You that I loved all my life long ( Read more... )

As it is warming,
As I have turned on the fan,
As it slopes my form,
And as I wait for you,
Concave in the illusion of conjoined sleep,

As I have always,
As I wander the lanes of a memory,
As it bruises in the ink of lost time,
And as your touch lingers there,
Speaking yet from the bounds of quiet revery.

He dreams that his mouth is full of push-pins, or that between his teeth he somehow stores lead bearings.
I dream this story, that it occurs in a book. The bearings and push pins splinter my teeth. My tongue shifts the broken enamel and I taste the blood.

I did not resent you for the loss of what could have been
(for what was, a year-less-a-day later, on a transpacific flight, remains the beginning of my second life), but because what was, what is, remains unpermitted, unbelieved even now.

I slump over the last steps and draw the liqueur bottle from the top drawer, and unloading the remainder into my throat, take again to the stairs.

My father is storming around, and he stops and says

Don’t worry I’m going to stay and take care of it.And in an instant I see that this might cut me from the ride I need across town. My aunt and uncle ( Read more... )

I discern a subtle stream
converging in the quiet
just behind the silence
my mind has slipped inside it
I can feel a past being fed me
a second hand future's mislead me
a second hand future's mislead me
I feel a fate being fed me

On this keyboard I feel adrift in a familiar task, as a skilled musician faced with an unknown instrument might resent its denial of his prowess. I can now longer claim prowess, and I cannot fault this lumbering device and its wandering backspace key for what I know to be a personal block. It may be impossible to write, if not compose, without an ( Read more... )

I kiss maggie.

there.

I'd just like to say
that I think it all worked out rather well.

It doesn't have to be like this.