"correspondence" poems
Honesty the lost art/
Honesty is rare
it should cost a lot/
It would be sublime if
We could find it/
Honestly, honesty is the best policy/
We should treasure the
thought cherished engulfed/
combined with
Loyalty
till death do us part/
I yurn
The lies tiring
like ones sleepy
lay down Suffocating to a corpse/
Thought is boss
employ by it
We're all guilty I guess/
Liar liar in court
A sentient being-ness/
Troth be told
I can't believe in this/
Question,
Am I the only one seeing this?/
Or only me blind and ain't Seeing ****
I try and **** it out
its epidemic, Chronic/
The remedy Poetry Hop
Visual Sonnets/
**** naked in
My correspondence/
Articulating articles
Waiting for responses/
Is it a defense mechanism
Of the conscious/
Honesty? Honestly/
Seems like everyone's
Not doing it so its gotta BE/
Non honesty
The ever lasting Prophecy/
And were full filling it
The good succumbs
To the villainous/
My willingness/
To compromise my will
I guess/
You could interpret as weak/
Most realize
the Inside scoop
Yet everyone tells lies
non interested in truth/
Me, a victim and a suspect
An on going cycle yet/
I ask what's next/
as if I didn't know
Where the L lies underlying Facts can't grow/
HonestLy, we all lose an L to Honesty!
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 1:44 AM UTC
Mistakes,
Heartaches,
Alone with a shot of liquor,
Wishing for the time to pass quicker.
Mistakes,
Heartaches,
Staring at a clock,
Hoping these thoughts I could block.
Mistakes,
Heartaches,
Watching hours tick by,
Trying to believe my own formulated lie.
Mistakes,
Heartaches,
I wonder what I did to deserve this,
Wondering what did I miss,
Or why I care so much for a single kiss.
Mistakes,
Heartaches,
Seems like it's been years since I here I sat,
With too many shots; head pounding, after that.
Mistakes,
Heartaches,
People tell me to get a grip,
Telling me my sanity's in a constant slip.
Mistakes,
Heartaches,
My friends want me sober,
I only wish it to be over.
Mistakes,
Heartaches,
I've gone through a lot,
Most of it smudged, more of a blot.
Mistakes,
Heartaches,
Stains on my conscience,
Tears in my heart,
Waiting for a single correspondence,
Before I rip myself apart.
Mistakes,
Heartaches,
Left me torn,
Alone to mourn.
Mistakes,
Heartaches,
Whose mistake am I,
And why are these tears leaking from my eyes?
Mistakes,
Heartaches,
I'm reaching for the next shot of liquor,
Wishing for the time to pass quicker.
Jul 16, 2017
Jul 16, 2017 at 8:40 PM UTC
lonely as a dry and used orchard
spread over the earth
for use and surrender.
shot down like an ex-pug selling
dailies on the corner.
taken by tears like
an aging chorus girl
who has gotten her last check.
a hanky is in order your lord your
worship.
the blackbirds are rough today
like
ingrown toenails
in an overnight
jail---
wine wine whine,
the blackbirds run around and
fly around
harping about
Spanish melodies and bones.
and everywhere is
nowhere---
the dream is as bad as
flapjacks and flat tires:
why do we go on
with our minds and
pockets full of
dust
like a bad boy just out of
school---
you tell
me,
you who were a hero in some
revolution
you who teach children
you who drink with calmness
you who own large homes
and walk in gardens
you who have killed a man and own a
beautiful wife
you tell me
why I am on fire like old dry
garbage.
we might surely have some interesting
correspondence.
it will keep the mailman busy.
and the butterflies and ants and bridges and
cemeteries
the rocket-makers and dogs and garage mechanics
will still go on a
while
until we run out of stamps
and/or
ideas.
don't be ashamed of
anything; I guess God meant it all
like
locks on
doors.
