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He will whisper to her in the morning
The secret of walking in a straight line.
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to eat the seeds if it could mean
burning the forest to see the trees.
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i have always known that love was never the answer.
it was just always the reason.
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It is more like loving no one
than it is like loving everything
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trembling i have closed the piano and drawn a heart just for you
put an arrow clear through; cupid wins, we both must lose.
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(I find it endlessly interesting that not knowing what you want does not stop you from asking for it.)
Dec. 27, 2006
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you see, i am not a poet. / i simply fall in love easily, / let go as well as i can breathe underwater, / move on with invisible grace, / know no difference between want and need.
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written april 3 / / i try to keep my legs together / like a young boy looking taller. / / i'm the words the picture does not speak, / unnoticed, obscure, like an article-- / the, but not the anything-- / a
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everything she does not want to fathom / sits, deaf-mute, untouched in her eyes / like broken birds, starved of the miracles / most of us deserve / and all of us are waiting on / / how awful to wake up, realizing
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Some people do not know when there is a beautiful thing in front of them. These people are called writers. They are what Wilde mistook for
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Why can't I be like the gods- living for something until it is gone,
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that was christ's promise; it is mine also.
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that empties out my insides of everything
so i can take someone, you if you want, in.
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Says the master: Cut up, cut up, cut upward.
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i am quite strange to look at, actually.
discolouring
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your (city) CD burning in my hand
makes circles on my knuckles
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and you treated me like
the mother you'd wanted to love
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And I decided that I’d had one, too.
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Just the right day for the abortion
the sun pasting itself to my arms
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let open your mouth
and inevitably the words
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I wrote you a small story
with sunlight ink that kept itself from shining
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"Tarry in the Tree, the one of the Snake,
and I will return all that Adam will take."
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They took pictures
of the arms I fell in love with.
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this skeleton of what we were
brittle and rusting by the sea
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Stars dripped themselves onto the sand,
shining from holes like mites-
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Held by the ankle over the flames
and starting to melt.
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You are not allowed to tell me
that you love me.
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Kono yoru ga araimasu
Hana wa kiite hitori desuyo
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I used to write poems
like a painter eats dirt
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silver cutting through
immense chunks of air
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Yet the fate you find
you own.
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It spills from your lips
like honey water.
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He builds our roof from straw.
Sweat and mud piece
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