My social skills are strong enough
I can live with parties & get togethers
But home is most comfortable
Even though my definition of home is weak
Home is where I can be alone
Certainly preferable
To small talk, oh how I hate small talk!
It's just a long road not worth the walk
Words are me when they are written, not spoken
And I'm the one who prefers to listen
Sit back and watch everyone else go
And I never liked putting labels on things
Too organized, not enough chaos
But as much as I try
My insecure human nature
It loves to name
And it names me an introvert
By the loosest definition
I don't want to name myself anything
I just want to be me
But even 'me' has been dibbed by labels
Not even 'I' is really mine
Because it is shared with everyone else
And the only way I feel better is
Is when I'm alone at 3: 26 a.m.
Where 'I' and 'me' feel like my own

He was always a quiet man,
never seemed to look up...

as if his eyes were afraid of
what it might mean to
see the sky

His gaze seemed neither
fierce, nor soft.
Neither attentive or lost

He would never look at you,
it was as if he was looking everywhere
except where you happened to be.

I never saw a smile cross his lips
I never heard a laugh escape his lungs
I never heard him curse
I never heard him yell

When he spoke, I could hear the dust
falling off his breath

It wasn't a monotone sound, but I imagine
he sounded like what trees or mountains
would sound like, had they voices.

He existed in the loosest sense of the word

He was an oddity and an enigma
His quietness and unobtrusiveness
could be somewhat offputting

Yet...he was often able to blend into
the background like a rain drop
in a storm.

You can imagine our surprise
when he stumbled into town one
hot afternoon, clothes looking like
he'd fallen into a vat of red paint.

Splattered. Head to toe.
In between his head and his toes,
cradled in his arms, was the
body of a young girl

He had found her in the woods,
he had said, voice devoid of emotion.
She had been lying off the path,
in a pool of crimson.

An investigation turned up nothing
The people, in need of a murderer,
settled on the only man they could.
The man who hadn't shed even one tear
over the death of a young child

The trial was a farce
The kangaroo court adjourned
Death by hanging

The man remained silent throughout
the proceedings.  Quietly answering
the frothing prosecutor's questions
with the same demeanor as someone
would use when discussing the weather

He wasn't defensive
He wasn't derisive

He didn't plead, nor pray
when the verdict was announced

On the day of the execution
nearly everyone in town was in attendance
Most of them couldn't tell you why

The noose around his neck, he stared
back at the crowd.  Stared through them,
as if they didn't exist.

When the rope snapped taut,
The man flailed as his body
involuntarily spasm'd.

When he finally passed,
his body swinging lazily
under the gallows,
I caught the hint
of a smile

Only for a moment.

I found it odd

That he would only show
a sign of life
as it was ending

I caught Gnat
cheating.

caught her in it.

Not in the bed,
but enough
in the heart.

She said,
"Yea,
I ******
Jose,
so what?"

And I said,
"so what?
I love you,
and you **** me
like this?"

I wanted to hit her,
wanted to say with an open palm
that my heart
was a closed ******.

That it hurt
when she forced her love in.

So Gnat left,
and I got bitter,
I drank
and drank
in that lonely apartment.

She had a good time
with
Jose,
but came back
when he was done
with
her.

So what is trouble,
but attachment?

Attachment that you can't
pry loose,
even when the loosest nails
are easy in a crowd of girls,
when the heart
is a rigid baseboard.


So, I felt happy
for a second,
then depression hit again
when we ******,
and I knew
she
was
gone.

I'm saying this a thousand times,
but bitterness grows,
and when I find a good one,
I let her go,
because she might cheat,
so I cheat on her
and in conversations over verse
I let it be known.

But I miss
companionship,
true love.

Now it's ruined.

