In
writing on 11.21.09 at 01:11:42 AM
there is that line,
with untold zeros
floating between
your hips
and the smile
like movement across
the river delta
of your lips.
there are the keys
tattooed across
your chest,
that tell the story
of a moment packed
with the notions
of men like me,
looking for a life
in between your
black reverie.
there is that line,
of the unknown song:
spinning over and over
again,
vibrating with
your fantasy
and my future
memory.
In
writing on 08.03.09 at 03:45:43 PM
The Dead Weather//60 Feet Tall
there is the tiniest crack of sky
that sounds like a
teal smith corona typewriter
i bought when 25 to
pound out
why love conquers every one
of your kingdoms.
the shopkeeper says we’re mad,
asking if I know how new this whole poetry business is.
Declaring that the point:
is a ribbon left
in place by sloppy semantics,
is all that is needed
to unlock exactly when I
find you.
there is the largest sliver of sun
that rambles around your
tabs and spacebars like bards.
it hits our carriage return
faster than my hand can
lay the next participle past pondering your parts.
