don't they understand?

'they' love
we love

'they' pretend salt water has never flooded their eyes
and us,
well, we pretend too.

And though we have yet to see their tears,
and they have yet to notice ours

the blind can still feel
the blind can still listen
the blind can still hope
the blind can still pretend

Pretending we don't all shut our eyes every night,
hoping things will be alright.

hoping blindly
they/us/we
will open our eyes tomorrow

and stop fighting those who love and cry like us.
Realize how alike we humans are.

Act one, scene one
Decide your stance
Get a glimpse now
See us freaks
Ohhhhhhhhh!
You act like depression is a game
Two cards and a loss
Gamble the odds of life and death
We’re all a bit crazy
Hiding in the mirror,
Hiding in the mirror
You act like depression is a game
But you never took it seriously
You never took me seriously.
You doubt me, you think I’m a freak
(But you’re not wrong)
So play my game
You’ll never be the same.
But now the noose is round my neck
And I’m ready to go to hell.
You act like depression is a game
But just wait ‘till the world forgets my name.
Wanna see a magic trick?
I’ll leave the world
Give me 20 seconds and
I’ll leave the world.
You’re gonna cleanse the world from us freakshows,
But what you don’t understand
I’ve got the universe in my hands
Moving yo’ ******* like chess pieces
The freaks make it happen
We make it happen.
Oh, you were sick from the start
Categorizing all that you see
But as long as you keep judging,
You won’t know the first thing ‘bout me
Some people hide behind labels
People like me show the world.
And all your rebuttals
The things that don’t make sense
And we know
We know
We know.
The warfare that claims us all!
Middle fingers up, let’s go!
Join me, all you freak shows
Druggies and all
***** and all
Daddy issues and all!
Calling all freakshows.
Yeah we just want to die
We just wanna die
No one wants to ******* die!
You condemn me for what I say
You just want me to shut the **** up
Bite my tongue off, mouth full of blood
I bite my tongue, you bite my lip
A mouthful of saliva, you can’t even handle me
*****, don’t speak to me
You’re obsessed with ***
And no one checks
Where’s your morality?
I take a breath, a single breath
As I feel your bones rise off my chest
What a relief it is that you’re just like me.
This is your song, little angel
Only because you’re a freakshow, too.
So as depression calls my name,
I’ll make sure you remember my name.
So bow down!
***** bow down!
You thought this depression was a joke
So make me happy
Make me happy
Just another *****
Just another pitch
And just wait
Sensor, sensor
Sensor the children
Sensor your mouth
Don’t be obscene
Issues, issues
Lord knows I’ve got em.
My heads spinning like a go round’
I’ve been round
I’ve been here
Call me crazy ‘cause I dare speak
Hush my mouth, little mama, I don’t wanna speak
Call me a freak
Make me a freak
All I want to be is a freak
Freak
Freak
******* freakshow
So join me
Join me
Bring me your depression
Bring me your noose
Bring me your lust
Bring me your knives
Bring me your problems
And I’ll show you a mother ******* freakshow!

I am twisted.
As self-inflicted
fissures
crack
from all the pressure
that fizzles within,

not from soda or gin
but from my growing discontent
as I contend
with this trend
Of infantilizing
women and men,

this categorizing
everything improperly
for the sake of comfort,
consistency, and certainty
labeling things
that need no label
instead of just letting beautiful things
be complicated and interesting.

No matter how many we have diversities and
Nowadays they’re trying to tear us apart
We are all human at the end of the day.
We cry, we laugh and we love.
What really matters is our personalities that shape our heart.

Categorizing us depending on where we came from,
Putting us into categories and when we don’t fit them,
Calling out our names as ‘weird’ or ‘alien’.
Even deciding who to fall in love with instead of us.

Dreadful, dusty and rusty those minds are,
They think that everything should fit into their ‘categories’.
Don’t even know they that those categories don’t exist.

The guy
Always on the lookout for evidence.
Death
Time
What's it about?
Nobody knows
And the guy knows "You're lucky" is true
But what the **** is going on?
I don't want to rest in peace.
I want to live in strength.
******!!!
A fool
Categorizing life in my own dumb irrelevant categories.
Like a fool.
But I LOVE it all.
Be grateful alive.
Feel sensations, I get all that.
But I must note this terror and dread of death
Such a part of my experience.

When I first heard about the concept of love
All I was taught
Was overwhelming
heart-pumping
lips quivering
speech stuttering
palms sweating
mind boggling
Love.

No one bothered to say a word about
Lust.
about how attraction
did not always mean
Love.

