(day 242: your fingers were spears (three parts))

Your fingers were spears
and they skewered me. I languished.
John Travolta laughed.  

I want to be fancied.
I didn't know better! Her purse is gold
strings, cut from your hand.

More needs to be said.
I write it! Still you are running, pant pant.
I will not follow.

I want to be fancied.

(hardly at all)

You don't know me. Fuck!
Words frenetic why's to why
can't I tell you me.

(sorry Death Cab*)

My heart: a full room.
No more possibilities.
I'm not (not) alone.



*http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-p3UKzLgVhc&feature=fvst

(a paroxysmal, often allergic disorder of respiration)

Hard to breathe, harder--
yes, weak lung; yes: achy heart.
Doctor says I'm fine. 

(literary burglary #1 OR, Sorry Dave Eggers)

First off, I'm tired.
I am true of heart! You, too: tired.
And you, true of heart.

!

(if you are not happy with the way that you are [do this in your mind])

See a place. Go there.
Name the ground beneath your feet.
What are you like, there?

("a dark and brilliant achievement")

im person ate
me, slick with olive oil and
body painted lines

(But what are your feelings about going to the beach?)

blood red blood blood veins
see shell quick slick cutting
mouth wrist open sea

(snow day)

If I could move this wall,
the better to see:
universe, white white white.

(the artist nascent slowly arrives)

You are shy, but I
push papers to your lidded eyes--
look. see what i have made.

(I trust [your] fingers beside [my] spine)

They search for-- some
thing: tickling aches, dipping into knots
and turns, tenderness.

(Labia (a), or, An Exercise in Comfort)

Labia. Labi
a. Labia. Labia.
Labia. Labi.

(how long it took to believe it)

My arms are stronger.
Fuck you, yes, they are larger.
Beauty self-defined.

(mock encomium)

Sometimes, it's truth: 
You are irrelevant.
Liberation, there.

(day late)

Visionaries, note:
It is your job to speak loud.
Do not be bashful.

(this is how we count to three)

First noise, movement,
Sparklers unleashed. Jubilation,
The silence at the end.

(Musical Mash-ups IX: to sit before you here today)

Hello, I'm a monster
too. (but) When we were young
our eyes were blue.


*with attributions owed to the Barr Brothers

(headlights)

6 AM I'm cranky.
Brake for fur, quiet hoofing.
Suddenly worth it.

(untitled 29)

What coward you are.
Cut cut cutting people down.
Afraid of the saw.

So I pine for you.
You, aliveness. You: Joy.
Licking at faith.

(not made)

I'm brave for others.
For myself I grow afraid.
Thus a teacher, born.

(upon connecting with "strangers" online)

I am filled grateful.
That friendships are made! Connect
us, without bodies.

(and thick brown soil presses fast to your hands)

Just what you've wanted:
Sunshine, air, land for planting.
You have to be brave.

(Love Poems 1)

My darling, you are
like water for me, coaxing
pebbles into glass.

(muse though I have pined for you right now is really not the best time, OR I am sorry for continually being so self-involved)

I'm tired. My head hurts.
I, me, my-- meanwhile you
try to say something.

(Musical Mash-ups VIII: when the dam breaks down)

I am a book torn.
Gone the things that hide all fears. 
Trusting you write, too. 



*with attributions owed to Manchester Orchestra

(Love Poems 2)

Your brain is a dream
unplugged. It nestles skyward.
I watch, becoming.