sitting by the river being all proud of myself (truth)

I am homely, driving in my car
             waiting
how many words do you think are in my vocabulary
how many words do you think of me
  I'm too something to something
  some pre-you pre-yous I'm doing, I'm after
I'm tired
I'm sprinklers, I'm sprinkling under summer
I'm sorry, I'm out
my car will die
I'll need a jump
I'll dry eye the night
but I'll
  sing at the tops of me
Truth
  with its un
recognizable
bassclarinet
     goodbye
         I'm asleep
            & truly
         from the mist
         from the most severest place
       are my apologies

never see what I meant

the own power

the beautiful brain

the envelope to slide me in

my own certainty, sparks

it rolls

rolls baby

take them away with you, in pleading voice

but they aren't my problem, anymore

they're for you

that was on a porch tonight

and I was innocent

in my getting-out-there-outfit

this is a joke on forever, 

of course

i do know i do know i do know i do know i do know i do know i do knwo i do knwo i do knwo i do know i do know i do i do i do

where's the question mark in that? write a poem, already! sing yourself off

get it, gurl

i miss u u r so wonderful

why would anyone ever look back at that?

where's my question mark

now

hello, beautiful

Why? Because my blood is thick. I have all these tortured organs, I know it. I make them whipped. They ache, but with smiles across them. My sweet little heart getting big on itself. Making hard itself. That tumescent little thing. My mouths filled with apologies which fall out and disappear on a breeze. No one will hear! not even my own opened ears. My filthy fingers reaching for yours. Your cups in mine. Mine own overflowing. The quiet cold, my heartattack building, the mossy breeches of the nailed fingers, traipsing, traipsing toward yours. Yonder fingers tracing over mine mossy knuckles. But this is love, no? shall we argue? Nothing in me is for an argument. I give up, relentless, restless, accepting, open, whole, heartedly, whole. The whole hole filled with heartblood, gushing, retracting, sucking itself off. Never relenting, never detumescing. The various plaids of my outershells, my chitinous fibres. My camouflage, our matching stripes and shades. I will be there, you know it. I will scrape you off, when you need it. I will sing when you like me, I will look when your eyes are away. And still keep it when they turn back towards, inevitably. Do you still read me now?