Somewhere between the ruthless January and the grey Springs,
I realized that my feet had begun to sink
way too under the ocean bed
and that I could no longer swim;
and to call it suffocating would be an understatement.

I never could justify to myself
the need I held of listening to your voice.
Sometimes, I would listen
to the dial tone for hours
and fall asleep to it;
and to call it crippling would be an understatement.

I spent Saturday night without you,
flipping through old photographs and listening to blues.
I can tell from what it felt like inside,
that I have never been more neglected.
And to call myself abandoned would be an understatement.

I would watch the short shadows elongate
and the rising sun, set
and yet,
I thought that if I waited a little more,
I could figure out why I wasn’t just scarred but,
scarred to death.
And to call myself numb would be an understatement.

And with each time you hung up on me,
each time you made me cry,
each time you left me alone,
left me to here to die,
I put on a broken smile.
And to call it love would be an understatement.

I plan to have a lazy day.

I start by waking up and stretching.
I push my body into my comfy mattress and smile.
It feels good to lay around and feel the sun from my small window on my face.
It's a lovely day out. I smile again.
Then my feet hit the floor and the day begins.
So, right after I:

Shower-------get dressed
Wash the Dishes
Clean my bedroom
Clean my bathroom
Vacuum
Mop the Kitchen floor
Do 4 loads of laundry
Pick up some groceries
Put them away
Take out the trash
Then prepare a weeks worth of lunches to take to work...........

I plan to have a lazy day.

Tricky whimsical mistress calling cards in effort to ******* all the trades, did you make her hit list? Missed me, you cynical simple hypocrites the dodge got me the **** out of the way and struck mayday with swiftness. Quick kick me out of the prisons for shifty self lifting over barbara’s wired fences, I’m relentless and restless so lets just end this and forget this, I’m angry and after much less friendship than forensics. Automated autopsy for the auto industry, the death of a sales clerk who outta be the enemy but instead we celebrate his tendency to sell his soul for our ovendulgances, Over seven seas of wishy washy tidal waves, all for city crushing some for finding wives, most for breaking levis and I believe all for soaking your leviathan levi’s. Its cool, it only makes them look more vintage. Pay homage to home owners with gun holsters with loose ammo aimed at the abdomen who work there ***** off, to pay for rockets and not blasting off, the thinking cap is off and my gut instinct is locked and loaded up to the pistol pulling motion that my emotions are exploring. Pardon the Patron in my person, I’m all for derooting for the home team version of the underdog under pressure to understand the burden of playing for a chance to play again. Mission accomplished there’s nothing to accomplish, we’ve done it mr. president, now tell me when we can stop it. We’ve lost it, and got not a lot to show for it except some sweet, sea-foam green graffiti on top of your “vote for me” posters. Pose for the camera angle wrangle up your strangle-holds to warm you up, November’s getting cold. And not to be so impolitely impolitical its just unusual how much better I feel with I dissect the system and then die right there with em.
Tricky whimsical mistress distressed she heard from a witness  that some future mother died tonight he stayed inside she took to the SKIES and DOVE, depressed mode impressed himself when he’s alone, he voted for gravity to be the casualty as long as her light was shown. Sown into his baby blanket baby blank face wont take it as well as she did, and she did well. Nah, she did good. Its understood that understatements under estimate the estimated when thrown into a ratio of how far we have and backslash or can go. Oh ego in my hand hold, let go and eat ****, drop far below a parachute and pray for your landing to be tragic. Prisoners, prepare to loot the loose change when theres no more defenses, Cuz when Barbara goes down, as to do her wired fences. The noose hangs delicately on malevolence street across the corner from the coroners office where someone is staring at me, brutally. I pay homage to my hostage holding home-owner hiding the hypocracy of hissing out a nice try. and roll over on the notion of note worthy nihilism he’s a nice guy but we don’t necessarily see eye to eye. Adrenaline you win again you sin sipping sack of lack of sobriety, Don’t cry to me when irony takes out the fight in me, I’ve got my synopsis, its so chaotic that everybody wins.

