i must admit i've missed the touch of pen
against recycled paper, recycling thoughts
and sensing coarse unity against
of my right-most finger and its adjacent palm-side.
it is with somber truth from which I can not hide that I
for you to r e a d my w o r d s;
i know not why,
but these are my offerings in such a life;:
all i can honor for a god or a friendship or the strangeness of sequences,
all i can serve as a side to my heart.
i were more
and at times
you throw a glance
which shuns my person
these s e a r c h i n g e y e s run-a-marathon
while you look away,
seeking a face of interest. it is
silly, on my mind's part,
for even if we find a point of interest, it will
these teeth, this tongue-
we forget our purpose when it is most desired.
as it stands, i am a bird alone.
no, i try but remember not the last time i took off with another:
i am single, i am solitary, i am contradictory conflicts
through contradictions words stand strong and i will always have you,
even in death I will write you,
even in life at its fullest,
apologies fly like fireworks;
my obsession with my premature death is leaking onto pure word-pages and suddenly the sanctity of poetry is
but it is looming here,
in this atmosphere,
this knowledge of the end of life before it's started;
and that is why danger is seductive
and adventures are a weakness,
and that is why:
I love with all my soul.