Not could never belovelost and lorn.

just now and true

And oh so real! It is foggy out but this reflects not on me. The tunings of guitars and I can form sentences to-day. To-morrow in the world to be out. Something like a cloud floats through the rooms, from the strummings of boy to boy. To see I sit and wait, and the breath comes in my lungs with occasional clarity, bouts of unnoticed breathings. Orange juegos but not in fruits but colores. Reminds of life in the pits of sic-beds. The water turned on morningtimes, whence a forward is looked to and I languish in a pretty near-end of the soft and subtlelest January yet.

Mediterranean stairs

pretty little, 27 to 29




Mediterranean, sighs the year. Just you and I considered momentarily in the reaches. Bedroom  me, and us being together, the prospect of family. It’s broken in half. In your underwear forever, I thought today, but then decided against it, knowing linear leaves him, even. How my elongate clusters of white look like his arms draped. Interesting. Dislike me pink, broken over my hip. And later...

Yellow flowers from upstairs, of my lifestyle. I drank greek poetry, and mythology calls masculinity in french, has the flowers of Hades. Dinner I wanted him to be, and new. Nothing to do, dead, still. Staring, relieved, actresses with india & sacred to Persephone. I hope you never die triangular. My lone french poetry, rest: I do, because to think further. To my good fortune, the daffodil rolled underneath me. I’d sink further.

I was approached by assuagement; with this I’d wonder even more. The kind of delicious and english intensity you remember. Think about that tantalizing possibility, thinning distress. Back to the second, impossibility cut short. Pacification with the tiny subject. To be with someone black-rimmed quiet and we had things like this, like falling in love. For now a red appeasement and we are going to take fear for a future. We with a white relief still, still, for seconds, either be friends or out to be the reversal. Remember many, many interminable seconds; we will fall in love, sensitive and mysterious. The strangest I’ll be. Nowhere with each other, emotional but relating around, unplanted. I won’t know where to look for you and I. Hiding behind something ancient from the grass.

I ask for a general rule, rules and ancestral footsteps. You try and should, oftentimes, to make amends. A door opens and a few steps are taken, not to begone for that long. Be abode by me. It seems that people have territorial borders, from the top of the stairs.

pretty again, little again

pretty little, one


I remember now… I am not asleep and I am not aching; I am aberrant in my sitting tiny at the table. A white fog sits rightly back with me and, departing from accepted standards, we both exist meanwhile, cramped in an apartment. Anxious we seem overall; but inside we're something amazing, deviant, abnormal. There are doilies everywhere, conifers in the backyard… Maybe now to listen: it's atypical, anomalous, and we're talking over the television, over the whir of the ceiling fan.

Hill-less, the fog notes, sidelong glancing out the window.

The sunset is careless, without any sense of only four hours of red. The unpleasant brown cat is perched sometimes of sleep. We're entranced by France as a tiny situation. The time left until awakening is a sterile state delicately centered on yesterday. A clean bed is an ornately crocheted doily. One of those, feeling it surely isn’t.

Maximum homemade from pale blue days. Feeling like to die until I can find a way solemnly, turning pages, to be done for. Wondering softly, electricity. Wondering how, a belief about anything else ever. Today once more I’ll wake up, claim this voice that’s arisen. Grip on my doing & why.

In the morning, annul sarcastically important points: A grand way to meet those beautiful acidulous nonexistents.


Sleeping in any year, any day,
girls or women sharp-tasting or sour;
good to sound with someone
starts nice
I should say
pleasantly
In aqua remarks.

Even with the sounds around.

Then begins congested as
though the throat turned-up,
tone bitter, cutting
telephone rings
and the bedclothes beginning
to ache, orange-freckled and
bitter at caller.

Never is it pure
and shoulders

Typically
perfect beneficial, most simple…
tall of speech opportunity, just miss
(I don’t) a wide, skeletal
poem possibility.
treasured find
a body bag smile and a
danish accent.
Word and future.
sleep and soon, I’ll not know finally.
Puzzle shaking, annoyed
rye for a reason,
from Paris with the shaved composition in which possibility embraces
that there’s someone else.
Plenty inspirational.
Certain letters in each line might stir
something from within.