I started throwing away good things because
I was underwhelmed
My heart was keeping a pretty steady pace
My lips were plastered in a smile
My speech was as smooth as the sea
My palms were closer to the Sahara than the Mediterranean
And my mind,
well, my mind was wondering what do I do next?

My mind was categorizing this man as
a friend.
Because for some reason
I am not allowed to have control of myself
while I am talking to a male I am attracted to
For some reason
he has to make me feel a certain type of way
in order to be someone I love.
For some reason
this was the only way to know
who I was in love with.

The truth is,
that man ,
the one who clearly wasn't my soul mate,
is now my best friend
the love of my life.

MCMLXXXI

Turning point

It was the day that changed my reputation
And my teachers’ descriptions of me
From “Jim is a natural leader”
To “Jim likes to keep to himself”
It had to do with my ego
It had to do with my not wanting to eat dirt;
Wanting to save face...

In conversation around the 4th grade lunch table, the topic turned from jokes and laughing to a rating of who was tough and who was not. Alex steered it thus...and at this point, Alex and Albert were doing the talking.

"I could totally kick THAT kid's ***", said Alex.   "And probably that dude's too.  He looks like a spaz".

"Just don't mess with Big Ben or he might sit on you", said Al, trying as always to get a laugh at someone else's expense.
"You know I could kick Jim's ***.  
...Right Jim? Right, you little *****? Heh heh."

"I dunno." I say with a shrug.

"Say it.  ...SAY IT."

"...Say what?"

"Say it! Say that you know I could kick your ***", said Alex with a yellow grin.

"What does it matter? This is stupid.", I say.

"Say it", says Alex, with his best mad face..."Say that I could kick your ***.  You know I can."

"I don't know that."

"Then I guess I will have to show you", Alex sneered.  And he proceeded to tell me how he was going to come to my house and beat the living **** out of me.  

"Whatever", said I.

The day went on and, believe it or not, I forgot all about his threat.  I thought I was past it.

Well, later that day, after I was home for a while, the doorbell rang.  I was a latch key kid, and home alone.  
I had put the whole confrontation out of my mind, so for a moment, I was surprised to see Alex on the front stoop when I opened the door...

He taunted me.  He did the old fakeout punch and I flinched big time.  I instinctively tried to block with my foot, and then he said, "oh, so you're trying to kick me now?", and he pushed his way in, grabbed me by both wrists, and pulled me out onto the front lawn.  

He straddled me and punched me. Mostly in the chest...but also got a few groin punches in...to let me know he wasn't afraid to fight *****.  I was pinned and couldn't do much.  That's what made me angriest.  My helplessness in the face of this evil bully, grinning with delight at the pain he could inflict.

And here, the story gets worse.  When I was able to get away, I ran for the front door to hopefully get in and lock him out.  Unfortunately, he was on my heels and pushed his way into the house.  

And just at the point where he was literally rubbing my head against the stucco wall just inside the front door...my MOM WALKED IN.

****.  

THAT made it FAR worse.

The worst possible ending as far as a kid's reputation is concerned.  Mom grabbed Alex by the neck and put him out on his ear.

After that I had to endure, of course, the taunts of "hey look it's Jimmy...he has his Mama fight his battles for him."...beautiful.  Just wonderful.  

I got past it eventually, of course, but this episode had forever changed something in me.  My demeanor changed.  My love of my fellow man was reduced ...and I was much more focused on SELF...on navigating the social workings of elementary school unscathed.

Alex, as it turned out, had a tough family life.  Single Mom, and an older brother that beat the **** out of him regularly.  Al's home life wasn't great either, I guess.  It was that humor that grows out of pain that drew me to them in the first place.  
I've always been drawn to sources of laughter...it's a primal desire to laugh and to elicit laughter.  I've even read that monkeys have been known to tickle their children just like humans do.  

It seemed Al's humor was always at someone else's expense...and Alex had this need for power- due to his complete lack of any at home.

I like to think that I got it back, my love for my fellow man...at least  for the most part...but every now and then I catch myself saying, "look at THIS *******", and in my head categorizing folks who I perceive to have wronged me in some small way as "Alex Smith Types".  
Al is now a doctor. He's helping people daily.  
I often wonder what ever happened to Alex.  I have no idea how he turned out or what ever happened to him.  

Through grit teeth, I wish him well...the ***** *******.

