(2013)
love does not beat on doors, beg at tables. it is always
god is unwelcome in suburbia, the cells are too comfortable there, & love rests best under stars.
every story, especially those promising finally to grant the square hat with tassels, is a load of shit. the god which
shut my eyes and squeeze my demand, the point of a spear. what will happen.
I love how you talk Down to everyone In your poems Which, unlike fiction Are not covered
something you need makes you its bitch, yes even as it isn’t coming, no when love stands you up & all the more sweet
was all stupid. you weren’t that entertaining. i find it all only sad now, that
may be too onerous a task for those not starving. lucky
i could not conceive of such beauty, it had to hit me like it has. nothing
let’s put all the stupid things in a pile and call them “love” or “worry” or
I understand the tattoo now “VERITAS” on your wrist, only there because it is entirely absent everywhere else.
so, i’m in this spiritual war. maybe you aren’t, but i am. many great losses
my spirit sings to you, clears and quickens. losing you is impossible
shall we turn down the covers, crawl inside? find there a place that’s been waiting for us, a vortex of sorts
the center holds itself still that rockets believably may be seen exploding in all directions from somewhere vaguely
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