To the princess trapped in the glass bottle.
Take a few steps back, I'm going to bust the glass and catch you before you fall.
If all else fails, at least we'll have this memory to stand  above all else.
I've walked passed you once before,
I never thought to stop.
Reason,
Your lips turned up right, eyes quick to roll.
The silent treatment of turned backs. Ill gotten tempers.
I never once thought through all the complications that the glass was actually dingy.
That you actually could have been tired of being passed up because of how high up you were, the trouble of broken glass.
Jagged grooves. Smooth binges, blind understatements.
I applogize on my behalf,
The labels aren't anywhere as good as they use to be. but I promise.
If you make that silly face one more time.
That one face that equates to "duh"
I'm throwing this rock right at your head.
If you were anymore transparent, I could swear you just rolled your eyes again

This one absolute truth she was the embodiment of peace and grace they speak of guardians in
Childhood with such sweetest words she created fairest order if the day was mean and reproachful
It wasn’t known I think many children knew one such as Marie a soul so gentle we played in the coldest
Rain herd the thunder sound like great rocks were falling off a wagon being driven across heaven cold
And shaking we would regroup on her front porch she seemed to shake off the cold and her warm
Words were so comforting I believe I starting thinking she is special she is taking us beyond childhood
She possessed a central framing to her thoughts they seemed beyond her years and they instilled
Questions childhood wonders were many and it’s nice to stop now and cast our mind back to that time
Just maybe things are a little too hard at this moment in the lives of some the tremble she did win over
It was beyond her words it was her inner nature released through the heart and eyes of a small child
She was a stillness that calmed invited you to spill with her over the spillway of running water not be
Upset not to get entangled take the strong wind and use it for winging your way to heights that it
Afforded she taught ineffable lessons by just simply turning of her head you followed a little force of
Nature that was attuned to the spirit she spoke often of wanting to be a nun her boundless soul
Would have served her well she possessed a quiet command of life and what it was all about how she
Stirred your heart and emotions it was a hard and fast rule that all parents weren’t and didn’t meet the
Dreamy expectations of being Ward and June Cleaver at low times I don’t think she called the blue birds
Down from the trees but she had to be on intimate basis with them hard difficult problems were
Dissolved favorably when you hung out with her she had an ability to draw power that empowered
You wasteful and hurtful matters turned from glaring to a soft shadow that mixed into understatements
They shrank to a size that you could think on them and then turn aside and play her great help was her
Unflagging optimism it was the greeting you met when trouble flared she was centered in loveliness
It was like you were entering this misty cloud she had the uncanny ability to see life with sweetness
And you were pulled in underscored by it a dance was called from a far off place and your feet glided as
Your heart was filled with delight adult life was more alien childlike innocence couldn’t throw of the
Cancer that came and claimed her life at a young age she left a devastated husband and five precious
Little girls I wish they could read this and know their mother as the rich and precious child that touched
And gave us a shelter that was made from tenderness it bides us well on days that assail instead of
Giving encouragement she was always on hand to do that for us truly life is a mystery that it would
Reward her with such dismay but I bet if she stepped out of the shadows her words would be the same
As they were in childhood there is a place a man told of when you are there you love your family for the
First time the way they should be loved but you couldn’t make it to that high ground you want to wait
And anticipate their arrival to such a place of wonder he said that when you walk through nature’s
Grassland that it has intelligence no longer do you have to walk country lanes and you provide the
Stirring no now stimulating wonder is in every living thing you blend you are entrusted with richness
That captures you on every level everything contributes speechlessness occurs in two ways you are so
Overwhelmed words are arrested but you don’t need them communication is by pure thought do we
Not yearn in our speaking to be heard and understood an fall short not now Marie just caught up to her
Childhood that had perfection that was limited now all limitation is removed

one day
always dries the tongue
always tense
future tense
i’m twenty three
i’ve set out to find myself
at least four times
from here
                                                  you can’t see what’s up there
                                  though its walls are made of windows
                                         i was up there once, and looked down

i asked why misunderstanding perception
and learned most of them looked out for the cityscape the lights sometimes.


s was a dancer
stretches and
taps to silent rhythms
knotted in her throat        in thought
sometimes at night
under lover’s sheets
they could flow from her lips
sweet hyperboles
and desperate understatements
and her shoulders would release
too soon
she was dead asleep
      