6.2k
a lie within a badass lie
a lie is within a badass conversation
a conversation of a lie is a correspondence of a lie
a badass lie is a badass conversation
a badass lie is a badass correspondence
a lie is a judgement lie
a lie is a judgement truth
a lie is a badass judgement
judgement is judgement of a lie
judgement is judgement of a truth
judgement is judgement of a conversation lie
correspondence lie is correspondence truth
a lie is a correspondence lie
a lie is a correspondence truth
the truth is a future truth
the truth is a future correspondence
the truth is a future conversation
within a judgement is within a lie
within a judgement is within a correspondence
within a judgement is within a conversation
a lie is a conversation of a lie
May 21, 2020
May 21, 2020 at 3:47 PM UTC
In the divet between mountains
Resides a wooden cabin – ostensibly an amalgamation of the scape
Adroitly - I - quondam female warrior flit
Down massive (ancient) hand-laid, hand-cut carved stone steps
Bounding from contingent step onto the dense pad of turned soil
Tacit compliance between gravity and soil holds footprints bound
A compressed deflating crescendo as pace ignites with bounds
Cadences of protuberant wildflowers and grasses erupt from swollen terra
A winsome chromatic menagerie, dispersed in ecstatic fistfuls
A venerably ancient ritual
My nascent clandestine vocation
Personally meted out - a beatification for my provisional sanctuary
Along glacier-fed stream
Lissome fingers shadow inert stalks –plucking dormant beginnings from their desiccated ligaments
I am austere and unadorned save for a festoon of pyrite flecks trailing my semblance
Residual gilding from my ante-meridian swim taken after requisite gathering of wild blackberries, goose berries, and rhubarb along oft-tamped path
The sun, nestling into its requisite apex endorsed my completion
I reclined into the hassock of soil, feeling the elements settle about with an embossment of my form
Imposing verdure arched subtly as compressed soil beckoned hyperbolic flux
As I lay within the basilica of opulent living columns replete with comestible bounty
Lingering dew honed inflections of sacrosanct petrichor in unison with piquant clover
Wild purple clover buds saccharinely tinted and inundated nestled nerves in mine cribriform plate
Birds pitched and galloped through the frond tips and beyond in the lapis expanse
Frequently snatching damselfly’s and assemblages of midges from their ephemeral drift
Auspicious rays transcended stippled diaphanous gravid clouds
Light inundated ether entered humbly into the cathedral oculus
Pyrite speckled terrain beneath, and my bare gilded form above
Cast a refracted aura about my sanctuary
Precipitously the elusive vaporous embankment distended further
Ashen atmospheric correspondence inaugurated liquescent sustenance to my mountain abode
And I -
Lingered beneath the descending gobbets, curls furled in a puddle
Fresh topsoil cupping my corporal topographic contours
Pressing blackberries into my mouth between smiles
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
Ganders...gargantua--ensconced in far-fetched space...
(attrition)...LOOK AT THAT LINE...LOOK AT IT...
ROUND THE CORNERS OF PERPETUITY...predilections.
A soul's inalienable fracas...on bend and knee...hop...and
whoop...miasmic gargoyles poppy-wreathed...
for all-too-lucid dreaming...chanting etceteras of bare riff raffs.
Golden breastplates...weeping willow wings...empurpled--
fending fang trumping lines of: yuck, cluck, claw and kook.
...Listless eyes...alphabetize...think a blind oracle's informed
absentia...holy and bovine.
Redolent airs...perspiration of spume's most distancing shore--
eyepieces for the specks and logs in the oculos of brothers
and sisters.
As dust to dust doth not settle...heart's yonder score...nay cease
of interstice...off-world amorousness.
Gather ye yarrow sticks...hurl them at days...roofless arcady...
live into the spectra of their worlds, come friend or foe...Fate's foundling.
Lines strung as prayer beads...curs-ed beads...forget-me-nots
enclosed in letters baiting Long Farewells, in the great literary
correspondence of authored and Author.
...Ye gorgeous gargoyles come perch and push.
Persona non grata...the wide world...unisex prodigal...All--returneth.
LOOK AT THAT LINE...LOOK AT IT...(attrition)...ROUND THE
CORNERS OF PERPETUITY.
