Dependency
If you’d want me
some other way,
Just say and I’ll
change the way my heart beats
I’ll change how the air flows
out of my lungs, my breath
is
yours.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I Talk to
Myself
I talk to myself about herself
About how he’s not really me.
I think she might be my
Animus or Anima
Or maybe I am hers
Or maybe Jung was wrong
Or maybe I should talk
To other people about their walks
And grades and mundanities and semblances
of lovers.
But I prefer the company of ourself.
Sorry,
Teach Me
while I slide down to your
pleasure regions.
Teach me how to be a cutie,
a pretty red dress
and
some fruity perfume.
If you want to,
you know?
Like I don’t mean to give you an
imperative,
but I
don’t know?
How to request assistance/work with
others/play nice?
and this
is the best I can do, so
sorry for asking thank you
for listening i’ll be on my way
have a nice day stranger
Lonely
Holes Need Photons
Don't holes know where holes go
when holes go away? They
don't; they're holes; without brains.
What's a gap that has no
also so lonely.
A lonely gap, a lonely hole
hoping for photons and
friendship.
I own one whole hole and
I fill it with photons and
friendship
(though my hole does not long for those.)
They don't. They're holes. Without brains.
What We
Think About When Trying Not To
My lover loves gore and horror and her
lover wants to be a god. But our ambitions may exceed our means, and there is
no pause; we feel time grating against our telomeres, making them weak, eroding
them to uselessness. Oh, the want for use, and to be used, and to have purpose
and something to do; we have that want, and yet we both find joy in failure,
and suffering – and I suffer for her, because I enjoy it, but she does not
suffer for me because – at least not often – because her wants are not like
that; they complement my own, and so we make a set. We are ideals, though the
traitor works hard to stop this.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You Have
My Favourite Name
The air painted warmly by Saharan sand:
In that yellow haze, the wind played with
my hair,
and in my coat
I wonder if it was playing with you too;
because nature is your muse, and not mine. But
that day,
I lend her pages, and ask for her own,
politely; our acquaintance is new
And if
ever those days come, when we share
freely,
then even the words here are hers to hear
And
even though, say all signs, this is
excessive,
aren’t poets known for their excess of
feelings?
I’ll lend her pages
Ever more pages
Even though pages
She has plenty
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Boundless
Romance
Rain drop/sky kiss;
One, another, then many
Breezes playing
So teasingly with my hair
Wet grass/soft licks
This affection knows no end
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Oh,
Conquer My Head, Future-Lover:
In an image:
Adore-piercing willingly pierced me.
In words:
Enjoy, observe, absorb, conquer my head?
Look, I’m such a servile conquest a,
Willing, lovestruck, conquest!”