                                         t   the perfect audience
he was multilingual
even with small phrases and s thought::
please please think bigger
than you and me

t::
i want
shelves full
(with all of your words)
and we’ll cover the living
      walls
with framed cyprus and stone
it’s ok it’s ok it’s ok
today we are twenty three
i can feel your breath on my face
i am not domestic
every place but home
inspires me
a time someday for us
they’ve flourished
snatched in november like everything
gone
tell me
the glory days
are not
over
flow


is it possible
to be blown by what i thought
could never happen     could never have
never be
and
remorse for decaying dreams
                                                          ­                  a bibliothèque   a bibliothek
                                                      ­           its towers pierce through foliage
                                                         ­                               the center caved in
                                                              ­  only the letters b  i  b  l  o remain
                                                          ­   above the threshold    and some
                                                            ­               pages grip tight to the walls
                                                          ­                  insects inhibit the rest

    

  we stretch softer legs like fossilized rock
and feel shame in the pride once taken
in one day   i will give up everything
dance on tuesday nights      worship the sanctity of table talk     early mornings envisioning the thousands of events this corner no doubt witnessed  trek øyangen and for the first time fall so in love with snow and tomorrow feel that same ecstasy for the aegean ultraviolet a



of course there is not   that would be too **** logical


we fill to the brim spill into the other
the first time::
walking conciliation there were at least 8 others  the nervous ha ha release of the shoulders a timid forte   something castle passageway and cruel majesty if i did..no memory of any other exists submerged in the cascade i could tell
                          what was happening it was your turn finally
                  adventure bestowed
                           when i shouted
                                                    ­      italian for
...i know what you mean


other times
it’s boiling      steam clenching the small throat of the
archways screaming
like the baby in the room
hardly air still
dare not breathe
at burned hands only
wanting to
help me   


    october times:
                                                      i wander off the page
                                                            ­      its warm here
                                                     homesick rising   not
                                        for a house or manmade landscape
                                                       ­       i sunk my teeth
                                                       into a chance to hold
                                                        a beloved memory
                                                          ­were you pouring
                                                                ­ into me or i
                                                                ­                 you




—suddenly
location was
absent
only caffeinated confusion
words were never difficult now used all wrong
forte timida
you casually drank your pour over
as i searched for a changed thing

s to t:: how is it that we love so many and need so much more and still have room for each other?


                                   t::            i’ve built you a sanctuary
west coast luxury
east coast 1920
where surrounding trees are ablaze
you will not burn
in a city whose lights have no power over stars
i’ve wrought an iron balcony
for kissing
overlooking
a cobbled courtyard
for mornings
music
go there in the meantime
when you can’t remember
i’ll visit when you want me





my thighs
carry everything
ice cracks cold sweat   ears ringing rejection   history    home moving   not moving defense precision par excellence capablebutyoucutmylegsfromunderme
flying contraption­
leaving that behind
fast evanesce
a pounding like cutting
but breathing
normally

s to t:: only you let me
bleed



the hard-
covers
come
falling
a fantastic mess
the balcony
magnifique on fire

What else can I cover my mouth with
Other than clear, cherry-flavored lip balm?
It stains, otherwise
Goes where I ask it not to go
Its' gradients are as spread and varying as strands on a feather
I prefer, to be different, to taste better than I look
After all, it's my story that always wins
It was never Red Riding Hood
But the enigma beneath the cloak
I am one of those girls
Hairy and imperfectly coiffed
Veiled in nudes, beiges, and understatements
When men look at me, I wonder what their gazes snag on
There's no snare of life about me except the berry on my fingers and toes
These chipped, bright nails are my calling card
Through the cracks in the polished veneer you can see
**** me filtering through
I hide my hands , tuck the berry away
This is not what I want you to see

My father would read between the lines
To find a comfortable place to exist
His words were veiled by a velvet cloak
Understatements wrapped neatly in their over-thinking

He would wince in pain as sharp gravel
Would impale his cold calloused feet
The road was unenviable in its condition
Yet he never left the discomfort of the ground

He had no proclivity to shepherd my path
He would let me stumble and crash over my own roots
So I took my time and I kept my distance
For his battered body was foreign to my eyes

