I wrote this either half awake or dreaming in my bed

I wish I could remember which now, but the sum of the parts have escaped me,

left somehow somewhere in my head.

I saw you standing above me, your smile melting and falling into mine

you were all silhouette and glitter, laughter ribbons and swaying shine

I can remember the smell of the afternoon sunlight

and my hand inside your dress, both of us gold and bending

slow-motion, and other scenes cut, swell up and falter

of when we were at our best.

and it's weird how hard my heart is pounding, as Im racing

home to get this down, chasing the poems I write while Im dreaming,

that with eyes wide open, are so elusive to all my notions and searching, and are seldom

intact and full, if ever they are found.

and why am I just a breath from tears, I mean we barely even speak, whats this panic

of letting this memory go, and why I am a just a breath away from tears,

am I afraid to let these moments unravel, and naturally quiet into passing thoughts

inside the yesterday of future years?

and I can't quite capture all of the words that I was thinking,

or writing, or seeing or speaking,

there's the image of a love letter and the flash of ink

still wet, then the words fog in mist and start running,

no longer clear they ripple

in worn color on pages, dry and brittle,

and something inside me is fighting to stop this,

before they tear and fray completely

and unthread in the ticking of the wind.

it's like watching a dream carried

away on a whisper across the sky,

the soul coming to, not sure of what is real, on what facts or feelings

are true, and on which it should rely,

its as if my hurt is looking

for something familiar, something it can't be certain

of if it really knew,

I guess its just seems so strange and sad that I can't seem to remember

you well enough now to miss you.

I mean complain all you want, but just realize that to do so

is mere indulgence, just a pause, just a little movie you make, for

yourself

sooner or later, after realizing no one cares, and once done complaining

about that ( the no one caring )

for a few minutes, hopefully you'll pull a big dumb "Huh(+sigh)"

and then arrive at the place you oughta be at...a cynical reverence for the irony-

and genius of it all.

We're all retards when it comes down to it.

I mean really, we're all just mushy little faggy

whining little tits...so

Knock it off.

You're just making your reflection sad, see, in the mirror, you're crying

and effectively painting a much bigger

bullseye on yourself. Amazing any of us make it

past the bedroom, let alone front the door

every morning...so

Don't make it that easy for life

to pour salt in your vagina.

Now don't get all gay about the words I use.

Vagina just means something without logic or common sense, just all emotiony...

but not in a wise, striking, or profound

kind of way.

If I say cock or dick, then Im making fun of dudes, or moreso

being blockheaded or dull.

See?

Now if you've been paying attention at all, you would know,

that if you could remove genitalia from the context of my wordation, maybe

something would happen, and maybe you'd lean into life a bit, maybe

you would discover the paradigm of super-self, maybe all of your 5

senses would notice how the wind at your face feels, how it sounds, smells, how it hits hits

hits your lips, go ahead-lick them, and dont look for a point of reference, just taste the wind

you douche, and all of this may help you to actually see the wind, allow you to forget all
about yourself - watch it racing, and wonder what it sees that you cannot -

across and in the glossy polished blue - but I bet your too busy,

listening to your vagina, or your penis, and complaining.

Im jealous of fags, well I mean homosexuals that is, but only because

they are having more sex than me.

Def not jealous at all of any

fucking little faggoty fag, nor any dikety dyke, hell not even

a Beckham + spice, they are probably

blah-blah-blahing about something, while

no bombs are falling on their heads, and

the shower still has hot or cold, and water.

I was observing a stripper for a bit. She came on to me. Should have

been easy. Not like she was a cute stripper for that matter. So

what do I do? Pretend to be nice. Didn't work out so well...

bought some meals, took her to court ( case was dismissed ),

and worked myself absolutely out

of being anything she wanted to fuck.

There was another. Asking all about to me to my brothers girl

friend. Then she came over, could not sit still, and I think was too fucked

up to recall the plan she may have had. Oh yea, she was on drugs and

may have stolen my brothers little bullet cougher.

As a more hurried man, I'd probably be really confused / curious about the cunts I referenced above...but you gotta care a heck of alot more than I for that kind of lament.

Yet how did I blow two simple lay-downs, I mean both would have been fucking down ( for me, and prob fucking up for them)...so they should have been elated to fuck up, or above what their looks and environment would reasonably give them..

I was cool to both, nice, and made them laugh a few times, but to think about this could let slip some complaint, and I really don't

care about whatever it is we were just talking about

that much anyways.

Got some amazing Valkyries ( not in the Wagner sense, but because it's a pretty word and I like feathers ), who on paper, would be a perfect match -now

dont get me wrong, im utterly tipping my brim to the big all around and great

beyond for these non-coital sisters,very solid of the universe to bring such fine spirits into my orbit - I know

that such connection is not at all guaranteed, so good looking out big cosmic rainbow. ( non-political rainbow or whatever, who cares about symbols instead of meanings )

( intermission: ..cuz fuck me, this is a long one )

I just am too me for anything good to happen

to me.

If theres a situation, just add me, nothing else, and I will " me " the fuck

out of any cool outcome.

So...no real need to complain.

It would just encourage miracles to get more savage. And, I do consider

miracles to be like really well-intentioned gremlins on crack.

