nubthousands of wasted wordsand still no poems
lovemy joy in you was short livedmy sorrow everlasting
the open roadthe road beckonsand I will answerI will ride Highway 65until my gas money gives outand leave my tired Buickin a soft ditch with the kudzuI'll walk until I finda place that touches me a soft patch of cool grasswith a view of the whole big sky a quiet placewhere I can lay myself downand no longer weepwith wearinessthe stars will shine downfrom the sea of nightand I'll smile whenI close my eyesknowing I can nowrun onforever
Tank Away 11The winter solsticehas passed. Winter nights will shorten,hearts warming with hope.And from the soft, hushed darkness,a new sun begins to rise.
running errandsit's not theeggs or milkor breadthat I'm afterit's the soundlonelyis quietand whenthe silencescreamsI mustfill itwithother people'snoise
dreamerhe's goneever searching forgreener pasturesand she droopslike a flowerin the rainwaiting againfor hisreturn
incalculablehe's good to mewe eat at nice placesand never arguehe's gentle in bedbut he isn't youwe lived onpeanut butter,ramen noodlesand the world fadedwhen you cameinto viewdisappeared utterlywhen you took mein your handshe loves meyou almost killedme with your leavingbut if you roared backinto my world tomorrowhe'd be forgotten bythe time we reachedthe highway
lightlesssince you've goneyour memory lay upon my worldlike a shadow across the suna point of impenetrable darknessfor which there isno remedy
revenantsome nights,dreams aren't enoughwhen the acheruns deep,I need more thanremembered embraces,imagined trysts,more than hopesof tomorrow, next week,next yearI want the truthof your bulkbeside me whenI turnin the dark,the realityof warm skinnot my own,the unknowingof lonelybut you're not here(and no one else will do)so I willtoss and turnin the cold armsof my dreamingonce more
A Clockwork of ConsistencyA Clockwork of Consistency 9/23/14He sat alone on a lonely bench.Green paint faded and chipped-weathered by the salty Gulf of Mexico.It had been there - a silentwatcher of the sea for as longas he could remember.He had made a habit of goinghere early to greet the sunand start the day right -with a small prayer and a coffee.He had done this for three straightyears - a creature of routine.It gave him comfort and peace.A serenity he was never able toduplicate anywhere else.He felt less alone with thisbench and the rising sun ashis stable and reliable friends.Sometimes a tear would form in his eyewhen the beauty was too much.On this particular morning he was so lostin his thoughts and so entrancedby the vivid colors before him thathe barely registered her - sittingon the bench beside him.How long had she been there?How long would she stay?"Sunrises leave me in awe.Do you not agree?" shequietly asked as she turned to him.He had no words to say so henodd
darling, darling. i.you were in mydreams again,darling. i felt you in mybones again,d a r l i n g, and when i awoke i thoughtthat it wasyears ago.and you were yelling andscreaming andasking me where you were, whereyou had been, the worst partwas that icouldn't answer you. in allof your anger,you were still the one personwhose name stung mythroat.ii.you were in myhead again,darling, andpart of me wishes that youhadn't left.my mother told me that peoplewould often break your heartif you loved them toomuch, so i guess that justmaybethis is my fault afterall.iii.but now i am highagain andthinking of last winter and howi spent itwith you, and how i amkind ofdoing it again thisyear.
49It's a bleeding stormIt's a raging seaIt's the deepest bluethen a nauseous greyit knocksand the white orchids by your bedstain your sheets a bitter limeyou try to dry your sweaty red palmsand the skies swell into an algal greenIt flames your eyesand you swallow your spinethere's the whitest snowin the darkest night( She trips over her bones and tears her lungs )
highschool, II parts.i.i walked throughthese doorswith bright eyes and aneager heart.that was four yearsago; inthe months spent trapped betweenwhite walls andcat calls, closed windows andtorn skinned girls, i have learned that iam nothing but a mothunable to findthe flame.ii.it is1:46 p.m and idon't need a cigarette buti sure as hellwant one.these kids are cryingand even worse,they're fucking d y i n g-the only thing they'll getin their gravesis the failed test that somehowmeant more to the worldthan they did.
another metaphore for someone i once knew.Jesse Owenswas a fast boy witheven quickereyes.this is nothis name, but i seeJesse Owens, thatfamous boy, hiding inthe crevices ofmy old friend's body ashe ranfrom this hellish town.when the sun rosehis limbs were frosted gold, andwhen it sethe always faltered- just for asecond, a briefmoment in time, but neverenough to make himturn back;i wonder if he willever regret it, if he will everhate his running shoesand runningheart.
eighty three poundsi used to think a grumblewas the way my stomachsaid good job. i used to thinkthat the ridges of my spinewere proof that i was there,ready to have his fingersclimb up every step. but the spacesbetween my thighs were too muchlike sewing needles - and the wordshe said were too much likea frayed piece of thread.he told me that i was beautifulwith or without skin; said thatwhen he held me he was painfullyafraid of breaking something; said thatmy bones were reminders that he couldn'ttouch mebecause when you're this thinbruises come easily.i made sure my food didn't mingle,pushed mash potatoesdown into the sewage and fed myselfpictures of Victoria's Secret Angelswith a side of chocolate flavored laxatives.i thought the bumps of my shoulders,the sharpness of my kneeswere more Big Macs ready to notbe eaten.he said he couldn't be a sugar daddywhen sugar was nine calories too much;said that maybe we could try eating in bed next timesince that's what's considered wil
uprisinghe went back to nightsto buy a blue rayand her patience gave outlike retreads in Julyas she watched herchildren sleeping