and then you touched me

you tangled and mangled your way into my being;

me
next to your moist fingertips
increased affection in the
cutaneous existence of
what is here
and there
and light and gray
and dark
and then you touched me.

the lark outside my window panes of
membrane
transmits noisily cartoonish absurdity;
the most lovely thing emotive,
fluidly,
translucent, and bubbling
with wonder
wandering aimlessly as
the memory of your
passionate energy
lingers in my memory
as sticks and fragments
of glossy knowledge

slow moving fried connectivity
cyclic and cyclonic weather
that is human tragedy;
severed

what's wrong with bubbe

words that sit in my heart
passionate energy

soft young skin
just a day ago
that took 10 years to see
the wind blew softly through his wispy
baby locks
eyes big and blue and understanding
with an air of love
i could trust it
it was all i could trust

the tears poured like unstoppable falling leaves
from the baked trees under which we lay
in the drying grass
amoung the cicadas
singing loudly
accompanied by the fireflies

that a day before we caught in a jar thinking they'd live in there forever and we'd always have a natural glow of living light

you knew what i meant
you still know what i mean

but now, the light is gone
your eyes are older
the spirit behind them is breaking
and i've reached as far as i can handle
on the brink of breaking myself in half in an attempt
to bandage you

wouldn't it be nice
if the world that lives in you
revealed itself to you
before it's too late

wouldn't it be lovely
if the beauty that resides in your soul
forced you to know it
before you rip the soul from your being

wouldn't it be refreshing
if the words i write
existed not
in the protein of your existence

dc sleeps alone tonight

"the only thing
keeping me dry
you seem so out of context
in this gaudy apartment complex"


alone this night of
celebratory excitement

two chances
to win
one chance
to die

the world spins around
my existence
the moments of locale
and grace
and movement

energy in action
of which i desire to
be a member

residing in this lonely
existence
won't you be to me tonight
what i have been to you
for the last ninety

if only in my mind

and bertha

You made me make myself
The passionate energy
found in your soul
in your eyes
in the air all
around
you
in
me
I feel it
and see it
and breath it

I hasten it
and hate it
and I want it
all over me

You see this
and that
of the things that make
me make myself

"Structure it,"
she says,
with perfection on her
poignant tongue.

i fear it will lack in meaning
i fear that i will fear it
that it will lose all definitive
existence

but i've no choice
so i indulge
in the making
of me making myself

global warming

flowing through the fields
of energy
amid a picture
of where plateau and
flatlandedness
meet

there's nothing out of reach
but so many options of
how and
when
and why
to get there
to that particular destination
for which you're searching
but yet you've no
inclination of what it looks like
all you know:
it's beautiful

it's like going shopping
you don't know what kind
or style
or size
it should look good
and it should feel comfortable and
go with the shoes you already own
but you don't know where to find it

so as i drive through this snapshot in the yearbook of life
i'm pondering
where it is i'm actually headed
and why
and with whom
but mainly the why part

pink is my new favorite color

sitting in my car
in the middle of a parking lot
all alone
with bruises all up in my grill
in my body
on my soul
in my mind
ones my therapist doesn't know about
or could ever fix

the smoke filling my lungs
makes me cough out all the pain
and hurt
that you have caused me
i want you out of my being
my existence
all my instances of life
i've tried to tell you
make you understand
but you don't even care
no returns to phone calls
or responses to hugs
or out of the emotions
that i have
that you had
that you led me to believe
were there:
excuses
stories
food
and languages
that used to be ours
that you now use
for you and yours

fuck that
go away
and don't come back
until you're ready

i can't fix you
i can't fix me
i want to
but i can't
and i love you
but apparently
that's not enough for you to understand
you act like you don't understand
but there's something there
a bush and a listener
could make something special
but i'll drink it up
and spit it out
and lay in it
and now i'm drowning in it
in this car
in the bitter cold
unhappy and
left wanting
for what i know is there
that you reject
every chance
in every way
you know how

he can't do that while i'm singing

so full
i could bust at the seams
and plain
like a dried up plum
but then realization
a prune
or a beautiful color
that an artist strives to produce
and to know
and to use
and to make lovely things
on paper

but i'm not paper
or ink
or paint
or produce from
the produce department
or a twist in someone's
cocktail

i'm a smile
and a wink
and there's so much
beneath
what you think you see

a reflection
a rumination
gone wrong
and then right
and then wrong again

you know
and i know
what's right
and what's not
what's fake and
bottled with a label
and placed neatly
in a package
covered in denotation

i'm ranting
and raving
and pissed
and ecstatic and
lovely
but i keep it all inside
like r.w. said