the three level house
The three level house returned
In my dreams.
One was left behind this time.
In the mirror your hand fades into.
We left with the wall engine when
I woke up.
the day passed without love
The day passed without love. Is this
Real? Thus is the morning past.
Is this what she meant by moving on?
The sky hangs, dull in a grey fog,
Nowhere bathed in hidden violet
Electricity. Reflective early light lays
Out with dimness, purposeless as passing
Noises from the street. Loveless day
Has no red thorns, it's coffee lacks
A bite. A world less alive in every thing.
How different is the sand when your in love?
How different is the sand to lovers?
The sea is cold today, just cold. The waves
Erase, leaving a blank slate, a malformed
Table that could be a thousand memories.
Somewhere she looks upon the same see,
Unencumbered by memories
Of insignificant acquaintances, long
Since past the itch of a passing flea.
I wish I could see the same sea,
The one without me.
Upon the Penultimate Day of a Year
Come upon me this lasting year this last
In which my heart led new went completely
For love.
A year of failure unless success is
A failure of a certain kind.
I started like this calendar in January.
Months distracting had led me to a place.
But then came the twenty first day of the month. And then the twenty second.
The twenty third though, that was the day
I was broken. "She was the Universe",
a line drifted through my mind.
Every day I think of you, and every time I think of you,
its always good. Even the panic. Even the calm.
Every moment in your presence was electric. Then, one day,
I started crying. I would come home,
and that slow commute would be filled with tears.
And then after a few days, I realized I'd fallen in love.
Love isn't always a place we want to be.
Everyone gets that wrong. Sometimes it arrives
at the wrong time in life, and other times
its terrifying.
Such as the times its real, and you have no wish to believe
it to be true. And you want it, and you push it away,
and you can't tell the difference between desire and fear.
January 23rd. Grey green eyes.
Always it seemed it was as easy to fall out of love
as to fall in, that it had its resolutions. If a resolution
by passion was not available, then some expression,
and maybe someone else. But love always faded.
Until it didn't. And with it more fear, more insecurity,
more that sensation of the spirit becoming loose
of the body. And more knowledge of the impossibility
of love to be true. And then more sorrow.
And still it did not fade.
So I tried separation, if not a week, then never seeing her again.
And still it did not fade. I drove, I bathed myself in exhaustion,
I laid myself at the waters edge, I drowned in sound.
I fell into another kind of love.
And still it did not fade. Everytime I think of you, its always good.
Even the panic.
In which my heart led new went completely
For love.
A year of failure unless success is
A failure of a certain kind.
I started like this calendar in January.
Months distracting had led me to a place.
But then came the twenty first day of the month. And then the twenty second.
The twenty third though, that was the day
I was broken. "She was the Universe",
a line drifted through my mind.
Every day I think of you, and every time I think of you,
its always good. Even the panic. Even the calm.
Every moment in your presence was electric. Then, one day,
I started crying. I would come home,
and that slow commute would be filled with tears.
And then after a few days, I realized I'd fallen in love.
Love isn't always a place we want to be.
Everyone gets that wrong. Sometimes it arrives
at the wrong time in life, and other times
its terrifying.
Such as the times its real, and you have no wish to believe
it to be true. And you want it, and you push it away,
and you can't tell the difference between desire and fear.
January 23rd. Grey green eyes.
Always it seemed it was as easy to fall out of love
as to fall in, that it had its resolutions. If a resolution
by passion was not available, then some expression,
and maybe someone else. But love always faded.
Until it didn't. And with it more fear, more insecurity,
more that sensation of the spirit becoming loose
of the body. And more knowledge of the impossibility
of love to be true. And then more sorrow.
And still it did not fade.
So I tried separation, if not a week, then never seeing her again.
And still it did not fade. I drove, I bathed myself in exhaustion,
I laid myself at the waters edge, I drowned in sound.
I fell into another kind of love.
And still it did not fade. Everytime I think of you, its always good.
Even the panic.
poorlovesdisasterpour
Poor love's disasters pour in artifice
Of Love's eyes I write to from distant
Reaches. Listing reaches, leslied reaches.
My half arm day failures, this sad inkling.
Done along some old song, coming upon
Memory, a sound, a scene, a scent, a
Smile fading and imagination
Furthers from a radio to these flesh-
Become-words, bearing highlights of despair.
Despair that my heart leads me places where
Like Gertrudian Oakland, there's no there.
And there I sit, winter's gloom upon my
morning eyes, in my morning often, the
oven of my pen. A Fool, upside down.
ihatemyoxygen
I don't know why the colors
Run that way, the way they fi fo dum
Maybe they like being thick
And hard to clean up
Could be I hate my body
Like the way love runs away
When I give it your name
I don't know how the colors
Change that easy, I've heard fee fi fo
It's from the oxygen
Maybe they're thick like me, never
Learning simple lessons
In quiet and not sharing, save me
Some cleaning, I hate my body.
I doubt and don't believe in God if
God looks like me, in mirror silver
Covered in steak steam, settling on broken
Glass, darkly within my fever.
Like the way love runs away
When I give it your name.
A face in fractions looking back.
I wipe my finger on the image to see
Clearly my black hair, but its colorless:
Water beading, building and running.
Maybe its thin line is thin like me, never
Learning to keep the feelings in, save me
From running down my skin, save me
Some cleaning, I hate my oxygen.
1328
Time is a tragedy
The news never
Identifies.
All living things
That have been
Have died.
So in time will I,
And all that is.
It is a fire,
And in this moment
Somewhere
Are universes gone.
A new year comes
And another passes,
Thirteen moons,
Each of its days,
And each day timeless
But passed.
The Sun does not comment
Upon our parabolas.
The news never
Identifies.
All living things
That have been
Have died.
So in time will I,
And all that is.
It is a fire,
And in this moment
Somewhere
Are universes gone.
A new year comes
And another passes,
Thirteen moons,
Each of its days,
And each day timeless
But passed.
The Sun does not comment
Upon our parabolas.
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