NEBULAEIC FANFARE...come perch to push...lo...ANGELS!
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 12:35 PM UTC
Marooned
Vapid beauty of this room
Frothing carpet, ocean blue
One wall me, the other you
What lies between is residue
Scribed on soggy, shipwrecked parchment
Questions asked, time forgotten
Who are we?
What do we know?
Into these questions Summer flows
And thrashes at your Autumn’s brinks
Yearlong they torment my brain
Infringing on every season
If not for the manic scheme
To love and having loved be loved
This correspondence to a distant land
With stars, more numerous and brightly lit
Than my burgeoning highway exit
Would by no means have left my hand
But if, against all odds, it will prevail
Extolling truth’s folly, my sorrowful tale
Quells with reason my groundless pride
At having docked on your passionless harbor
Unloading platonic cargo during our youth’s ebbing tide
Must not create union of body or mind
You swallow my horizon, like the sun twilight
Though, one need not chase that orange orb for tomorrow
In this night without fortitude, lewd humor consumes me
Singing with the mouth on my head and your voice inside
I plunge into darkness
Skimming its silky surface
Before zipping it behind me
Shall I drown, as I have lived?
In vain, my dreams your subjects
Taken for ransom in your heart’s Tripoli
Not surmising recompense, I forfeit this
A note belying resonance
Of my heart’s last echoed throe
One desperate effort, giving up
Feed every vestige to the void
Wading, torso encumbered
Each sullen relic of your memory
Falls to the deep’s frigid ebony
Then, only too late am I cognizant
That my own breath is tribute yet spent
Therefore if I were to float or swim
I’d give you every ounce of who I am
Convince you to relinquish me
From your tepid, spurning sea
Then lying beneath moist underbrush
Slowly, breathe no more
Aug 9, 2010
Aug 9, 2010 at 4:24 PM UTC
Late night dedications from you to me.
Writing you letters to see if you are holding it down for me.
Collect calls from me to you and some steamy conversation...
when your family inquires about my whereabouts....you say I'm on vacation.
Your image in my head is what makes each day easier to bare.
I'm writing and doing this time instead of stressing and pulling out my hair.
It's been said that you do the time and don't let the time do you.
I don't want to see the white jackets and be 302'd.
Listening to the radio as the love songs play.....
Daydreaming as I glance at the pictures of us together on Unity day.
The reason I love you is not hard to see or maybe it's just me.
My emotions run wild whenever you're next to me.
Expressing to you my visions and dreams while I'm incarcerated.
Promises that when I get out ....our lives won't be complicated.
My thoughts become hot air balloons and the English language becomes foreign.
A refugee in my own land except my name's not Lauryn.
Wishing I could hold you and fall into a deep sleep.
Time would stand still and nightmares would never creep.
Our love is like a mountain that has no peaks.
I'm missing you like crazy as I'm counting down the weeks.
I'm holding you hostage. You're a prisoner without the cuffs.
You're saving yourself for me, but it's evident I'll never be worthy enough even if I was free.
The money was my idol and it came so fast.....
Partying my life away and having a blast.
I never thought about how long the money and fun would last.
My rise and fall like a pool that's been deflated.
My capture and imprisonment greatly exaggerated and celebrated.
The families that I've hurt......by them I'm hated.
I've destroyed my neighborhood. That's what many have stated.
All this is true .....so I'm setting you free.
Consider this the last correspondence you'll ever receive from me.
Please accept this heartfelt apology. My love I am so....so sorry.
My love has revolved around you. My every waking thought has been about you.
Now you are telling me that you're setting me free.....
Whoa! wait a minute......How could this be?
Since we were little kids it's been me and you.
You were the paper and I was the glue.
My people said that you were not good enough for me, but I was still stuck on you.
This really hurts my heart as I read the words you've penned.
I realized not so long ago that this relationship must come to an end.
The transition will be difficult and it will take time for my heart to mend.
As I listen to the lockdown love dedications again and again.....
