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When I lead them to the room on the top of the floor To give previews of time and days
-
I sit in English lectures and hear translations of books into languages
-
If there's no heaven and all we are are cells and space, in random spots
-
You know who you are, and even if not you hold forever a piece of me
-
keep those words out of your mouth you don't deserve the right to want
-
and straight to your arms or oncoming traffic, if not careful
-
I guess I could run through this summer like a checklist
-
Clean minds present clean homes, they say
which explains why mine is ravaged with mess
-
The old me died long ago
in no clear incident that I know
-
Right now I feel I’m having a taste
Of how it is for a star on tour
-
As if the unknown lurked in our closets
and under our beds, like monsters do
-
She drove up alongside and waved
the way a young child does
-
You’re flying while falling, tempting fate
and going against all laws of nature
-
And dawn slips to day
the way lovers slip from our hearts
-
There's irony in a journey to the beach /to soak up sun like a sponge
Only to hide in the safety of the shade / running from the heat stroke
-
Was to pamper myself with stitches and beer
And this is my apology
-
For me, I’m still reveling
in my shaking lip and tearful eyes
-
It's a Thursday morning and Rod Stewart sings
"I wish that I knew what I know now when I was younger"
-
Give me fire, give me ice
No, give me the ocean's edge
-
On a Thursday night past midnight
you can drive around with your blinkers on
-
This is not an analogy
for life or deaf, or any of the sort
-
Here's to all the sonnets I'll never write
and all the words I'll never say
-
wondering why his despair filled moments
can't be so pretty
-
Easy come, easy go
the world's a stage and I put on my show
-
"a poet's goal's to be misunderstood"
I heard one say as I scribbled away
-
the scents of the street as I pass them by
and it feels so damn good to feel so alive
-
No, he's what you desire to be
his charming state in the interviews
-
can I shape out her mourn-filled eyes
The hell was I to do, I was only 16
-
the world full of change, my eyes full of tears
and my head with poetry
-
Put your ears to the wall and you can hear
him mourning his love on the other room's floor
-
connecting ceiling dots, thinking back
on this hole I've dug so far
-
It's masochism, but I could pick
the saddest line
-
It’s clichéd, but true
this is more than I planned for
-
It’s a “nobody’s baby” complex
as a batch of fresh tears interrupt
-
and on the sidewalk, my face to the clouds
I dance with the thought of you, and love,
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