so...

i waited

wanting

to hear a word

you were my muse

but without excuse

you took your leave

i waited

and degenerated

this bird has flown

Dearest, you're the nearest to my heart

heart-

Am I taking too much for granted?

Peacock feather blue

Nobody will miss me when I'm gone

But is that what I'm supposed to be greiving about

While I'm still alive?

So we part

And I so bold

Standing in this corner

Smugly turned away

As if I do not know which bird's name love is.

i start to sweat before you feel the warmth

Environmental activism

Is not environmental optimism.

It is the voice of greed

And it bleeds with the fear, the sorrow

Of human incapacity

to see

Beyond itself.

We die

Without grace

Clinging onto hope as if it were life.

Clinging onto self as if that alone were life.

But life amiss -

A mass of regret, our body and our soul

We take from this earth, all that we never owned.

Environmental activism

Is political propaganda

Unless you want to hear the earth's agenda

And the earth has none.

Yet why do we go on and on and on and on?

the elemental zoo

Blindness

Crippled blindness

then must mean that you can see

But what I see is glory

Without an ounce of mystery.

Glory glorified

is too much to see.

I wish I could go back to being wholly blind

To gain a little bit of that mystery

And return to the unexalted

So that seeing, again, would not make me believe.

pedagogy

When they told me emotions are dispensible

And confidence needs to be made permanent

And suddenly so much of distanced alertness

All this alertness

Makes me forget who I am

What am I expending my focus on?

A filthy, wasted bargain.

So they tell me love is an object

"Make an object out of love!"

And I try and peek in to see if it's my heart

Or my crotch they're talking about.

inclinations

on the edge of disaster. and life is back to being beautiful again.

even in death we are a little inconsistent

the exhibitionist

"i want to spread myself out for you

i want you to see

all of me"

and when i say this,

i excite you

i arouse you

i make a new man out of you

don't i?

i start shedding,

revealing

unconcealing.

my sensual body

is clothed only in your gasp and your stare

and the look on your face

is enough to arouse me as well

touch me with your naked hand

all my clothes undone

you think i am done

but not yet

for i havent shed anything yet

in unintentional ingenuity

(but oh what ingenuity!)

i shed

and i shed

shed skin and flesh and bone

in front of your eyes

until i am nothing more

than just the vaguest memory of somebody dead

i wanted to show

i wanted to tell

i wanted to reveal

and leave nothing behind for you to misunderstand

i left nothing behind

you saw

you saw all of me

but what you saw

you couldn't make out

as me

because you knew, i know, you too are what i am on the inside

the same flesh, the same blood, the same gory biological detail nobody wants to pay attention to -

ugly, intolerable truth.

but why must it be told?

why must it be shown?

when it's in all of us

and showing thus, it keeps us from remaining alive.

in showing all that can be seen

there was nothing left of me.

we all want to see

we all want to be shown

i think you got more than you asked for

but i wanted to show more

i wanted to show so much more

but i was gone before i was done

so maybe you did misunderstand me, after all.

and just to be fair

i hope you'll keep a lock of my hair.

something is not quite right with this poem...

there is no power in what you are going to say

because the future is in yesterday

so when you procrastinate

(line missing)

but a blog imprinted with memories of loss.

creation submerges in loss

emerges as pain

repeatedly.

it is almost always barren

where only tomorrows exist.

(hmm...reading a poem with a missing line can be awkward...)

while nothing came our way

we waited

and created

"i experimented with love

the result: burnt petals in the rain. oh so unwashable.

i experimented with desire

but my body language

contained too many grammatical errors

i experimented with satire

and oh ya...i got a lot of laughs-

i do not want to go into exactly why that happened

i experimented with pain

and how my heart burned

but heart burn is really just belly acid rising up to the oesophagus

it's belchy, it's bilish,

it has no room in poetry.

i experimented with pain

and waited for the rain

but it was the wind that finally set me free.

i experimented with fire

as flames poked my gut

a sensation unrivaled.

and while i experimented with fire

i discovered i was unable to disappear into the smoke"

we created

and waited

are you my marygold?

yes. no. bitch. whore. too many fucking lies. everyone denies. you are a fucking pink pig that does not cry. no, bitch. you are not my marygold.