I'll have vivid memories of how this relationship began it end.
4ever in my heart
Lockdown Love
Oct 7, 2012
Oct 7, 2012 at 4:36 PM UTC
We can dream...
"Donald J. TrumpVerified account
@realDonaldTrump
China steals United States Navy research drone in international waters - rips it out of water and takes it to China in unpresidented act."
** Emphasis mine. Trump's misspelling: all his, baby.
**un·prec·e·dent·ed
ˌənˈpresədən(t)əd/
adjective
never done or known before.
"the government took the unprecedented step of releasing confidential correspondence"
synonyms: unheard of, unknown, new, novel, groundbreaking, revolutionary, pioneering, epoch-making;**
Dec 18, 2016
Dec 18, 2016 at 5:23 AM UTC
There's this guy who constantly gives me grief online
as if I need a reminder that I am not funny or smart
that I am incapable of posting any story without his remark
as if he should impart and bestow all of social media
with his divine and seraphic academia:
what is with that?
He posts comments about how illiterate my poetry is
how it doesn't follow the rules; the do-nots and the do's
pontificates how its not properly punctuated
as if I should give up altogether and just shine shoes
and forget trying to construct sentences
just wander in the carousel of nebula's
eternally seeking the tentacle of enemas:
what is with that?
This guy enjoys winding me up like a persistent hobby
the reverent devilment of sadistic entitlement
pushing my head under water for a digital baptism
that I should thank him for his rhetoric enlightenment
as if he was blessed with a correspondence talisman:
what is with that?
This isn't even a poem.
I am letting off steam like an overused kettle
fed up of his mortar forever rammed in my pestle
the temples are raging and my brain is just draining
to explode on cue on the next digital heckle
the cracked and broken vessel
into a vengeful steam-driven projectile:
what is with that?
This, < here > , is my only escape
and creative cathartic vent
I'll post this lament
with the stench of discontent
and tag his name and then just wait
for his feverish malcontent
that I should dare to
prevent his God-like dissent:
memo to self
to a digital antagonist
and his verbose verbal cyst
and the keyboard of twists
when you push
sometimes you get
a big shove back
so don't be surprised
by my riposte
and this poetic attack.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 8:56 PM UTC
Cobwebs;
That desperate correspondence
Of a salty conscience
... falls two droplets
Leaky prophet
NO, I have lost it!
Touched too much hot
Of the water faucet
Red hands
Scorned,
Reaching,
Torn
They remain this way
'Til they know what they're for..
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 12:53 AM UTC
From a pavement bistro, enjoying an alcove espresso and jam scone
After fresh rains, scenic smiles yet the road is of red sand
Young children play ball in park adjacent, some teen skaters pass by
Skirt-tugger hangs on for dear life, while she perambulates the baby.
The little, old man places with care, two stones behind his back wheels
His car stuck on the muddy, wet road
A small, slow push by stranger passing; it rolls easily from soft, red ruts
A wave of thanks, a friendly smile and off he goes.
Anna steps in ruddy hope, septuagenarian in jaunty hat and Sunday best
Ready to meet the one of a lifetime, widow of a decade
Correspondence long-time with namaste-man, final reward
Ribcage busy, beat in mouth, eyes flit eagerly, hearty salutes.
But nobody knows that someone is being watched,
From across the distance of the park, a clutch of strangers
Their beady eyes, hooded expressions, they wait
Fate is sealed when car drives by; irrevocably red.
S T, 11 May 2013
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 2:29 AM UTC
By accepting the terms of this agreement, you represent and warrant that you have the capacity to love.
Any similarity to a previous love is circumstantial; this love is not affiliated with other loves.
We assume no responsibility for for the shortcomings of prior loves;
we do, however, assume all responsibility for any loss, error, or communication failure incurred while in possession of this love.
It is, after all, love.
Love is available as is; no specific results are promised.
If you are at all unhappy, you are encouraged to return love.
If you find love to be damaged or defective, well, it's love.
Slight imperfections are to be expected, and add to the character of love.
