i can’t force what isn’t there. you get hernias that way. give your breath your stutter-lunged grasp of wind to me. these lips of yours play, stuck on mine in motion moved from limb to pool to your eyes, your eyes, wide-shocked with mine behind, in tow– what glimpse of you, this, your shiver-shake of hold, gives– how, slow, in rise, in ten-folding of these sweats, i wish to give you more in return of gifts— bitten, lie amongst my arms and know me, your breath on drum laid silently ’neath your skin: all i’ve come to be, yours, the comforting sigh repeated &n bsp; with lungs’ quiet rise and short’n’d push–how your throat calls to me for lips’ security and i, a weaker guard in these, your eyes, your wrap, your fingers, find no use to stay from answering.by close of finders, i’ve come to findthis calm in movement internalized,this breeze of thought lapping at lipsto widen and to loosen them, fullwithin your knowledge of this universe,Ours; a knowing of your blush through nudge slownto mapping draws in trick of nerve,a play on tick’ to lick of pore;and in this, our capsuled star let bake,a drowning of one another grows in breathing, more, with give of you and of me take’.
Archives for September 2005
the wolf, with
the wolf, witheyes raised:staring, guides the gift’d in glance of grave as devil of History; breaking light in eye of forest, mane bears but symbol in respect to Shadow’s fortune, Fate, the Following; yet Wolf, with throat raised:open, falls sense, in weight, to pit of torso, crowning ‘lids in cast of gold marred-faux; gift’d, let flush go fears of Follower; as oakened-oars on fall Converse with trail of them in Thought; yet Wolf, [...]
despite this knowledge (cliché)
despite this knowledge now ingrained,that the world will spin until it stopsnot when you’re afflicted or strained,i find it hard to process heras anything other thana meteor:striking fancy until breaking through my atmosphere–how can i force her ‘way when i can’t reach to her?this silly game of revolutions revolving round the subject frightens me.can she [...]
i have not written a 'good poem'
i have not written a ‘good poem’, one that makes sense beyond the words read or spoken. the reason for not having written a ‘good poem’ is not the inability to do so, but merely the inconsistency of thought toward, and the amount of time spent on, any given piece. to say i am not [...]
sittin' on my front porch
on slashdot, there’s an interesting article about rollable ‘paper’ displays, which are currently monochrome, but will eventually be color. could you imagine, sitting out on the porch with the morning paper (about the size of an 8×11 notebook, but as thick as the cover for stability) in your hand, your other adjusting your glasses. you [...]
the hopper of grass
the hopper of grass finds solace in air though knows not where to be going or how long one may take in getting there.
while one may see
while one may see understand comprehend feel know the motion, an other may know feel comprehend understand see the object; which may find both? perhaps one and[/or] other may spawn both through showing teaching allowing for reaching toward helping another.
