Musings

I reach out and touch your

face on the screen, close my eyes,

Imagine my small hand on your

wide, stubbled jaw. Imagine my

forehead resting on

your forehead.

Fingers clasped, bodies close.

Tongues mingling.

Like a fire, this longing burns in me:

destroying happier things.

The following is every song, poem, and word that,
to my knowledge, has ever been written either to,
for, or about me.

“Extemporaneous”

You probably put your phone away…
But I’m sitting here, thinking of you
and how I desire the touching of our minds could be
reechoed in the touching of our bodies;
slowly–
Moving slowly in the dark,
whispering poems to each other
without the world listening;
kisses mouthing words only
time can hear.
…And how I just met you and
I don’t really know what you’re into
but I hope you’re into
this.

*see Catullus for words:
Dein cum milia multa fecerimus,
Conturbabimus illa ne sciamus
Aut ne quis malus inuidere possit
Cum tantum sciat esse basiorum
[or,
...Then when we've made
So many thousand Kisses, we'll mix them up so that
We don't know the number
And he won't be able to be jealous when
He learns how many
Kisses we've Kissed.]

————————————————————-
“The Cause”

and lo,
while stumbling through,
this cold and flawed existence.

i stumbled on a flower.
blue as the pre-dawn sky.
florescent with the light
of a waxing gibbous emission.

This flower,
this immaculate,
having yet to bloom,
became a cause.

to hold this fragile
sentience, to know
the subtle smell.
to understand
the inspirations of this seed.

I was willing to take its risk.
and, perhaps, to pay its price.
as a being of this magnitude.
is naught seen
but perhaps once an eternity.

i dared try and pluck
the flower,
from its sheath next to the highway.
and now my fingers bleed.

————————————————————-

You’re so honest and pure,
most of me is not.
I am sick of it all.
I am sure.

————————————————————-
“Paperplane Poet”

Carrying the greatest idea
So in love, you and me
A newspaper we just bought
Never going to get caught

After thirteen stories of stair
The wind gives life to your beautiful hair
Excited like an infant I look into your star sparkling eyes
On top of seemingly just another building, high up in the skies

Newspaper articles silently scream
Pretentious is what those words seem
We take a page, and carefully fold
Our prophetic plan, oh so bold

Gently the wind carries our newspaper plane down
A dying old man greets our vision with a frown
Gently the waving wind blows
Love is what this valedicting vision shows
Our hidden secret landing on a windshield of a car
Newspaperplane poets is what we are.

————————————————————-

“Seasons”

Autumnal breeze, I dance with the leaves you so viciously seize.
Secrecy thrashed for they: battered, bruised, and broken have spoken countless tokens; a lifetime they’ll last.

Of seasons when they woke incited,
greeting the rays that lighted the crystalline dews bestowed the night before, we blind and benighted of the love affair the dawn brought in tow; for dew is sweat left from a nightly silent clamor, Nature’s untold amour.

And dare I say I’ve shared my ears with the winter air, that chilling breeze which bites and gnashes the ear left auster. To the point of imparting crimson, see how it sears. The ear pains red not from the cold, but from the sad tale of a lonely seer.

That seer, that zephyr who in spring blew and escorted kisses with its winds, to great breadths it carried and extended fragrance; to and fro the breaths of lovers in times of sweet, slow summers.

To incense the passions of those whose love did deplete when things went sour. It is here, that with a great holler the autumnal breeze blows its dead leaves on the graves of brief spring flings and summer’s hollow lovers, here bitterness and coldness creeps and the lonely seer weeps. That seer, that zephyr whom in a time was welcomed but now’s dejected, only loved in times of valentine but in winter rejected.

Thus, with the wisdom of the leaves, of all those green things that come to live and depart but don’t lose heart, for Spring kindly entreats with a bracing kiss to not lose bliss since all good things return to start. With the reason of the winds; capricious and wily, sometimes chilling but never beguiling.

Yes, with that wisdom of the leaves and winds I implore you, love me as the seasons. Befriend me not only in times that are pleasing, but when I’m also cold or seething. Welcome me not only when I bring spring bird’s verses or fragrant roses, but also when winter’s dreary chill has my heart frozen.

