vpoet, re:

i have a problem with words.us, we use them, we throw themaway, hold onto what they meantbut keep going as though theywere never said; or maybe wehold on to the thought and watchas it slowly falls from view, asort of leaf and we’re caught in canopy

the lighthearted reality of not saying much is that, when you do say something at all, you’re generally expected to be profound, or to resonate a sense of worth within your words, when you may very well just want to be funny.

there is this tree,towering, livingto be as shadedreservoir of wind,the subtle/nestledshadow’s kin,a warmth inverted,deepened to the nerveand thru, towardskin’sother layer, andthis tree,holding,loweringitselfto me, holdsme upand lets melie here,a transparent,meshed followerof whatwindmaygrow.

when walking,carpet/rice/pebbles/trees/roots/leaves/limbs/body/grasses/mud/ground/dirt/beetles/ants/worms/are all, directly,from you treated.

i try to sabotageeverythingso you,perhaps,may seeall i wantis youto be with me.

blades of the fanlike lights, dasheson a highway, speedby on this edge-tippedcd, “plea for peace:take action,” andslightly overthe insurance,all-state, cardred-striped, white.

i’m hereyou’re thereit’s not distance,just a stare–you see?you see? not the step kind,but imight as wellto see you‘re there and i’mhere.