5-27-08I want you to get it. I apologize that we have been a bit –blageau (cloudy) [unclear] translucent. Come into these words. I want you to understand them. You may misconstrue, misread or misinterpret; just don’t neglect to get in it. Feel it to its full comprehension. Let your fingers sink in the substance and dig around. Because I really want you to feel, I cant let a chance to touch something solid pass us by. When I write I always want it to be significant, I like when it rocks my perception—makes my thoughts open up. Sometimes I just let the words run wild. I skip back to it and I’ve just realized you have no clue what I’m talking about. I think you need to feel it too. I’m not looking for a shared experience…I guess I’m just looking to share. So take my apology for every over-thought apostrophe, every idea so surreal Dali couldn’t paint it. It’s more important that you are touching it than passing your eyes over top of big, insignificant words. “Draw me unto you and we will run together,” I will be clear and you can really get it.
pick a spot turn, drop to
blundering, wondering, numbering.
take a chair,
stop. cease. release. in one piece. no niece.
(I’m too young and far more likely.)
flirting, skirting, inverting
my face so it’s me,
to a tee, and now free, to be, prett-ee,
block this sock
take a bow you have wowed them all with how you
stop 1..2 stop 4..5 stop 7.. and
the evanescent thump of you
pervading in my inappropriate parts–
to the second gender that smells as sweet,
to the separate lender who I never keep,
sweep my wave again,
pulse my crave my friend
because there are where the words lie;
because this is why I cannot cry.
caught in the mind of me,
all in the thought of three.
“Allow yourself to trust joy and embrace it. You will find you dance with everything.” ~ Emerson
I was so ready to stop being so god damn innocent.
I like when you’re pretty;
when your shirt dips a little lower than it should.
I like when you move, and your whole body goes with you.
I layer, and my mind goes with me:
lips, skin, arm, head;
look at you. You’re a
painting, picture, perfect.
My porcelain doll
(don’t look- she might break).
I’ll look all the more:
break for me baby,
break for me,
Everything seems a bit said before,
a little over rehearsed.
The lines have nothing new to me,
just recapitulation of a dead horse.
Why even try anymore?
There’s nothing new under the sun.
Everything’s been done before,
my art is getting numb.
No motivation to drop a line
unless its something new.
I just need someone’s fresh caprice
to give me something to do.
So boo, boo, boo,
I hate you all!
You leave me sad and over thought.
I’m a hungry inspiration-less hacked up ball;
just give me something new.