For all good things come and go. Summers in which laughter rose, when interest and friendship thrived and growed, in winter all will lay in repose. Likewise, all bad things come and go. If winter is your joy and Spring bloomed blues, all the sorrow Summer blossomed will wither in Winter’s ashen hues. For joy may come and go but, as the seasons, it will always return. For sorrow may come and gloat, but given reason frowns will turn.

So love me as the seasons, as I will you. I’ll befriend you when you are warm or cold, young or old. I’ll befriend you as you are and grow, as you come and go. In verse or prose, silence or words I’ll befriend you the only way I know. As we come and go, as we are not told, as we seek to know.

————————————————————-

lab rat 1003: you lie, you dance amazingly
lab rat 1003: you were poetry in motion
lab rat 1003: spinning around
lab rat 1003: in the street

————————————————————-

“Rainy Tuesday afternoon”

It’s a rainy Tuesday afternoo’.
There you are, sitting, watching, waiting…
Looking around nervously, will I show?
The rain, paradoxically draining and feeding you at the same time.
Your patience is running thin.
But what is that? Is that a glimpse of me.. from within?
You can’t see me, in the shimmering shadow.
A figure stalking, head down.
I was here all along
Stop! And stop I do.
Secretly
Just wanting
To be held
by you.
On a rainy tuesday afternoo’.

Ik hou van jou

————————————————————-

“Bright”

It was always obvious that her mere presence lit up any room. Everything about her popped and crackled as though whatever life is made of was concentrated inside her. She never seemed to be in ill humour, and anyone who drifted into her radius came away with a lighter heart.

However, every day it seemed that radius was expanding to include more and more people. These people were duller than she was, painfully aware of it, and hung around her hoping to leech something from her. Maybe the graft would take, and they would shine under their own power some day, but it never worked out like that. She never complained about having to support the brightness of others – her resources seemed limitless, and the leeches never seemed to know when to leave her alone. Sometimes it drained her, but every night she wished that she could be strong enough to light up the entire world.

One day, she woke up, and she felt different. She looked in the mirror. Her radiance, which until this had merely been of a metaphorical nature, had become like a halo around her. As the day wore on, it got steadily brighter, going from a vague haze to a coruscating glare. She got brighter and brighter until, as the sun went down, she exploded into thousands of tiny, effervescent, brightly coloured fragments.

————————————————————-

Sitting somewhere,
between here and there
Daydreaming, untouchable, in the shimmering sun
Thoughts of love flow like water in a sunday morning creek,
Come sit here with me, as one, in the shadow of the sun
Together we will conquer
The day and the night
Speaking the unspoken word
Have you heard?
We will be alright.

Visions tell me;
There’s only one way for us,
Where? When?
Ask me, “How”?
Together forever.

————————————————————-

“Veritas Lux Mea”

‘I see you every morning, every single dawn.
While I’m halfway ‘wake and stirring, wading through yawns.

I see your red flushed hair flowing on the celestial throng. For you wear the Dawn and all the blushing stars on your head, long.’

I write this to you. (You who writes the most beautiful things any’s eyes have ever seen)

Whenever you feel overwhelmed and about to cry;
give me your tears, for a home they’ll find in my eyes.

Let me wed your Loneliness and never miss its company. Feel complete with whomever you wish to accompany.

And then take my ears, whisper unto them all those precious things. Where you’ve kissed, in front of elevators and on the shingles. Who you’ve kissed, Anger who was once bitter and single.

“Take my ears for I will listen; as I always have, as I always will.”

I say these things as I face the East, you whom Hope has made me see. For dawns once made me frown, smiles now wake on my lips. To know you’ll find happiness sooner than I, for on your side days first lyse.

“Yes, your day will come sooner than mine; to find the person to best spend your life by.”

And if Fate and Time prove my words wrong year after year (they won’t), if decades pass and my words are still proven wrong- (They won’t)

Then lets not look to the East any longer, for another day will not come. Instead, look to the West and come set with me; along with the dying light of the Sun and the waning sheen of our once-lustrous dreams.

Hooked on the same meds for depression and schizophrenia, I’ll help you feed your fifty cats as we laugh at this Life in hysteria.

