float float float float float float, tear & sink

why can you make me cry? no, no, of course you don't make me do anything. but why do my heads stuff up with tear balloons at you, sometimes. it isn't you, I know. I haven't ever met you. so why. it's not a question. I have thoughts of you, I fill them with those float-making gases. we all know I am a gasballoon, I shove it out into space. I am actually really sorry, in a nonapologetic way. I think it is called pity. do my tear wells come out with pity pies for you, then? maybe I have pitied you all along. pity has never been an act of love. I have never loved you. I will always love you. which is true, is it both true. this isn't questions. am I an empathetic one? am I sympathy for only finally but me. I am truly sorry. I wish I could touch you all the way down. I wish I could explain how I wish I could understand. I wish I could be there in the deep part to understand someone else. I am understanding of me. I want to share it, understanding can be an infinite thing, no? well, that is definitely not a question. but I am sorry, for you. I think you are better than you think you are, better than you think I think you are, but you don't think of me at all but how would I know? this is no question. I ask a lot of questions, don't I. that wasn't really one. I ask a lot of questions at the wind and they won't answer back at me. so there aren't any, it's like I wasted the wind trying to get something back from a wind that's gone long before I've sent anything out in it. it's dispersed invisible before it even hits the dispersed invisible, you know? you don't know, so there's no question in that. be okay, please, I do think so, I do want it to be like that for you. I hope you get out of there & in something else. a hope is a sort of question. a hope is a gassy balloon. hope is for the clouds & we live in there. or I do. I'd ask if you do, but you aren't answers at all. only finally but stop making me cry. you can't make me do anything. you are a free country

sexy

guessing what comes out? melancholy & sanguine.
sometimes sacred. mercurial baby
  bet on that rocket
  rock me asleep, stone me
    to death. print me with letters
      talk me out of it, talk me into it
close me up
  close up beside me
     close into me
      close, into me
maybe it's the weather
maybe I make the worst weather
  tengo mal tiempo
I wish I had allof the world's balloons to ride
  back to last August or July or someplace
    to some preplace
      when I was just a kid in the sun
         with a different kind of weather
I'm sorry I've been a wrath
  I hope I am honest
  I hope I am a trustful
bc I can sleep through the nights, now
  I do things before bed
  I draw those flowers
  I let Kafka in my ears
& my melancholy blood
  it is a pretty lot still, me
    I mean, I could be a graduate with this mind of mine
  I could muster the strength of many men up in here
  I could rally
    my virility
       I could smoothe her hair
          caress her down
  make less lonely how-it-is
I wonder if I'll get fired for taking all of these breaks
  but I'm trying to get true broke, see
    bc I've heard that sometimes you need to break it
  to snap back into place