(5) 11:55 11:56 11:57 11:58
the moon rolls out and you're still awake
school starts in 7 hours but it's okay
"I'll just glide through class half asleep, half awake."
(10) did it even occur to you that people care about you more than you think?
like your mom, dad, friends, her or me?
when I say her I mean ya girl because I'm not sure of her name
you've never mentioned her to me until 3/23/15
but **** it, tip buckets, kick rocks cause life zooms in a flash
(15) cause when you're older it won't matter about the money and CASH
I mean it will because everything in America is revolved around money
but at least you'll have good finance and a fine *** honey
sooner or later you will realize who is important
you'll remember that person or phrase that made life seem un-shortened
(20) you'll remember the face that left an imprint in your heart
that every time you see them you would re-meet them from the start
you're mysterious like a plot off of goosebumps
not slimy grimy or gross the part where you get butterflies in your stomach
not sure how that ties in with the series
but it makes sense to me, oddly
(25) you seem like you find euphoria in loneliness, but you probably don't
I'm categorizing you again with my heart of stone
creativity flows within you, I can see it within the hazel
even though I've never seen you face to face, I know I've seen you cause I'm able
right minded, but you talk with your left brain
(30) music whirls within your soul, but you speak like politician, John McCain
great lover I can tell with the way you tweet
I know you love your momma like Norman Stark loves the sea
I know you got sweet talk in between your white teeth
I know that you use it, maybe not towards me
(35) I'll never forget you JPSM, or should I call you jack?
you never told what the PSM meant in fact
or maybe I never asked, or maybe I'll leave it quite mysterious
disclaimer: after you read this line, I'll probably end up deleting this

- k.a.o

I’m tucked away nicely in the JC section of the library. Apparently, they use the Library of Congress method of categorizing and organizing the library literature here instead of the Dewey Decimal system. I suppose it’s one way to set this community college campus apart from the uneducated townsfolk who still want numbers to tell them where to find their books. Looking at the shelves nearby, I see a great deal of books about dictators and rights and privacy, so I guess this section of the library is all politically charged. Which would explain this headache and general feeling of frustration, but that also could just be from the procrastinating I can’t stop doing. Strangely enough, I have been blocked into this row by a librarian who has her cart of endless knowledge parked in the middle of the political aisle of books. I don’t know where she ran off to, but I’m starting to get antsy. I mean, what if there’s a fire? All these books aren’t exactly flame retardant and the last time I had to jump through a wall of fire it wasn’t the best experience. I imagine these stacks of knowledge burning and I wonder how much it would be missed. There’s a book here titled “Management in the Public Service: The Quest for Effective Performance” and I can’t even tell you what the first page says because the second my eyes landed on the words, I fell asleep. But hey, the librarian is back and she moving her cart of ideas out of the way so that I may procrastinate in peace.

The static in the air is different
the speed of the looks between us
the old rapid fire of connections and feelers reaching across the table full of rocks
recoil and return to their islands of misplaced hope.

Black and white world
illuminates with you
yet like all I know this light will falter

too.

knowing doesn’t make it easy.

“always” is a lie
the reflection of life I saw before is
as distant now as the roaring snow in Spring
when your eyes were etched into my memory
and masked my broken ego.

definition surrounds
categorizing each aspect of me into little boxes
and in turn I do the same
expecting everything in life to fall into line,
salute Perfection and march along

but where has that gotten me?
A forever thickening, strangling nostalgia and desperate cry
“please don’t change, not yet”

losing my grip on this precipice between The Now, The Imagined, The Past and The Hoped.
Beginning of an end
fear stricken as I strain to see across the bend
maybe I can glimpse What Happens Next.

kind sir,
tell me what its like to fall in love
tell me what it feels like to hold their hand
to kiss them
and what if feels like to hold them tightly
do they feel like sunshine?
does their hair bounce as lively as they themselves?
what is it like to spend time with them
in their small bedroom
with white curtains
and an out of date calendar?
what is it like to look at the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling.
and to swim in their eyes
to get giddy off their giddiness?
tell me, kind sir
will i ever experience this for myself?
will i ever experience this phenomenon
that so many breathe as religiously as oxygen?
will i depend on someone to give me the attention
the love
the happiness i seek?
is there a way to be my own
without someone categorizing me as the “single cat lady”?
or telling me “you haven’t found the right person” or “you’ll find someone eventually”?
i am sick of feeling that someone knows me better than i know myself
should i be bitter, or should i be sweet?
kind sir
i am jealous of you
you feel so deeply
love so endlessly
and break so beautifully
you are everything i wish i could be
a man educated in the art of butterflies
a man of emotion
the king of hearts
kind sir,
you say you feel twice as much as a normal human does
perhaps that is why i feel half of what a normal human feels