He would drift out of sight, out of mind
But out of heart was a different story
As all the shoal and sand settled down around him
He remained governed by a far different wave

What else can I cover my lips with
Other than clear, cherry-flavored lip balm?
It stains, otherwise
Goes where I ask it not to go,
It's' gradients as spread and fine as strands on a feather.
I prefer, to be different, to taste better than I look.
After all, it's mystery that always wins.
It was never Red Riding Hood
But always the darkness beneath the cloak.
I am one of THOSE girls
Hairy and imperfectly coiffed
Wrapped in nudes, beiges, and an ocean of understatements
When men look at me, I wonder what their gazes hinge on
There's no snare of life about me
Except the berry on my fingers and toes.
These chipped, bright nails are my calling card
Through the cracks in the polished veneer you can see
**** me filtering through.
I hide my hands, tuck the berry away
This is not the me I want you to see.

Try being a writer who loves to express with words, however driven by deep emotions and most times words can not quite explain to your reader the depths of how you feel. Example phrases like "I love you" are understatements.

my mind encircles thoughts
of our entangled hearts

and juxtaposed lives

who you were
what I tried to be
when we began
where it stopped
why it started
and o, how we came

but an autopsy

of my words
couldn’t even reveal

the cause
of this one

so it’s just another night

lost

to understatements
and repression

I need to write a poem.

I spent the majority of yesterday sitting on trains, looking at people's hands. Never, had the golden bands, slipped around fleshy fingers, stood out to to me the way they did that day. It was like I had found Wally and my eyes couldn't look away. Never, had I noticed the way human hands react to sound, speaking their own language, ignored because no one understands or cares. I only just noticed my own pair. They had always been there, my hands, under-appreciated. I don't have to look at them to be sure they're attached, but I check anyway.

HAVE you ever been so tired you start believing you are the universe? And it all makes sense. Like that one time you were mowing the lawn without sunglasses in the thick of summer and the glare of sunlight stings your unprotected eyes. All that's needed to cure your festering mind is a slight droop, lashes finding their nests, and the song stops. Sometimes, I test my lashes but whether they rest or not, I still see the universe in you.

SOUGHT out and with more than a few doubts. Half that and what do you have? Well, partly you but also partly me. It's a strange feeling knowing something you thought you had under control just a few days ago has spiraled into something unrecognizable. There's still something there... I think.

YOU get so caught up that you forget your body exists in space and time and you lose any awareness or feeling and when you finally return to yourself you notice the aches of where you forgot.

AND admit it, the worst is yet to come and even when it does come what guarantees your safety then? "Oh no, not me! I've been through hell already."

YOU are what you eat. Lying doesn't do any good, as transparent as you are. Laughter is equally as useless. Forget about puzzles, pine trees, or power outages, they're just distractions until the inevitable something comes and smacks you upside the head. Are you used to me speaking gibberish? Tactical evasion is almost a superpower by now.

HAVE we spoken lately? You and me? I thought I saw you sitting across from me the other day. You weren't paying attention, of course, you never do. Which was great for me, it is rare that one finds the chance to see you in your uninhibited state. 60 seconds and ****, I lose you, like magic, my observation told me that's who you are.

TAUGHT but never educated in the ways of cartography, I have a hard time finding you. You aren't helping any, declaring hide-and-seek is your forte and I tend to give up in hopes you'll pop out from behind the coat rack and claim your title. Number one in all things, except understatements.

ME and not you but, someone else, because it's chilly outside and I needed an endlessly flowing supply of words. Theirs is a story of worth but I will not be paying attention because I am looking for you. Every night the moon reads me stories even though I beg for music. When day comes the sun tells me to run because concepts like love, fall in front of your gravity.

WHO believes them? It isn't cute. It isn't funny. Carry me home after it is all over and you will still find, within the sodden depths of solitude, nothing. It's wet socks, long fingernails, and notebook paper without a perforated edge. No time for a quick reading of the palm, fortune is just a made-up word sometimes substituted for hope.

I want to go somewhere with you, but we have to go slow, like a turtle with a purpose, and when we arrive we won't be able to tell the difference between outside and that other thing.

