Friday, September 30, 2011

We Get Away From, From Ourselves

He welcomed her third person addresses
She was afraid of him, piety,
angels, the end, and forever
She was afraid of penalty
He thought she might be perfect,
beautiful, and between them there was no sin
or wretchedness or pity for the world
In a word, they were pure
Anyone could witness their love,
or find them in a palm of
a prayer, or in the petal of a rose,
or on the other side of the world
Him, her only measure of beautiful

Friday, September 23, 2011

Rule of Thumb

If you catch me

you will find me

so completely in your regard

that I have to untangle you from me.

So get mixed up with me

because it is safe.

And if you are afraid,

that is fine.

Because fear is a response

to most everything

and that could be you.

Responding to everything.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Explain the World To Me

While you were explaining the world to me
my mouth twitched over and over
and I thought
how nice
holding back smiles
instead of tears

Not that I didn't shed tears
the night you first made love to me
I'd cry then I'd smile
one before the other and then over
again because you were so nice
and occupied my every thought

even that sad thought
that cried those sad tears
and made me regret every time I wasn't nice
to someone including me
because that's what pain is over
everything that does not smile

and I am that happy smile
that thinks that happy thought
of the world as one twice over
that bears the scar of tears
and introduces itself to you and me
at the reception of everything nice

Wouldn't it be nice
if all of those smiles
and you and me
and hope were one thought
that prayed that tears
will one day soon be over

You were the one that turned me over
you are the one that is everything nice
you are the one that mends all that tears
and ignites all that smiles
in a gesture and a thought
that repairs me

I will be nice to you if you are nice to me
And if you read over my every thought
You will find less tears than smiles

Monday, September 12, 2011

What I really Meant was Acrostic and I'll Never Rhyme (On Purpose)

What bends your knees in the other room
I meant as a distraction for us
Really, a distraction
Meant for me to imagine the things I thought I
was expected to do
Acrostic, oh yeah, seems interchangeable
and I'll lose my hearing
I'll listen to the ringing in my ear instead
never confessing to knowing
rhyme in slanted verse



This Is Where I Found My Home

This is where I found my home
In the small space that contains your chest
Nevermore will I ever roam

It is with you in mind that I write this poem
and with abandonment I cast the rest
This is where I found my home

The valleys and hills I once did comb
Are left to those who are still in quest
Nevermore will I ever roam

For you my heart is rid of ohm
And our bed has long been blessed
This is where I found my home

For you my shape becomes an om
And with you in mind I give my best
Nevermore will I ever roam

And next I'll write you a palindrome
That will read down and up: you are my address
This is where I found my home
Nevermore will I ever roam

You are My Address.

Years have passed since I've known this
ostensible happiness
unshaken by otherwise

and unable to feel lackluster
ready to explain beguiled
every time some one else is more loud

Maybe I should contain my inertia
years passing without activity

And maybe I should contain mayhem
direct every ugly thing towards me
distance myself from the subtlety of splendor
ruminate on disfigurment and dimentia
erase every beautiful thing...but then there's you
sweet and divine and, and just so
so convincing that all I think or know is pretty

Thursday, September 8, 2011

The Fix It Shop

her face was perfect

and I knew her body
had posed for the same hands
that had captured the infinite

her hips would brush against me
and I would want them to be mine
but instead I would apologize
and she would apologize

and in that moment we were great
the two most sorry girls in the world

Monday, September 5, 2011

Stumble Upon

Sarcastic is the overrated black sheep of ironic

evading purism and illuminating the ills of propaganda

revering itself in the ego and the trivial

Even the saints served their time in this realm

nervous to believe in their destiny of iconic

I bet they wondered who they were praying to

They probably romanticized the places they would go

Yearning to know something they could learn to tell

Sunday, September 4, 2011

Self and Thought

The symptom of loneliness
is not unique.
It is the human condition.

is to be unique,
in self and thought.

The reward of freedom
is to know
you are not alone.