Here we are,
The rush is over
And we're wondering what to do.
I look at you,
And see nothing
That I'd ever want to be
If we were better at telling the truth
We'd say "That was nice,
See you later."
But no,
we insist on lying to ourselves
Saying
"Let's keep in touch,
I really like you."
"Let's keep in touch,
I really like you."
I really like you."
Who in this proverbial mess
Would realize
That their own eyes
Are not going to confess
The tears of
Sinners.
Minotaur of my own heart
Run into the circle
Plummage into ten trembling innocents
Each with my own face
I'M RUINING MYSELF
I ONLY HAVE ME TO BLAME
I'M RUINING MYSELF
WHAT'S THIS CRAZY GAME?
======
She was the child
So wild who saw creatures
To meet her eyes in the
Skies swimmingly
In pools of azure
Patches captured by the trees
Failing to be full grown
The bird flown long since now
Sweat on your brow- not yet
Full, not fullfilled, doesn't get
that you shouldn't COLOR a face
Green or only in the lines, and lace should
be worn, not torn
====
old
busy
empty
but bright
twisted and naked
kudzuless
remembering
watching
sweet lips
creamy page
all alone
at four oh six
where are you going
not rush hour
not lunch hour
either am or pm
on a monday
where are you headed?
====
ultimate juxtaposition-
an old
intimate
intricate
peaceful
holy graveyard
spotted with flowers
pink, red, and white
and
a trucker's gas station
public
grotesque
gassed up
crawling with porn
and snack food.
====
In Chicago
Ancient statues dance in frozen
Poses, and trees stretch their
Naked arms and send shoots
Up the sides of the angular brick buildings
Neon signs boast the best gyros ever
And Lake Michigan groans passionately.
Fire escapes spider up walls, and
Small boxes of flowers decorate the windows.
People with half open mouths let streams of
Thick fog out,
And bartenders set out
Glasses. Taxi drivers mumble under their breath,
Heading into the city.
=====
Would you rather
Betray your love
Or
Have your love
Betray you?
====
Aristotle once said
We are what ew repeatedly do
Which would I be
An act
A love
Food
A tear
A dream
A dance
An apology
A lie
Or a poem
(Oh, to be a poem.)
====
Someday, I will get better
At throwing wadded up peices of paper
Containing ideas
Into the trash can
Maybe one day, they will sink in
Instead of bouncing back out.
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