do you ever ‘magine
those private times
one day would be
recorded,
held sway
in lack of
sightings
/ah,
those cherished moments
i always wished were known.
Posts published in “Poems”
nice experience,
but i’d like to have my own some day.
imagine a touchscreen-based system
such as a touchstream
where fueled typings become
a way in which to feel
the words
— much as blind,
however, completely ‘vined.
.. ah,
the prickled few
of finger,
held to view in rise
of spires, whole-handed.
but who holds not
when r’/’yping gives
most note, though
screen with perceivable
impulses
reaches both ocular
and tactile
combat’
of stream.
My mind thinks in spurts.
I wish it wouldn’t, but if it didn’t
it wouldn’t be the same;
I wish it wouldn’t, but if it didn’t
I wouldn’t know your name.
My mind thinks in spurts,
catches on a word, I wish it wouldn’t,
but if it didn’t, I wouldn’t be the same;
I wish it wouldn’t, but you know
I wouldn’t be here with you again.
My mind doesn’t work
uh– in the magical sense that
every other may; they
may see the roundabout, know there’s
a turn, but I stop in the middle and
admire the passers’ yearn for an outlet, anywhere,
anywhere to know the world is ahead and
I’m lost again, but that’s fine, yeah,
that’s just fine.
And I want you to know
I never knew your name
until you told me; I
never knew you existed
until the day I woke up,
rolled over,
and you weren’t there, beside.
i am a terarist. i am a n/o/et. i believe we have
come too far in history
to be anything other than
peaceful;
reserved;
allowing for the
alternations of other nations, the
availability of respectability.
we are who we are
because we’ve come here,
we’ve lasted as long as we have;
and what are we if fighting for
nothing; more than peace, we need
brotherhood, sisterhood, a
humanity.
i have a problem with words.
us, we use them, we throw them
away, hold onto what they meant
but keep going as though they
were never said; or maybe we
hold on to the thought and watch
as it slowly falls from view, a
sort of leaf and we’re caught in canopy
the lighthearted reality of not saying much is that, when you do say something at all, you’re generally expected to be profound, or to resonate a sense of worth within your words, when you may very well just want to be funny.
there is this tree,
towering, living
to be as shaded
reservoir of wind,
the subtle/nestled
shadow’s kin,
a warmth inverted,
deepened to the nerve
and thru, toward
skin’s
other layer, and
this tree,
holding,
lowering
itself
to me, holds
me up
and lets me
lie here,
a transparent,
meshed follower
of what
wind
may
grow.
when walking,
carpet/
rice/
pebbles/trees/roots/
leaves/limbs/body/
grasses/mud/ground/
dirt/beetles/ants/worms/
are all, directly,
from you treated.
i try to sabotage
everything
so you,
perhaps,
may see
all i want
is you
to be with me.