tangent intersection for a love lost street

you may never read this
this is for you

you may guess upon the meaning
the meaning is subjective

you may dance upon a spindle
i may prick my finger

i may spin gold
and you may hide your name

you may steal my little girl
not the one i have
but the one i am


are you afraid of what's under the bed
or did you already look under too many times for it be reasonable to look again

inspired by a night i was within and a night i was without

and just like a moment of awakened fright
so is the sound of yukele so basked in comfort
and just as a moment is lost on a pop-u-lust
so is a custom of standard lost
and just as the roofing lifts and bangs in the wind
so does my heart feel sure


and as the current shifts
from a vuluptuous thigh
so too does an unexpected excitment
crush a moment of weakness

and this is real
and this is part of the scene
and don't you forget it


and within an istant an instant was birthed
a moment forsaken
a thought given up
a kiss on a shrugged shoulder

and beneath a table a shift of a thigh
eyes locked before a wink breaks the silence
a love drifting on an ocean of painted horizon


rocking
in a belief that i have forgotten


angels don't forget and laughter beats all

and as it was built so shall it howl

wind
wind
it sounds different when i sign
i awake to wind
i unwind
i wind up for tomorrow
i rewind
i am winded

and the spinners against the wall reflect the fact that i've nothing to say

slippery slopes drip from media scopes
hidden in framework baffled by wisdom
idioms plastered on skyped eyes that relish
embellished by swag fags
that can't shut the fridge

our house is a very fine house


i'm not being sarcastic

"the greatest love of all" IS "we're all alone"

one more time ought to get it

awakening to night and a little boz skaggs
flute is fun when it's ominous with love
when are you coming home school boy?


that's what i love about poetry and disco

so poignant and unexpected

love like a two dollar word

like wonder basked in dirty sequins
like a metaphor that touches your secret parts

look at that girl
she hides in the shadows
she begs for forgiveness
acknowledgement

then the hand that says its over now
where did that come from

i can't take it

i know more than that

it's too late to turn back now

all i can think of is "where is my back up synthesizer?"

i just realized how intense you are
funny that i was so blinded by love

i thought i was blinded by yours
but i realize now that it was mine all along
mine hahahahhahahahahhahahahahaahaah
mine
my own

i like that i follow my own rules
it made me happier than ever to follow yours

throw me to the worms

i am only human
that's the excuse
isn't it?

how can any of us deny that one

death is a rebirth of something we may never know

like disappearing dreams of yesterday

we all spend most of our lives alone
even with your hand on my chest

and yet love is tangled

there is nothing short of dying
but i hope you are here a long time

can we ever learn enough
from the generation before us


we may never know




that is the beauty of faith

trust
trust in your fellow human
whose only excuse is human

whose humectant body
dissipates in our thoughts

please don't tell me how the story ends

i'd rather guess the ending
and decipher the circumstance

loving her was easier than anything i'll ever do again

oh those days of freedom
oh those days of nowhere to go
thats what love stories are made of

sometimes its nice to be near someone that's warm

and the daffodils are blooming
they used to be so sprite-ly
and now they cling to the concrete
the way i want to cling to you tonight

don't be fain by that change of direction
it's lucky to find a tequila tea-cup like me

i have this little alarm
that goes off
every morning right around now
only for a minute
but it's more consistent
than any of the traces of my past

i'll get up tomorrow and feel blessed
tomorrow's just another chance to win

getting up by sunrise
painting smiles again

and then the refrain
sing it willie

tell me then ... what do you want?

creek skip rhythmic blips

bumh bump dumnh duh slump skrump da da dit skop bump

repeat forever

or until i flip the record

i was once told that the rythmn of my writing was easily distinguishable

i think i spelled that wrong

but the thought that birthed thoseilllinguisticallyformedcharacters

is pure (really real)

i don't want to be distinguished necessarily

i don't want to be squished

i don't want my word extinguished like a cigarette that dies
before the thought was cultivated

or the sound of your voice lingered

or i felt something more than the script dictated

or the record played forever

the very not confusing disappearance of a grand fellow i hesitate to call a friend

if it wasn't confusing i'd have nothing to write about

if it wasn't delicious i wouldn't eat it

if it didn't look good on paper it still might be genius on film

you question me

a curious fellow you are

androgynous

like our children the heroines

my story is like a plotless tale

houses like entities

cards dealt like speed

the creation of plush dolls already outdated by their likeness

i want it all

i want the innocence with the intellect

i've said it before

this old childhood music reminds me of a bar bathroom floor

in a good way