Love may occasionally send you poems, letters, or declarations of its continuance. If you wish to opt out of this correspondence, you may cancel your account at any time.
The service may be temporarily unavailable from time to time; this may be due to maintenance, or periods of reflection. It in no way implies or forecasts termination of love, unless specifically stated so.
By accepting this agreement, you agree not to abuse love by acting in a manner inconsistent with the provisions listed above.
(please say yes)
Feb 9, 2011
Feb 9, 2011 at 2:19 PM UTC
there is paint
it peels from my eyes
in long gaseous ribbons
it is punctuated by
a bright blindness
where methodologies
reach no conclusions
paint peels from my ears
in uncontested echoes
projecting a self
generated audible universe
paint peels from my mouth
in black storms
of expanded consciousness
leaving behind a particulated
paralized partition
that leaves me disconnected
in a correspondence of color
A field of snow
turning blue under moonlight
in accord with the peeling of paint
like a light emitted by relative thought
paint peels, paint peels, paint peels
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 1:58 PM UTC
foolish anger
i do not blame her
she can not touch the sky
all she sees is love
and we are all together
entwined
to be designed
foolish anger
i do not blame her
she can not touch the sky
all she sees is love
and we are all together
entwined
to be designed
don't you know
when you Discriminate
all it bleeds
is just hate
so
remember your fate
and
the ******
and the drugs
money
and the things
but are all these
qualities
inbreed between our eyes
i can tell you
its not your third eye
blind
open your mind
can't you see
all this negative
you can find
in the media
and all things of its kind
foolish anger
i do not blame her
she can not touch the sky
all she sees is love
and we are all together
entwined
to be designed
we live in a world
hate and satisfaction
acceptance and rejection
some say traditional
i see irrational
observance
correspondence
and the media belief
spreads wide
spreads grief
and leads to the thief
of misconstrued relief
all the people see
is a world
with a focus
hate and satisfaction
acceptance and rejections
foolish anger
i do not blame her
she can not touch the sky
all she sees is love
and we are all together
entwined
to be designed
generations of many
goals of collections
and directions
filled with all the empty
elections
then corrections
you say traditional
all i see is irrational
wait
could it be just the passion
and the dreams
is all that the
ocean and the streams
have created within
imagine a world
left in the sun
gold in the sky
clouds of what came
clouds of what come
diamonds on the souls
searching this land
only wanting to be free
in a world
of
hate and satisfaction
acceptance and rejection
foolish anger
i do not blame her
she can not touch the sky
all she sees is love
and we are all together
entwined
to be designed
whats with this hate
wheres the satisfaction
all this acceptance
leads to rejection
with every moment
etched in some back stone
my friend bobby
dylan takes my soul
before we all go down
we will all remember
this young mans aching brow
something will all find us
when were buried in the snow
Pompeii was just a mystery
and now it is our home
consumed with a sense
of hate and satisfaction
acceptance then rejections
foolish anger
i do not blame her
she can not touch the sky
all she sees is love
and we are all together
entwined
to be designed
Foolish Anger
I do not blame her
She can not touch the sky
all she sees is love
and we are all together
entwined
to be designed
Foolish anger
i can only blame her
she lives in the sky
never knew love
always together
entwined
by design
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 1:27 PM UTC
~
*Long live the king!
That is until—zooks!—a correspondence
from one indiscreet mistress
falls into the wrong hands
and passes before
the queen's eyes
it then becomes time
for a little Shakespearean tragedy*
~
Jan 29, 2022
Jan 29, 2022 at 2:51 PM UTC
My words now float
up
to space
and then down to you
in a digital prayer, while
my flesh streaks
down
I-5 with grass seeds
in my hair
and paint on my face.
My soul isn't to be found though,
but of course
no ones' ever was
so i can't lodge any new complaints
into our ledger.
I think of you
and i think of whales
and a spider
braving a crawl space
in an attic that may only hold
starvation.
We're all insane;
there is no debate
on that,
but i fear i might be
growing saner
as i lose things to say,
so i have started
not to speak.
