Bicycle Poem

Warm nights fade—
Warm mornings—
The sun rising
Lazy,
Lifting stars from its face.
I feel I’m gliding
Thorough the world—
My legs aren’t in it anymore.
I am the bird I wish I were
Free to fly
Forever
Taking in the dawn.

my new summer

Winding roads that never end

The sound of birds

in the trees

and bees

and you

and me

and us together alone

once upon a time

in my dreams of countryside

always alive

in my mind we could be

so free

free from all this

madness here

and now

and then

and them

just us

just us

us

Familiarity breeds contempt

I’ve totally fucked myself

Again

I want to stop thinking these

Things

I want to love him that way

I used to

I don’t want to see you so

Truly

I don’t want to think of you so

Often

I don’t want to wait for you

Wait for you

Wait for you

gliding along aimlessly through the air

afraid to nest in one tree
afraid of being caged
afraid to fly alone

i am your little bird
you are my home.

I don't feel like I'm seen

I wish somebody wanted to use me in their art.

I have artist friends. Nobody ever asks.

I am never drawn, photographed, painted, anything.

It makes me feel undesirable.

I know I can just do that stuff myself, but that seems vain.

Why am I so bothered by it? I don't like the way I look in pictures anyway.

That's probably my problem. I want to be pretty enough to be someone else's art.

Running in Circles

My hands are stained again.
I didn't do anything to deserve it--this time.
Other times--ya, sure, maybe, whatever--
I talk and I talk and nothing comes out.
Nothing real, anyway.
What is REAL anyway?
Your side.
My side.
Fuck, it's all just perspective--paradigm, really.
Really...there's word again.

Cigarettes can kill, you know...

Smoke flows out of your mouth like your soul escaping your body.
That's how I see you sometimes.
Soulless, that is.

It wasn't always that way.
Once upon a time... There was love. 
Love that was sent in a letter to a child.
But that love faded--smoke dancing in air--
as you nail the coffin shut.

It wasn't all bad, though, was it?
I still sing that song you sang me.
You know. The one by The Beatles.
That was a pretty good lullaby, really.

I just hope you're still around
When I sing it to my own kids.