I miss someone. I wish eyebrows.
Form a word still looking when I’m sleeping.
reason could explain the latter,
or words at alone sometimes… this!
Oh, is my favorite, acuity. So there you have
but who, really. I just wish it could
(with uncertain English)
(and sharpness or keenness of thought),
this one example.

I want to be there
I know your name,
a shy sweet vision
on hearing.
Who is taken with me
because I read it,
from quality.

An enlarged mass of absurd.
I will and do fall.
a highly possible in love with urgent you,
layered, often obstructing
breathing, liking
to you. frequency paid
for one atop the other.
Through passages,

Ah but a memory.
(I am unafraid of french,)
It’s possible we could move in
together, being
characteristically pinched.
falling into that
particular abyss.
Flight as my dreams can,
in the features and the looks.

I am afraid that I’ll fall, matching true.
to make this seem
worth the while, in and not,
too beautiful a boy. Drowsily
I contemplate my own
quality, using words like Again & Again.

the little windows, little tables

The little blowing horn. I answered the phone and there was a voice I missed, I wrote down in letters some type and a word traveled over. Always travel led wrong. Always a misspelling, but misgivings. And the counting down gets drastic when shoveling.

A solemn horn blown, like a canada goose flown. An upwash, a downwash, a flight formed. A skein, a hair catching wind. To pretend you know so much is all tempts, the quick showers of delight flash over like a cloud gone by the sun.

brilliants

It's the next day, a next door and the clang from it. Us and we, we're separated just by a little space set up, and an unknown cry-out from who-knows, and how was it made, and strummed, and loved, and was it a lot.

O, your little face of different colors. Your little eyes of colored glasses made from suns, planets. The strange cries of pangs, the pains, the twangs of metal strings all differentshaped, blues & notes and sounds abound.

a quiet blanket around a quiet shoulders

Some if on an evening wait, and look up and to see in the surprise of a crystal solid darkness through an ice a star alit, about only millions if not trillions of miles from the eye. But through just such a dark quiet cold, wondering here, just further west for a body to live than ever, if such descriptions surprise, even... in a winter a wind expects me when I leave a house. On januaries it blows an ice arm over to clothesline a whip at me. I slap it until my hand is froze, thick with red, and slap sommore until it's thawed. a little chunk of wind warmed.

And so surprises saved for spring.

exits

14 January 2008

radical monotonous afternoon, & could Thinking just good so good to get so good infact self and I, casually enjoying. even exists. regrettable against attempting of positions… oftentimes classical just this moment.

she had her eyes over hid

As if to forgetten! A release at least. In slomotion movements, even the eye can't catch one, all of the above and before's movement like just rustlings, and all the silences, and all the short quiets familiar.

Smells of kitchen smells, like no wonders. Some dark eyes overshouldered. Eyes with coats with tiny sweaters, bear sting told types just berries picked earlier in dreamsummer. you remember

fortunately, placed

cat
cat cat
cat cat cat

cat cat cat cat cat cat
cat cat cat
cat

salad cats, making the salads
perma salad
perma cat
permablogs
making the storysat
storysat
making the piece one

o cry out, a suns!

Los suns multiples. The arrogant whitewash and the shadow trying for harsh. But a soft trickle through a tree. Outside there, and across, though the cars go by so to see it I still a park, a lot, and many too. The greens of the lawn and all the things to take with, the scent, the steady rush hush purr of sizzle stove things like onion to like and garlic to push into oil, make a stir up a sense.

Oily branches dipped to sky, little arms little ripples little brown wove to a softer antiquated blue. of a powder blue, of a sky not to become paired to! Nothing be compare. just the two the boths and the forever seconds twined like of brown thick. The park sits still, the windows still, the cat on fence, still, and through one opened up to me. To us appear, to us, a pair. To a rightly paired pairadice. A little us stand captivated, the chop of hunger smell through to deeply make smiles forth.

paint scrapes by

is it a blow of a leaf, side, a machine a little tiller up a lawn hill. A wet spray of the old much from under, the under-muck of leaves smashed to the wet temps a fine grind is made. In an adjective I relate an unsullied day, for a day like a day like a day I can tell. Air moving still, still as in water bits smaller than can we see them held silent in the airs around us. Not a wind to blow. only tube machine make a wind that so blows sidewalks clean. realized dust for water almost, hung in the airs. Walking through them a face becomes damp. Damp enough can't not even to be touched. Dry is soft awhile whilst wet is life.