something sometimes i write
makes no perfect sense,
so that what i put out there
is most frequently tread upon by
my sated behavior.
i can't imagine a world
in which words always march
in a narrow trough like this
and it's left me lately dismissed,
speculating on what i'm trying to
say against the ego of my
clouded and partisan intentions.
truth is:
i'm trying to be mild.
temperate in my frolic
around this world;
tenacious in my advisory
toward those whom i love.
(my bathroom's floor sags in
a finite sorrow while i write this)
yearning is a decent enough word
and the fatigue that emptiness
brings upon me is a speechless
death to this pale poet.
i need a stone in the sling;
a magnificent weapon that i might
wield to fell the giants
in my forest and take
possession once again.
there is some evil
practicing its craft on
me; a parallel body
in a vacuous world whose
primal light i see as if through
a gauze at night.
i've never gotten used
to being in the seams of
life, i suppose.
so yearning is an excellent
word - the way the sun aches
in the palm of winter, or
the moon rages in the breast
of summer.
truth is:
i'm trying to be mild.
temperate in my frolic
around this life;
tenacious in my advisory
toward you, whom i love.
you know ... i had a teacher
whose life-passions sagged as
much as my bathroom's floor.
to think i fantasized about
us when she despised me in life
but in dreams shredded my
virginity and left me yearning.
i once hurt for a lover
to the point that i thought i'd
been separated from the earth;
my eyes were numb to every sound,
my ears could only see into my past.
sweetheart:
talk bitter sense to me.
show me the origins of tears.
make yourself hoarse with it
and get me back quickly so
that i might again be shaken
into a murmur on the pond,
a wake in the shore,
a disturbance across the sands.
i know who i am.
i'm a prince of the habits
of dreams and i've
nothing to show for
the mining of their wealth,
except maybe the
thick agitation of mysterial words
that they've gifted me:
all sparks and wander,
life and wonder
all yearning.