I know it has been a while
But in that time
I've been trying
To devise this plan
To ultimately become better
At who I am as man
Before seeking forgiveness
Maybe a second chance

Many daily debates
On how long to wait
What could possibly be
The perfect time to come through
Use a strategically made move
To swoosh and swoop you
Right off your Nike shoes

Do whatever it is I had to
To get back with you
Wheels were set in motion
Back in early June
Following Blues Clues
Your family had left
In order to find you

My insides diminished
Turning to shhh the minute
I saw you with a dude
That basically unfastened
My last and loosest *****
Tail between my legs, I fled
Hoping it would be you
That would reach out instead

He forgot how to help himself.

He forgot how to love,accept,and respect himself.

He now loves feeling his pain,
and wishing things were still the same.
Exchanging brains,
for drugs with names,
that will land him under the ground,
or inside of a cage.

It’s a crime to wait,
for life to take,
the righter path,
with a mind that hates.
At night he’ll pace
his mind will race,
yet sit in place,
designed to waste.

Why does he do it?
So self destructive.
He claims he isn’t an addict,
but isn’t above it.
The future is bleek,
so no need to recover.
A bleeding heart bruises,
and is misleading in color.
At the moment before,
the moment he snaps,
and right before he’d lose it,
*his music *oozes from the loosest of nooses.

My name is Timmy and I had a dog named Lassie.
My father is an alcoholic and my mother is sassy.
Mom has affairs with every man who comes to town.
When it comes to Mom, you'd better believe she's been around.
My mom is pregnant but it isn't Dad's baby.
I had to shoot Lassie because she had rabies.
But before I could shoot her, she sank her teeth into my *****.
I had to get some painful shots and I didn't like that at all.
Lassie got out because Dad was drunk and didn't shut the door.
Lassie got in a fight with a rabid wolf and my ***** are still sore.
I constantly daydream about being kidnapped.
I want somebody to take me away from this crap.
My mom is the loosest woman in town and my dad stays plastered.
Mom and Dad never got married so I guess that makes me a *******.

As I stand in the field, it occurs
To me, like a mosquito bedding down
in an ear, how light I am this
life. How shallow do I feel
To have trekked in loosest soil, over
Land and across years yet
have so little fiber clinging in my
soles for proof. I may as
Well have been but a step in
Sand at a tide that gasps
its opens shut at night.

Giving a girl like me your tshirt is the best thing you can do.
Its like falling asleep with your scent suffocating my surroundings and breathing like never before.
Its like falling asleep in your arms wrapped so tightly around me with the loosest grip.
Its like falling asleep with your soft lips kissing my entire body and wanting more.

Its like falling asleep next to you
when
your
not
really
there.

i am a lot like sleeping laughter
in faintly room warmer windows
bound tightly with light's loosest
fingers mingling with the atomized
aroma of a basket of flowers dusted

                  just

with barely afternoon's short rumpled
heat glaring in through the slight
abrasion of sight I call my window
peeling with fresh strums of Summer's
fair cords singing me softly into the
palm of night's tiny hands

‘I don’t trust you anymore,’ I said.
It was playful, as it resulted from a humorous exchange of kisses
in which I was seduced and then kissed in such a way that provoked a cringe.
I was feigning frustration as I giggled, as I had been fooled once again.

Though, when I said that, he let out a little whimper.
The implication of what I just uttered, had it been sincere, was momentous.
At the same moment, we both knew.
‘Oh baby that’s not what I meant, I trust you with my everything, just not kisses right now.’ (laughing)
He then kissed me deeply, and things went quiet again.
Running through my mind, constantly –
‘I trust you with kisses too.’

Trust is a fickle thing.
Twigs fallen from trees look quite elegant until you snap them in half and try to put them together again.
A spine can recover from being broken, but not without suffering.
I suppose I don’t really understand at this point –
I have never had half of a broken twig in my hand,
and I have never had the feeling of spinelessness that must come with losing who held me up.
I have never had those kind of tears in my eyes.
I hope I never do.

Most sticks get stepped on in the end,
and that is why I am afraid.
I cherish so greatly our moments intertwined,
laying in my bed,
laying on the couch,
sitting in a classroom.
My body is still my body, and your body yours,
but sharing mine with you and having yours shared with me
is when my body feels comfortable on this earth.