Instead
i try correspondence with the wind
but i only recieve changes
in air pressure
as a reply.
This drove Dostoevsky
under-
ground,
but it makes me want to run
to you:
yes to bare feet
and snow
and the prospect
that something was actually waiting
for us
on that blanket.
Now the sun begins
to rise
but the billboard lights are still on
despite the slumber
of the theme parks.
Soon they will wake
and lines
will spontaneously form
out of forged courtesy
and habit,
but i will wonder
when i can sleep
in your arms
under
a January snow
again.
Jul 25, 2010
Jul 25, 2010 at 7:39 PM UTC
massive flooding data
with fingertip suggestions
authority assertions..
our longing rises
for calm correspondence
and peaceful correlation..
but splitting continues
with mounting pain..
new vessels we need
very desperate need
for patterns to shape
those complex splits..
when vessels emplaced
we stand guard
informing screaming data
now gather or go...
you might blame
Adam and Eve...!
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 10:45 PM UTC
Mischievous; somewhere in between wayward and exasperating.
Expectations are aggravating;
When acceptance seems heavy in contrast to escaping.
Restraint and avoidance lacks tactics;
Both now seem increasingly attractive.
At once a beguiled captive; an observant idiot.
In correspondence, I've inadequate presence.
An incessantly sidelined wallflower.
An unintentionally shrinking violet.
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 2:48 AM UTC
I love the way it feels
To be barefooted
In the park,
The normally unexposed
Flesh of my feet
Brushing the blades of
Slightly browned grass
And dirt.
I hear the chirping
Of insect correspondence,
Croaking like frogs
In loud crescendos.
The lush green leaves
On the trees with fat wooden trunks,
They glow yellow under the
Fluorescent night lamps.
The leaves crinkle and crackle,
Shimmy in the wind,
Creating a summer staccato
Against the sounds
Emerging from those
Ever-chattering crickets.
A light breeze kisses my skin,
Twisting itself around
The darkness,
Morphing into a double helix,
DNA of the
breath
Of
Fresh air,
The summer
Heat
Briefly catching
A
Cold.
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 10:06 PM UTC
A report assembled over 3 years by NAASA scientists has now confirmed that there is life in outer space
They cannot however determine whether it is Martian, Venusion or Pluterian.
Whatever this life form is we know that it is posing as a great artist with both brush and word although our cryptologists are still trying to make sense out of the rambling messages this life form keeps transmitting.
Our artistic impression of this being likens it to the right frontal lobe of a human brain covered by a beret
Should you receive email or any other form of correspondence from this being you are strongly advised to ignore them as trying to decipher such messages can cause permanent brain damage
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 4:42 AM UTC
The time has come forth to ponder and think,
about the spiritual planes that are reluctantly unforeseen.
Of the dimensions that are surreal to those who use emotion and feel.
The mind creates an undeniable creation that disguises itself to be real.
Enduring and speculating on the thought of consciousness and love;
one will realize the reality of our minds perception defying the dogmatic breeding brawl.
Although our minds potential is finite and cleverly obscured;
we will begin to witness the marching of shooting stars so pure.
Imminently clear, we begin to reach a higher plane of degree.
Meditating to the point where we become one with the universe without plea.
Encompassing the ethereal and uncovering half-truths,
perceiving the ultimate correspondence intelligently and shrewd.
Where will one travel amidst the taunt of death and fear?
To a place that is all well too known, a herd of aimless tears.
Lacrimation will enlighten those when they have fallen in the solstices peak.
To experience a world that was previously known as a philosophical creation by the streams.
Metaphysical questions will mark its toll to the soul who learns to decipher no more.
Otherwise, contentions will cause despair and half truths will then have to bear.
Inducing a different consciousness to a degree not explored before;
one will embark on a alchemic journey of the mental transmutation to the inner soul.
Mental creation spurs the ****** of the universal degree of spirit and mind.
An illusion so concurrent to the law depicted within our eyes alter-mind.