————————————————————-

“Sweet Megan”

Awaken, sweet Megan.
I miss you so.
Awaken, sweet Megan.
Our love must grow.
Awaken, sweet Megan.
Away from your dreams.
Awaken, sweet Megan.
I’m down on my knees.
Awaken, sweet Megan.
My heart is now aching.
Awaken, sweet Megan.
But it is not breaking.
Awaken, sweet Megan.
My blood is rushing.
Awaken, sweet Megan.
So I may begin gushing.
Awaken, sweet Megan.
For I love you so.
Awaken, sweet Megan.
I’ll never let you go.
Awaken, sweet Megan.
Our dreams become one.
Awaken, sweet Megan.
Take my hand and we’ll run.

How do I say this? IS THIS WRONG?

Can I have a relationship manual, please?

I’d either lose it or burn it, both in acts of defiance.

Why did I put myself in this?! I said I never would again.

The same thing happened last time, I didn’t learn. I never learn.

I’m getting trapped again, every time I turn around I’m faced with a wall.

No doors and no windows, who can blame me for setting the place on fire?

WHO CAN BLAME ME?

You’re like coming up for air when I didn’t know I was drowning.

Like reaching out and touching the sun with my bare hands,

curling my fingers through the licking flames. So hot that I can’t yet feel a burn.

I can’t keep myself away and do I want to? I can’t tell. Who cares.

You’ll be the big reason I step onto the plane.

You’re like waking the fuck up.

Someone pull me out of this, show me what’s real. Show me what’s worth giving up.

Maybe if I start again on the talents that come naturally to me,
my self esteem might be able to stand up and brush itself off.

Maybe I’ll try that.

“And if I’ve learned anything at all
In this short life of mine it’s this…
If you hear that joy has come to town
Track it down, take a picture and tape it to your eyes.”

Your chest is as big as the biggest brick wall and oh,

your heart is even bigger. Impossibly bigger.

I’m knee high to a grasshopper and I certainly

couldn’t hit the side of a barn, do you know what I mean?

I mean that I’m inadequate. Entirely inadequate.

The place between your neck and your shoulders is where

your smell is born and I would bury myself there

like an ostrich if you weren’t so goddamn solid.

I love how that Journey song gives you goose bumps and

that other song by that other guy brings tears to your eyes.

And speaking of crying, do you remember when you

cried, I mean cried in my arms on your bed?

Because I showed you that poem that reminded you of

your sweetly deceased grandmother.

And I swear I felt our souls touching a little.

Or maybe that was your erection pressing against my thigh.

Lying next to me always seems to give you a boner

no matter what mood you’re in.

I’m always wearing your boxers and you’re always wearing my

mind on your sleeve, how is it that you know what I’m thinking

or feeling or mulling over or dreading so often?

Are you my brother? I think you’re my brother.

But I know you know that incest turns me on. Yeah,

I think you know it and I think

I’m way way too fucked up for you but who cares, right?

Best friends means best friends means, right?

Forever is forever, after all.

Right?

Xanga keeps sending me reminder emails about how they miss me and want me back, etc. Well I checked both of the old Xangas I used to have and found a VERY old poem that brought me back to little bitty me. This is years old. It’s such a shock for me to read something that I’d forgotten I’d ever written.  

homicide

or suicide

i can’t decide

which to commit

and since you died

i’ve been all

sighs and lullabies

and late-night cries

and now i just

can’t seem to

commit

We were watching a PowerPoint about Ireland and it said something like “blah blah each half of Ireland has its own blah blah” and I raised my hand and said “Wait, half? They’re not nearly equal” and he rolled his eyes, this man, he rolled his eyes and said “Fine then. Let me just fix that for you then, Ms. Literal.” I was wrong. He had wrinkles on the back of his shirt, the same wrinkles all the time, didn’t even matter which shirt he wore and they always looked like tiger claws. Like a great big tiger scraped it’s claws diagonally across his back. Neither his wife nor him knew how to iron, I suppose. If the tiger claws had been mine I would have left them too but he wasn’t me, he was a teacherbot who paid no mind to things like that. He always gelled his hair in the exact same fashion, the front bit would turn to the left like a tidal wave and it was always the left and never the right and it was always the same and never different. Until today when he came in with no gel in his hair and an ironed shirt and I wept a little for him because he was entirely gone and I knew my cute, demanding, insistent, tigerclawshirt, tidalwavehair, teacherbot would never return.

I slipped a flower under his door with a Post It that said RIP.

Hey, sunshine. I have stories that would make Satan blush. Maybe we can get together sometime, just the three of us.

I feel pretty when I spell words out loud.

 Rives makes me scream!