I got in my bed tonight, and I took off my bra.
It was done up in a way I would not have done it up.
I keep it tight, tight enough to leave imprints in my skin.
‘The tightest setting,’ I always tell him.
Tonight I didn’t remind him, and I discovered it to be on the loosest setting.
Intentional or unintentional,
I felt love when I took it off.

1. His hands travelled over my back, reaching for the edges of my bra that he had undone.
       I was comfortable without knowledge of my clothing’s organization.
2. He was fumbling in the dark, and his fingers landed on the clasps keeping my bra loose.
       I’m not sure if he’s tired of seeing marks on my skin
       or if he just unconsciously assumed it shouldn’t be too tight.
       Or maybe it signified nothing at all,
       and I just am always finding new ways to love him.
3. Tonight I feel him all over me.
       Hands on my skin, words in my head.
       The lullabies that the movement of his body sings and the beauty that grows with every word he speaks
       are overwhelming the whispers of sadness and anxiety within me.
       His love drowns the negativity out of my soul tonight.

I’m not sure of anything.
Whatever trust is, I don’t think I could define.
I only know we have it.

i am brain speaking through the features we both know

hello

blood chugs along like a train through the veins of my brain
giving me permission to change my motion, feel emotion
like warmth from the sun
hitting the bumps of my skin
hiding the horizon behind microscopic flesh mountains

close your eyes
see sunrise at any time
this is my religion

if clock is the only fact your body knows, say hello

picture a train pulling into the station past the snow
feel it's echos shake the loosest joints of your body
like radio bass attempting to wave the ***** of your face

stay licking your wounds and

imagine
the theory of God
as some printing press
producing repetitive lines from an expired advice column

imagine
hugs are confirming
that we're both just body

imagine
me as before and after
LiquidinOrgan and SomedaySoil

imagine
being complex enough
to have one word
to express the undefinable mess inside your chest

imagine
uttering one word
just to feel this poem

there is a man waiting a man waiting in short arms small
round, round round cheeks gaunt cheeks in fat eyes with
a hard nose a smart mouth a quick unspeaking mouth
a tense hurtles fist of lips and teeth not moving doesn't
say a word and he is waiting in his short arms fat eyes
and quiet mouth at the quiet mouth of every little dark
half empty half full glass of night and day at the end of
the night when you pull your lids tight and he is waiting
with his sharp hands his ludicrous expected hands of
your waiting your whole life for them when your walking
down down down in the little quiet dark of a half empty
street he's waiting at the end his lips pulled back over
the tight loosest grin of fleshless fat teeth tickling teeth
at the back of your neck at the back of your neck tingling
faster and faster at the same exact pace of your whole life
waiting.

I am counting on my fingers
in front of a mirror
those I’ve known
who’ve died
of fright.

I am working the loosest brick
from the house of god
while standing on the backs
of two kids
whose father
borrowed
then sold
a crowbar.

I am telling my abuser
how to direct
with a magnifying
glass
the stream
of god’s
****.

I am charging the riding mower’s
battery, I am alone, I have a hair

on my head
for my son
to pull.

im imagining you as a staircase
suspended in space
an object defined by gravity
in its loosest sense

the ambiguity, a pull of its own
draws me closer
though i doubt my ability
to capture light between my fingers

you are dripping
through a galaxy
i have been stitched into

a compositional enigma
dark matter
there are questions that
the universe cannot ask itself

and still
space is your canvas

there are dimensions that
materialize when you speak

i kindly ask:
would you whisper
some

into me

In the outer reaches of Proximity
light years away from Belief
there's a breed smarter than us
( Hard NOT to believe ! )
Not only smarter but superior
in every way but loose
for we are the loosest bowels
in the bowels of the universe

But that's not the whole point
The whole point is something else
And that means nothing at all

The intent is obvious
The result is dubious

We call, at one Time or another, inmates
of the Prison for the Criminally Deaf and Dumb.