Deception will avail to those who blindly believe they have prevailed;
when attempting to solve the riddle behind the creator of the tale.
By: Michael M. De La Fuente
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC
Hey,
I don't know your address.
I hope you never read this.
My therapist says that this is the way to get it all out of my head.
I was under the impression
that writing to someone
ended in burning the evidence.
That it was a kind of healing ritual.
Cleansed by the flames.
But no,
electronic almost-correspondence
appears to be the answer.
Here goes:
I got drunk today.
It seemed like the thing to do.
There was a couch,
it was grey.
Yeah, that one. The red wine stain
is still on the underside
of the cushion cover.
I prefer white.
I sat on the couch.
That's what they're for, couches,
so not much of a surprise, I guess.
But I don't know what to say,
I'm filling the void with
obvious facts.
I didn't even use a wine glass.
I filled a pink mug
full to the top.
Had to sip off the rim of it
so it didn't overflow as I carried it into the sitting room.
With the bottle of wine,
of course.
And I drank.
So I'm drunk now.
I keep laughing.
Of course, I'm not a happy drunk,
but everything is
wrong
anyway.
There's no one around to
tell me to shut up,
for one thing.
Not that I would mind
if there was.
It would fill the silence.
A silence punctuated with
pathetic little
giggles,
as I mentioned before.
I'm not sure what I'm laughing at.
Could be the man outside yelling at his car,
the alarm has been on for an hour now.
Maybe it's the fact
that you took the kettle with you,
and I haven't bought a new one.
I make tea in the microwave now.
Ridiculous.
I don't like you.
Not at all. I don't like the way
that you can't seem to
say anything of importance
and I don't like the way
that your absence
is like
it's like
being stabbed, but that's not enough I feel like I don't have the right to claim that kind of physical pain, I don't feel like I have the right to cry or even walk out my own front door for some reason, and for some reason I was not good enough for you even though neither of us tried our best because we thought we were enough but we weren't and I don't have the words to describe what you are to me, or what you were to me, only that grocery-store sushi used to be that pathetic thing you bought at past-eleven-pm-sometime and now I hate it so much that it's the only thing I can eat and I
I don't need you.
I don't. It's impossible for me to need you,
in the scientific, explainable
rational sense.
But explain it for me,
please.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 8:47 PM UTC
They cry turmoil thru my web-pages,
pages on pages of Tribunes and Suns and Times
and Quarterly
"Free Burma!"
it's all turkey and pig-latin to me,
just "dunno!" like a dunce-capped miscreant,
inept of their vitriol
as i was not so great at geography
i got by before junior high.
Where-the-tarnished-nation is it?
"Free Burma!"
Notice the elephant in the room
like a whale named *****
attempting to escape
brothers of all of ours
engulfed in war
some ocean somewhere someone is dying;
notice that elephant in our laptops
ivory and blue tooth and iphones
telling me, showing us
to care
i do / want to
we should and we must
yes
"Free Burma!"
will i need to donate a dollar,
two, three? will i receive
a correspondence
of a child i am saving
a face of a country
i'm ignorant to...
will it's big sad puppy eyes be
commercialized?
i am no less as educated for not
following the strife of thousands
my own is as heavy here as an orca's leap
"Free Burma!"
what cage, bear or mouse trap
have they gotten themselves
and ourselves into?
if it's anything like Yayo or Martha
business
i have a better "good thing" to do
but if it is
like famines in Africa,
Mendelson, or Tibetan Monks
on strike with kung-fu skills
i will join U2,
(and if she's aware) with Oprah power
activate!
(fist to fist)
"i will be a well of spring-water!"
and she a holy cow, a worshipped saint
"Free Burma!!"
free water
free of fear
free everyone, i pray,
under this sky
wipe away all tears
free you of your worries
free of all chains
free of mines
free of lies and borderlines.
Free to be
together
free to live and choose to see
A planet a place
A peace
"Free Burma!"
Freedom
as one
community.
For you, for me.
Home.
Free...
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC