paper:flower:girl

folded like paper the flower girl at the ehart of things
she's up in there inside of me under the ehart with hear
that's red like setting sun not to beat around the bush
but she'sa mermaid and she flies and i've seeen her carried
i watched the ocean washo ver her the way it does
now the way its washing wright now the way its washing
over me its washing over you can you imaging living at
the sea side and never getting buried under the sand
that what is like that i promise you is what it slike
being baked
like a pie
being baked
under the sun
being baked baked baked baked baked
baked baked.
its' laa relative. the nateur of baking. the nature of the potato who's been sabotaged. the nature of the rose thorns on the patio. when pricked when bleed. when baked when dead. when ravens and crows convene to congregate about rose throns the black of their fetahres you can't see through its like ink, like word.s i wonder if anyone knows the truth of hte city. i ownder if anyone knows the beating hearts. i woner for you, mr. loner. i wonder for you mr. skin and bones, under this ghaggard flex. under these nipples udner these hair. i wonder if you've been baked. i wonder if you've been the city. a tumultuous pastime. i left os many behind. i tramped a girl under the city. i trampled a girl under my city. she remembered loving me once, and i told her about the curls and about the rubber soles and about the word that gets pressed when you stamp hard enough. i told her about the times in the night.
dear lady,

i love you

dear sir,

i love you

dear city,

i love you i love you dear city my love. somewhere under concerete is kin and bones. somewhere under iron is the passivity of grave. i wanted to talk about grace but all it comes out as death as skull and pones buy.

dear city, dear city,
dear city, i love you,
dear city, dear city,
this hoel, that i love you

its all coming out here, in this little letter in this last note to grace the end of the colelction.
this matter ofthe city. this matter
of the asphalt. the i disappointment
of the matter o f the asphalt.

the clock ticks down.

dear city.

the clock ticks down.

dear city.

simic writes that the end is as meaningless as the beginning,
or, that isn't correct, it is a paraphrase, a dumbing down, a
simplification of the city. don't you understand lungs?

look, i love you, and i remember things about
you mermaid. maybe leaving, maybe staying.

look, i love you, city.

look i love you! in the mirror,
there is a standout tower, a wall of windows
and portsl reflecting, and looking through
and looking through you see them, and looking
at the window you can see how it is really a mirror
and even if you are falling you are inside and the
carpet is plush or ochre

same time next week, jelly bean

seam times

like sewing

like she sewed

like the city's seaweed
as the saltwater comes up the streets and through the doors
and washes right up to your toes and you count he grains
that tgather in the ply of the carpet and you can see the cat
in a sailboat on mainstreet, he looks disctracted
there is a dead mouse in the bow
and you can see the ribcage
and you can see the organs
under the rib cage
there are organs
like uder the city there is another city
and under that city veins
and under that city bacteria

when you finally reach the bottom let me tall you something
YOU WONT LIKE IT BECAUES ITLL SEEM FALSE AND YOULL
LOOK BACK ON THE THINGS YOU"VE SAID TO THE CIT AND youLL
WONDER< DID IT REALLY MATTER ALL THAt much?

did it really matter because the mermaid still prefers the ocean
and the sandysilt backs at your toes

and your baking under this sun
your skin is peeling
and under your skin is someone
that looks a little like you
but younger
and paler
and more naive

and you just want to take them to town
buy them a present
say be well
say i'll see you another day
say time to go, lover

and then you'll wander back up the street
and the city will yawn
and the vast magnitude of it all
can be forgotten under it all
the vast magnitude
can be forgtotten

its been months

I really considered it. I know what to ask for, I know the lingo enough to play smart. I know who to ask. And that would probably be the worst birthday present I could give. It's selfish and unforgivable. pay no attention to the legality behind the curtain. no one would be suspecting, but unforeseen actions play a role in every stupid idea. its not worth it. and I cant compromise what I have for some cheap thrill. Best to distract myself from reconsidering it again.

And if this wasnt vague enough, I can only imagine what my next post WOULD have been like had I decided to attempt this.

ode to michigan

I danced to music that was built to trip to. The lights and sounds and videos were meant to install bliss and relaxation into the minds off all who were involved. The LSD was in mass doses that night, and I as straight edge as could be jumped and gyrated through the lost crowd to the melodies(?) of industrial light and magic. I recognized one from the crowd. My old roomie. DMT was rocking his brain, but not to the point where he was as lost and wandering as the faceless herds of new age artists hippies and morons. He was dancing and jumping as though he was native american leaping around and through the fire and flames. We rain danced. We warded off the zombie swarms. We were being, not just existing.

Earlier that weekend, I saw a boy lying on the ground. His eyes open, and a brighter blue than the sky. His lips parted in a slack manner, there was no animation to suggest he might be alive. We walked on to the concert. Later the cops had found him, and were either trying to rouse him awake, or checking his vitals. I couldnt tell through all the pot smoke. Where was he "being"?

The night before a new life

Do they have lightning dragons in New Hampshire? Will I be able to taste shooting stars in the night air without out you? I hope for neither, or I hope for a way to fold you up in my pocket and take you there with me into the mountains. Maybe we can strip down and jump into a cool stream with no one looking, and stare at the moon in the reflection of the water. We can make song lyrics for ourselves, instead of clinging to a melody just not quite right.

Odds and ends

Garlic in the juice and chocolate in the pasta sauce. Two pairs of socks and no mittens. Hot sauce in the fridge and butter on the counter. Fly to Mexico and drive to Canada. Live in Massachusetts and live in Vermont.

Wheat Field

Glittering in the field of grass, a gentle breeze blowing the seeds of a new destiny all around. We sat waiting for the lemon drop rays to melt off the sky and plummet to the ground where we lay. I wondered where everything was going to go, how we were going to be, but the sun tasted too sweet to think of such serious things.
And as we caught each little pearl of sun on our tongues, our most important worries dissolved away.

It read so much longer in your eyes

It's a new year. New plans. Our futures being quickly intertwined with our dreams, as if they had always been.
Now we'll sleep under a shower of burning stars slowly soaking into the strands of our hair, dripping cool beads of stardust on our feet.