the cold is not
from the milk i drink but
this sudden chasm
which has its hold
on my body - i feel
dizzy & i tremble
& feel sick why
do you avert your gaze
so avidly? why will
you touch every person in the room
but me?
no i'm shaking with cold but
that doesn't have to do with temperature
it is cold
because you've taken back
your sweet and easy intimacy
you will not touch me.
not until we are alone -
and you turn to me
as if i can answer your questions
and the only answer i have
is to this question:
are you in love?
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
just fine
it is what i do not lift
to my lips
that will tell you the extent
of my despair
and loathing.
what i will not consume
the strange passion
for counting, and lying -
no, not hungry,
just ate a bit ago, really -
i'm fine
to my lips
that will tell you the extent
of my despair
and loathing.
what i will not consume
the strange passion
for counting, and lying -
no, not hungry,
just ate a bit ago, really -
i'm fine
Friday, April 4, 2008
rubbing it in
a layer of salt on the wound
is all i'm going to get
from you
so i don't mind that you're
not calling to tell me
why i won't do.
it is a relief; my inferiority
i know all too well, can plot
the timeline
of my mind's rise and fall -
the freefloating panic
and empty inertia of apathy
i know more about my
being unfit
than you give me credit.
so pardon your fucking trouble,
dealing with me -
some lost, fucked-up self
pardon my thinking
this time would be worthwhile,
that i
might have deserved this;
i erred.
i do not need you
to tell me
because i sing it to myself
with every solitary step
on the concrete,
each song i sing
to myself,
a lullaby
voice cracking
on the walk home.
is all i'm going to get
from you
so i don't mind that you're
not calling to tell me
why i won't do.
it is a relief; my inferiority
i know all too well, can plot
the timeline
of my mind's rise and fall -
the freefloating panic
and empty inertia of apathy
i know more about my
being unfit
than you give me credit.
so pardon your fucking trouble,
dealing with me -
some lost, fucked-up self
pardon my thinking
this time would be worthwhile,
that i
might have deserved this;
i erred.
i do not need you
to tell me
because i sing it to myself
with every solitary step
on the concrete,
each song i sing
to myself,
a lullaby
voice cracking
on the walk home.
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