Birthday

i knew when you were ready
and that was the last moment i could read your mind
when little, little you blinked  for that first time
i had no idea what you thought of this world
i still have no clue
but you seem to like it here.

Burns

i once said i was bitter with venom that stung now i am silent with hoarse throat, i am messy with
burning voices and i am determined to move past this
like the swamps of despire or atreyu
this is a child's movie
a child's move
a dance to ruin and tremble my eyes to falter and fake my truths
perhaps i am being over dramatic
or lonely
but mostly i am unsure
i wish she was awake, to laugh and smile and hold my hands as she walked.
to reassure me that creation is beautiful.

copy paste

i don't know when it started but i love you
for your flaws and imperfecrtions like
dents on smooth silver
drunk as a fish
im thinking of you and your tiny hands
on my skin
i want you
 these things id never say aloud
these beings id never be
theses happiness'es id never hold
and these labels id never fold.
i want you back to me, with out these empty questions or meanless pleasentries.
i want you back to me
thank good ness i could log in,
so i could delet this
so i could regret this so i could post this.

a new new england

waiting for friend s to arrive
like a train
to hit me
like a song
could i be
like an artist
to create
like an emotion


let me ramble a bit about music
it summonds up memories like smell
unerasable and potent.

screened window

gently and eloquently the
rain establishes my hopes
and my desires
for more time
setting the mood and not quite  the place of doctors and
itchy bug bites
peeling skin slowly
-as to get larger peices-
i am burned by the sun.

Slip

slip splash
type tip tack
trip
fall fling flown
forget
slip slash
sound

so today

i will walk around with a friend
or by myself
i will always be hugged by her pudgey exsitential hands
as we unveil the world
each bus makes us jump
its to loud and breakes
the gentleness of a winter afternoon

Frozen yogurt

cold hands type out poems
of latent homosexuals and promiscuious drunkards
these are his heroes
yet i shrug and laugh
type and type

they are sad and confessionial
revealing as a silk scarf on a white neck
i suppose a woman's place is not in love poems
that she (drunk ) too pissed on the carpet
or shit before sex
i suppose this doesn't happen

she tried

shes going to do it.
i guess we are not enough enough
the anchor
the weight
the
heavy pulling
broke i suppose and now
all that remains in her way is time