Sunday, November 15, 2009


How careless one must become
To know the pleasant promise
And solitary expedition
Of a tiny boy thinking.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

:ove :oem

I'm late
I understand that
And I'm not interested
in the unusual ways
bugs mate
I don't think
that necessarily
makes good
poetry
But I do think
if I could touch
your hand right
now that would be
good enough
You see
I am very far away
from you
I don't
fully understand
that you could hear me
I am as a
lonely house
without windows
without floors
still
I am missing
I don't know why
our birth dates
are on everything
I touch
I think you
were trying to be
funny by giving me
a hard time
I got that later
I do love
you much
more

All Life is like this Afteroon

All life is like this afternoon on your young sandy face the weight of the stars the body tasting like snow a slipcover of communic...