AM I justified in hating injustice? All I ask is that you tidy up and if I must, I choose the Dirt Devil. Vacuuming is my favorite kind of cleaning because it *****. Am I insane because I find comfort in the fact that, while I can't find you, I know you?

[To Mary C.]
I've met again a violin and a piano in a cooperative anguish of a story.
To reminisce
(Or is it "recall"? "Reminisce" is only laced with joy)
Your love for that black and white ministry of music that I believe there is
And taste it together with notes of those honey strings before which I shiver delightfully instead
Make and made a prompt haste and nostalgic astrae longed to be left by a human's bed.
Just to let you know and sense,
I'm having and feeling you too on my thoughts and oh so unspoken words of laced understatements,
Right on that Rainy Song dúo.
I'm sure you're sleeping tight.
But no harm done.
It's better this way. Not binding you to your face, calling you without name or reason.
Really, hope my act doesn't creep or leave out, it's form and prolonging chaotic and loud
It is that "God-like" state who makes me a mute lovesick fool,  a wannabe paramour to any of your kin, who wants to pepper kisses on each tear and stare in each other's eyes for hours with no matter bespoken.
I'll leave simply my note at the table,
Like one leaving the other in the bed before dawn.
No "I'll stay" nor "I'm leaving",
Tinted with tenerezza cazza.
No explaining, the void necessary for the sense of reason and authenticity bigger than the material the literal.
Don't get up, don't bother, sleep tight, don't rise.
Just be aware you were on my mind, may that make you rise.
Experience ya later, not see ya later,
In salty waters our stars I now fight to see in the dark at that signs of the clock without glasses on.
I wish to finally dispose of needs of my vessel for at least those few holy moments clad in ombré.
Have the dearest night,
Goodbye.
~
PS Don't look for sense, don't name it or trap it, just let it experience you, kiss you and have it. Dismantle, dismantle the logic together before it becomes a sicario forever.
Eyelids closing and ending

Contempt this freedom,
Need enslavery for security;
Feel apathy, regret, hopelessness;
Path of continuity - too easy, too often.

Provoke temptress's scorn
Mislead the misadventure
Furtive undermining conscious
Tripped out and over-bored
Neglectfully narcissistic, never satiated.
---------
I don't want to be a poet,
Intellectually engaged with conceptuality;
I want to be popular,
Adored for simplistic, concise axioms -
Connective understatements stated plainly.
On second thoughts...now I realise...
I don't want to be popular - I want to be an advertiser!
---------
Comrade, yours is the sweetest victory:
Ruled the collection, dispersed, then died.
Never to know the scorn foreshadowed;
Realising no fulfilment, save vengeance
Of victims truncated and tortured raw;
Hollowed abomination, human condemnation.
---------
What am I saying?
To whom?
Of whom?
Since when?
Why now?
For what?
How come?
Where from?
[Who's who, who knows whom!?]

Man, whoever said 'long distance is hard'
Has to be on the royal court of understatements.
It's not hard, it's sitting on the ledge of possible,
Looking out onto the abyss of impossibility.
It's being the one left behind,
Hoping their heart doesn't set up roots where their feet have.
It's being the one who left,
Learning to balance the old life with your new one.

Long distance is paranoia at war with trust.
It's hearing your partner's fingers tap tap tap
On the phone screen,
And wondering what messages this 'nobody' is receiving.
It's having unbalanced days stretched out over hundreds of miles
And hoping they miss you, too.

Long distance is making your dog sleep in their spot
Because that's your version of a warm body.
Long distance is sending them off with love
And hoping it's enough to bring them home safe.
Or bring them home at all.

It's as old as war, adventure, itchy feet,
And I will cling to its age like a prayer
Whispering to it at night in my dog-warmed bed
Asking for the power to not starve off of
10 minute phone calls and 'thank you's.

Because he will always be worth it

Must “speaking”
be only referred to
in the terms
of the humane apparatus of speech?
Isn’t it not only verbal?
Is it also feelings,
murmur of understatements fleeting,
trees and leaves
in a sage’s patience swaying,
child’s wailing,
Heart’s blazing?
Isn’t silence speaking too?