Thursday, April 15, 2010


it's time to
whether or not this
is a successful way
to cope. not sure if
channeling my
life through text
is necessarily the best way
to deal with the
that come with real life. how
many times do i want to
say something &
instead withhold
it & run the words through
a nonsensical
sieve. i can't keep forcing
this; sometimes
venting is better vented
than deconstructed.
some things deserve to be
said frankly. others can
be wrung through
the dryer. where's the line?
do i throw my hands up
(& with them
the towel)?
do i partition speech &
keep some in the
boiler room
from which they become
malleable & ineffective,
dull & careful.
i am nothing & plan on being
nothing for a long time.
but i want to spend
my days with
some (body)
who sifts for me
(as i sift for them).
i want trembling &
i want uncertainty & blue
watch me as i walk
away &
the words i
chose to reserve
are tucked between my thigh
& the thin layer of denim
that rests against it.
i want nothing more than
to be frank with you ma'am.
i pray that you open
your valve &
accept this
language. it is pure &
it is
intoxicating. i know you
& i know
that i've been turning
your doorknob. call this
what you want,
but understand that
i know you
are on the horizontal top
(or bottom) of
this door. you are
peeking again &
i will advise you
to go
numb &
let the handle

"the boy who blocked his own shot" by brand new. or live with kevin devine

classic poem. one of my favorites. "the love song of j. alfred prufrock" by t.s. eliot.

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