I wrote a word and then another
A thought I did provoke

A feeling buried deep within
Asleep but now awoke

So many words I can't contain
Spill out upon my page

To illuminate so bright with light
My soul I did engage

I said I didn’t
but I did
I wasn’t supposed to
give a ****
Never seem to
get ahead
imagining scenarios
in my head
They’re always too good
to be true
I die alone if
I die with you
I die alone if
I die with you

End it when I can’t
seem to think
of anything that
means anything
Add a break then
start again
Treat it all as one
in the same
Treat it all as one
in the same

Repeat it to make
it seem important
It only takes more
energy
The reward is
fleeting
But you’re still
here reading
But you’re still
here reading

And that’s comforting

The end

i used to envision myself
gracing scenes of
your spotless minds
movie screens
in films wrapped in gold cellophane
directed in flickers of light
electrified by pain
enhanced by the vision of what
our love could be
switching to black & white projections
anytime i feel happy
to play onto the theme of
my own personal deflections
because even the actors know
i’m the happiest
when you’re without me

As I string words together
From existing thoughts
Aiming at shaping souls
That will make the future
I ask…

Will there be more questions
Will there be more wonder
Will there be more action
Or just more plunder

Will there be more thinking
Will there be more linking
Will there be more sinking
In the depth of life

Will there be more focus
Will there be more locus
Or just more shrinking
In the width of sight

Will there be less shirking
Will there be less cringing
Or just more complaining
About the strive

if the walls of my bedroom could talk
they’d say how i cry
to the moon
holding my breath
giving myself chest pain
convincing my brain
that it’s from the novacane
i force myself to take
because now & days
i numb myself
to be washed in your acid rain
because it still lives inside me
storming away
anytime i choose
to speak your name

how do you paint water, or clouds?

I could read poetry for the brief,
of my of remaining life, however brief,
and never be satiated, of love, and streams of water,
never stilled, always running in patterns that exist,
but for milliseconds, admired by clouds born in, of,
a moment of re-formation that is perpetuity long:
unending shape shifting, like the freedom of flowing water
currents, forming, reforming and unthinkable, nay,
inconceivable that human eyes or their spoken words
could capture their shiny white foamy essence

But of love, that we can do, paint, design, recreate its
endless loops of undulations, like the radiating circularity
of a pebble dropped gently to its burial sight in a quiet pond.

Humans know, understand and excel at clasping and grasping
at the synapsing of human cells from differing bodies: the
exogenous erogenous of human touch that like the clouds
and the water, who could paint that, who capable of capturing
said sensations that wrack and enliven the body with invisible
interior chemical reactions. I cannot. Thankfully better men and women have treatised  their entreaties to the powers of the universe and been rewarded with the skilled delicacy of weaving human tapestries, the milliseconds of connectivity, eclectic and electrifying of different currents and differing amperage’s forming and reforming like water moving, just  like the clouds changing in response to the externalities of wind and gravity and all the forces of nature that encourage us to study and stare at these flows, hoping to entrance them into standing still for but a moment, and instead, mesmerizing us into standing motionless for hours in awe of their freedom.

Love’s undulations too mesmerizing, and freezing us into
place, or alternatively caucus to run endlessly arms extending,
flying though not airborne , rocketing us upwards while feet never budging, but finding good wards, masterful metaphors to recreate and thus to share the fabulous mystery of this thing we know as love.


2:58AM
Friday
jul 22 (jewel 22) of the 23rd year of the 21st Century.


O.L.P.