Miracles are connected to a situation or being, like destiny or something.

They are watching, waiting, ( hoping you fucking see them when they "TAH-DAH ) fucking all giddy and wound up.

Once their cue is getting close,the impending hunt and launch, they go berserk,

Planning how best they can totally surprise the shit out of you, running full speed and then:

BAM! it's a contact sport bitch!

(Hopefully you recognize them)

And after you realize that you can take a hit, especially one thats just so excited to see you, then

it kind of grows on ya.

Well, the fact that little miracles happen, sure, but also how those little crazy fuckers do their thing.

So - Keep looking for the bright light coming gently down...all times square New Years Eve ball drop with Mormon Tabernacle soundtrack...thats NOT the type of miracle I believe in.

I look for those that are the slightest glitter in the breeze, you should be able to sense it when you feel a moment go slow-motion...and other senses past the 5 kick in...well, either you know what I mean, or don't...doesnt matter much to me.

So thats the deal - Stop complaining.

Be cool. Like me.

Im so

super cool that Im..

well...no Im not.

Im just a dude, who is never bored with

how I ME myself into every little thing involving myself.

Oh well, maybe maturity is being able to

really care about everything while really being able to not give too big of a fuck

about anything either.

Whatever,

I just keep watching, answering the questions Im asked, without

retarded filters or gay social graces.

Talk all you want ( its still going to be yes/no ) and prob little of that is decided by the little chapters in the story you're freestyling which I aint looking to read either.

You can count on me calling it as I see it.

No fluffy regret or concern for how you understand or dont, or

interpret or receive my me-ness.

But then you gotta ask

yourself, well :whats so great about that/this anyways, and I'll agree with you ( kind of like this poem ) absolutely

nothing.

So, I'm not bored yet, in fact, quite the opposite.

Just not in much of any kind of hurry these days.

Just keeping eyes peeled.

I'll know it when I see it, or not,

too.

That/then will be one of my turns

to pull a big dumb

"huh?".

(in the end we are all taint, or perineum if you must,

trapped between the promise of asshole and plenty of shit, with a not much

better coin toss in front.....)

Either you're a cunt, or perhaps a cock, but just try

and not be either,

certainly know one cares anyways,

no one cares about what matters

to you -

so smile!

Less to worry about now...

Oh I know exactly what this is, I

told her.

If this was anymany years ago, I would

perhaps ring the bell, grab the tools, whistle

to whatever sidekick you'd like to insert here, and then

get to fucking work...measuring, scraping, tasting,

quick hurry, samples headed through the door

behind my face, but that is not now, as I

stare smiling through the third eye, my breath

swirls the pluming

rainbow framed in its window, I know

what you are

I told her.

In this universe, in the universe inside of me,

you are many things, you are the meaning, the message,

you are the muse and calming,

there is no accident to every wrinkle

on the tip of your elbow, to how the sound of your voice

fits perfectly in my ears, don't you see? this season began

as soon as you found me.

and you said you understand

only half of it, and as I spit out an

imaginary beverage ( insert digital

spray of bev in post production )

I found that

so funny...

of what

percentage?? I think Ive yet

to even see past one

half of one

percent.

But I am not

the lightning, bundled

in ribbons, I am not

Eileen and you are

her and magic,

I am not who

I was led to find.

I am not what

was brought less

than half

a years months ago.

I know exactly what

this is I told her.

How obvious you have

always been, and I love

the surprise of your arrival

I love waiting, the hoping, the

aching for the miracle.

you are here to ignite

the fuse of the rescue.

and I must say, this

is the best yet.

I can't recall the last

first dawn calling me

having lunch with me

to discuss this.

Maybe I should have stopped

to pause, perhaps notice

that nothing calls to discuss this, nothing

has made a reservation for two

to review this.

I mean c'mon, why would I

open my eyes in an ocean of clues, why would I

find anything extroardinary about

a woman who suddenly appears ( make sure to add

more pictures to facebook and find more

friends to give her

with familiar names, but not

too familiar ) raising no ripple

of alarm, why would I notice

that laughing I say I don't

think we need to bother

with time or context, let's just

never not once feel less than

perfectly comfortable revealing

absolutely everything, nothing odd at

all that you would ask, become

involved with and continue to discuss

the intimate magnificence kept private now

for than your presence near

times your presence near.

You know exactly what this is,

you are telling

and save me.

what a nice thing

it is

to exhale.

The lungs that cool

the deep furnace in my soul,

cannot always rely

on a consistent cadence,

they sometimes hold

much too much in and

for much,

too much

long.

and I am happy to see what

I think this is.

The heretic and the broken self-

immolation., and the

amnesia, can't forget

the amnesia.

And as the gold leaf starts to flake, off

the soon to be demolished facade, I look up and

remember that I find gold quite tacky, who

the fuck did that? It's amazing what you find

when you begin to awake, after

the cocoon begins to crack, soon

electric color will flap and fly

away.

Last night I was convinced the words had been

destroyed. Tonight suggests that they

were most likely annoyed, they get

this way during gestation.

and tomorrow, well fuck, I won't

pretend any news from there, but

I will hope to see you.