We’re all pinwheeling our arms around and around out in a grassy field under a clear, blue sky. And we don’t want to run into each other as we spin around, but we sort of do, too.
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I’m beating my head still.
Beating it with my hands, and beating it against things.
Just generally beating.
Like my heart, but not so rhythmic or something. Yeah. Beat beat beat.
Ok. About what?
These darn girls. I try to keep them out of my head, and then they go and twirl me up around some finger or other roughly cylindrical body part, and I’m just happy to be noticed.
It’s all so simple, and it’s takes a long time to notice it, and forever to forget it.
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Tuesday:
a wrinkling, crinkling of my brow,
and a careful twist of my wrist,
and a slowly building wall of mist.
That’s all it takes for you to know I’m lost.
And the next thing to know is if I’m scared.
And then I guess you can try to figure out if you’re there with me.
There is a silencing factor in the world today. If you want to keep what you have, you won’t speak out against the powers that have made it possible for you to have those things. I used to be irreverent and fuck all that shit and what-not, but now I have more things, and I like those things, and I am quiet.
The truth.
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Sunday:
Claw your way up my back and perch your head on my shoulder.
Wrap your legs around my neck and bend all the way over.
A naked trickle of salty semen drips from the corner of my mouth and a drop or two falls down and lands with a splick on your bare behind.
We are love and lust and fuck you combined, and we are never really alive, but you can’t get rid of us no matter how hard you try to close your eyes.
(hey, you know what? I make this up.)
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Saturday:
A ringing goes ring ring in my ears.
A feeling goes woah woah in my fears.
A fire burns out late in the night
and I still can’t stop thinking,
about you.
A dripping goes drip drip in the rain.
A drooping goes woah woah on my face.
A fool looks at me and shakes his head,
and I still can’t stop thinking,
about you.
My Mom called tonight and told me that she and my Dad have separated. He moved out of the house last week sometime, and she hasn’t talked to him at all for almost a week.
Weird. It’s not totally surprising, but I wouldn’t say I was expecting it, you know?
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Wednesday:
It sounds like most of my friends are into voting. There is some hope for the future generation, despite my pessimism.
We are energy, 2 or 3 at once.
We are willpower, 4 or maybe 10.
We are freedom, righteous and true.
We are wild, unknown and free.
We are alone, just you and me.
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Tuesday:
hovering
I watch over her as she sleeps.
I am not there, but she feels me,
I hope.
Wild eyes watch the blind lines in the dark,
and think of nothing.
Chasing circles of romantic hope.