what did you mean when you said it's destructive and you sank yourself right into me? i know you think you know, but you probably don't...

i was sprawled like the figure
of your grandmother's crucifix.
i'm sure my eyes were begging,
but innocence was far from our tongues.

we were children and i yearned
for some understanding i could call middle ground.
i thought of bell jars and blue owls.
now i lie; i was lost.

i was coated with a fear
that some creased digit could prove,
so i clung. i let it all ooze out
and i teased myself once again
as i claimed it was the politics of things.

you did me wrong. i grinned and played along. those days are gone. does this confession turn you on?...

i hope one day i will be able to write this more beautifully. it will most likely morph into one of those twelve page poems that ginsberg would clap for. someone said it was beautiful. i almost cried when reading it aloud-but i had a cold to hide the sniffles. the title is ironic-we all know this is far from the final note.

final note to -------

you were right.
this only child syndrome
has tainted me.
oh, if you only fidgeted
as openly as i did.

you see, i tried to scar you with flaws,
to cover your name with curses.
i've used the word cliche
more times than i've breathed.
it is the only correct fit.

i still labeled your perfection
as i clung to colorado
and dreamt of your sister.
i sometimes woke to your face
or caught your scent in the wind.

i hated myself-
that i could never cure you
or bring that same smile to your face.
i knew it was over
at the sight of blue jeans.

yes, you were right.
i am not used to this.
i don't ever feel beautiful
and i'm still waiting for sycamores
and berets to fill my mind.

it's true. i used to dream
you'd call me your friend.
i just don't sleep so well anymore.

i know someday you'll have a beautiful life...i know you'll be a sun in somebody else's sky, but why can't it be mine?...

i'm not in love with the ending...but at this point in time, i can't figure it out...

let us bow down:

my small-town prophet
glazed in stagnant circles,
always unsure of where your bed
should be. to say-
i've always loved your words,
well, we both know how you
would twitch with that compliment.

i've kept your chatters
hidden with the indian blanket.
i've kept my prayers
stored in a first-aid kit
just in case you need that bandage.

i am diseased.
you predicted it all
with the stroke of silence
against my cheek, and like a river
it will never stop flowing.

i'd lie until the corn crake crows, bereft of the weight of my summer clothes. and i'd wager all...the hazards of love...

this is just a little prose type poem. very broad and most likely a starting point for something more personal when i get a grasp of it.

it was like two magnets, not oppositional,
but consistently pulled, snapping together.
i would forget the face, the ravines,
smirking creases, all the stray flecks
of something tangible. i would forget
and scurry just as far as the tether
wished. i'm sure he did the same.
he would grasp my fevers with a glance.
i never saw him coming, never
wanted to see him leave. i could forget,
but science-only relevant for textbooks
and soccer coaches-was undeniable.
it was not emotion. no, it was science.
subtract the square root, add to the speed
of sound and forget the remainder.
he was a force. i was a force.
place me at a gas station, a country
store, a gravel road. it didn't matter.
he always fit the formula, but left
me seven digits from the solution.