love is real, love is reptilian, love is utopian, love is a many splendored thing (on fire)

feeling fatally restless
feeling that the whole world should embrace you
while feeling the need to abandon it's arms
feeling so fat on thought
that you forget to remember
or is it the other way around?
feeling so fucking cold without your favorite sweater
all in the same turn, toss, or tear
it's a back-breaking matress
that you've known since grade-school
accountable for years of unfulfilled mornings
limbs suffocating in tangled, unwashed sheets
you would be able smell the pages you tore off the calendar
but i don't own one
nor do i own a watch
because i don't keep time
or keep step or still frames in my head
misplaced
for very long at all

you'll realize that, finish to beginning,
you've always been the same
scarcely changed
despite the mirror's opinion
or yours for that matter

"here's to love on your own terms. the only terms anyone has."
"you always hurt the ones you love."

the ones you thought you loved
maybe you did . . .
in the moment

i went to the park and watched the newlyweds colonize and multiply.
i envied them.
i went to the cemetary and watched my well-dressed friends get some rest.
i envied them.
i picked up a dictionary to seek the truth because i could no longer feel it in my heart.
i envied it.
i went to anarctica to learn to miss the sun amidst the endless white light
only to return full of life and envy of the world for possessing you.


but we never REALLY knew eachother
never had the time
too young, too fast
no time for anything except short games of affectionate tag
our entire fairy tale is confined to recess on the schoolyard
the calls could have been so close
to touch would have been nice, but these hands were faithless
and perhaps you thought them fruitless
because i'm not sure if i slipped enough apples in your glasses
to last longer than the departure of leaves from their home trees

there were times when i believed in magic
you'll believe in it until you start manufacturing it
and it's tragic how you've turned yourself onto some cheap tricks
but the crowd's ceases to be more vigil

and you'll find EVERY girl with eyes bright or deep and rich
with flowing, colourful hair or messy, unwashed tresses
and decide that she's IT or something
could IT be that SHE is just a thing?

i've always been an overly sentimental being ever since i was a kid. i'd cling to memories with a stubborn and childish desperation, but that's what has always made me sweet and soft on the inside. that's why you love me. i'm a collector, an addict - obsessive. passively, of course. getting older, accumulating experiences, makes it more difficult to hold on to the memories. you fold and retire, giving up on clutching the details until they fog and disfigure because it's all just SO MUCH and SO FAST. you catch yourself living from second to second like being in minimum-wage paycheck limbo. living one second and dying the next to begin once again one blink afterwards. conversations with your friends and fellow human beings are challenging to pay attention to without grasping their point or even seeing one at all and therefore your mouth becomes obsolete and your ears get choosy but distracted by the distant soundtracks of whatever setting you suddenly awake to find yourself in. but it's never as bad as your worrysome mind-game projects somehow because you always remember to forget with an unconscious ease. you are never as a crazy as you think, but you are definitely as crazy as you don't know. getting old - er - i think of all those suspenseful scenes in the movies where some character is forced to scale some unconceivable obstacle of great height and is told to not look down. never look down. never look back. never kick a gift horse in the mouth. sometimes looking down has the ability to make someone complain about how high up they are even though they could always think about how great it is that they're capable of climbing mt. everest. in that case, sometimes it's relieving and even rewarding to look down provided you're content with your footing or if you've experienced enough strangely auspicious coincidences to reassure the uncertain future ahead. a lot of of people seem to believe in that whole "synchronicity" bit probably more than would admit. a lot of people believe in christianity and the goodwill of christ driving their fortunate encounters or in karmic retribution. everybody believes, nobody knows, but we all want to get our happy endings off.

ain't that the truth?
amen, brother . . . say, can you spare a dime . . for some coffee, man?

i don't know what to do with myself
at these hiccupping silly goodbyes
short tremors of funerals
parting is such disorientation
in such a manic state
let's play compress our best smiles into
a furlough's panoramic polaroid
and count backwards to past blessings
and march forward to lonelier months
along our backyard's riverbanks


hello, goodnight.
i want you,
i need you,
but i'll hang up if you want me to.
i'm letting go.
i want to.
i need to
because i don't think i'll get it through.
so let me know
what you do.
what to do?
where does this fool find some truth?

- yours truly