In
writing on 08.20.09 at 11:50:45 AM
set it on fire
is the only advice
that i never received
but wish i had when
i was thirteen.
set it on fire,
is the only metaphor
that has less to
do with guidance
and more to with
living.
set it on fire,
are the only words
with which to see the
world through eyes
to know they are working.
In
writing on 08.10.09 at 12:16:45 PM
the line that traces down your hair
past that spot on your neck
that only we and the poet know about.
only i haven’t felt it yet
but you know it’s there and
with my words i could find it past
the couplets using your hand as a guide.
that line tracing down your back
past your hips to that place just
above your leg that you tell me about.
i am sure that it exists even though
my hand was made to its measure,
or so i have been told by the carver
of your virtue who betrays you in sleep.
the line traces down to your feet
drawn by the hand of a painter
long dead but not forgotten since his
final work of your masterpiece
hangs in that museum with the overflowing
gutters of warm summer rain drenching
that window i peek through in your dreams.
In
writing on 08.10.09 at 12:15:10 PM
when you shower i
wonder how long it takes you,
i would stay forever.
In
writing on 08.05.09 at 01:21:14 PM
i woke up feeling
you liked raising my head with
delicate poker hands.
In
writing on 07.28.09 at 01:19:46 PM
capacitor fuel,
is filled with a charge that
explodes with new days.
In
writing on 07.26.09 at 09:09:27 PM
i wonder if i told you?
Why there was this one
time that i lost the book
of nursery rhymes collected by
a madman on his last holiday
to south america by the amazon
river filled with the pink porpoises
and poisonous cavalcade of empiric fish.
i didn’t?
Well i once lost a journal written
by an astronomer on his last
voyage past pluto, which we know
isn’t a planet but orbits every
single one of those paintings
that were hung up in the louvre
by a janitor who stole them
from every poet trying to be classified.
i told you about that already?
How about the one time that i found
a parchment written out by revolutionaries
that at the end said it was all a joke
and that all they really wanted was some
more tea since a bunch of scientists
had performed an experiment with the tides
sifting through the harbor of their midnight.
In
life,
writing on 07.26.09 at 05:40:35 PM
So yet again, here is one of my essays that are more for me to parse who I am and what I believe than anything else. As always, you can feel free to skip on by if you are just here for the poetry (and the new addition of haiku!). But, truly, what would be the fun in just skipping to the short stuff, when there is so much more craziness to read?
Continue down this rabbit hole »
In
writing on 07.26.09 at 01:11:44 PM
we can find seashells,
that reflect shiny clockworks,
when others say go.
