beautiful.

I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.

she sees the fear in my eyes.
my shaking hand.

she looks at me like
there is nothing wrong.

her lie makes me stronger. her lie
is something to build truth upon.

oh, the inquisitive perk
of an eyebrow.

something about it, well...
something feels right.

and that is what is
terrifying to me.

she woke up and said,
'good morning.'

i was hoping she would be gone
before the light hit my eyes.

ah, but here.
here she was.

and i did the only thing that seemed right.
i held her.

she said that this should have stayed
in last night.

i would have
killed
for it to have stayed in last night.

because now i take a risk.
she is gorgeous-naked and shivering in my arms, the light hazel ringing deep pits of half-dark, the shivering curve in the small of her back, the way that the sheet flowed about her, pulled taut.
and that smile;

oh jesus christ.

men have started wars for such a sight.

...but no. we agree to leave it here.

we agree to isolation until the next lonely night,
when she'll grab my tie and pull me close.

until take two, ill wait.

scandalous!

thanks. :D

oldie from my purdue days.

---

i feel I'm the king
of this crossroads no more

something wrong, hon?
Is that suture to tight?
is it just right?
oh baby, tonight, we'll

live like the scum on 4th street
my feet fall in time with the banging between my temples
my sink stalled when it swallowed your stagnance
stoplights shining in no hint of Christmas
leaving us a bleak, blinking yellow

but still
it shone so beautifully off your oily complexion
sat and sighed (wished you'd cry)
i melted so simple
into the cracks on the wall

the end of our story came two hours too early
things could have ended so perfect (could have
ended so dirty)
but we all knew it was over when your eyes shot to a
blondhairblueeyedBradPittpileofmuscleandwit

i suppose walking home at 4 AM
would be awkward if not alone

beautiful, stunning.

some moves in those words, there.

i guess ill make my first post waaay too long. enjoy.

---

there is a songbird on the sill
i think
he wants a drink (i know
it makes me feel better)
i think the stink doesnt bother him.

a whittled woman gives me the eye.
i shrug. i laugh.
i dont even think to reply.

not that im opposed to her
delectable countenance.
i love to be in the presence
of beautiful things (and oh,
what a shame it is
that a thing is all she could
think to be)

i stand up and start to wander
its all such a wonder.
sappy sights and silly streetsigns
forms of a man in a brown blazer
photographing the feigned reality of the city.

its funny how we all buy the lie.

and now, my beloved readers(or listeners,
as the current case might be)it
is time for you to be weary.
for the protagonist of this
dead end story did
shut his eyes and being to

think.

that was my rhyme before, and
here it comes again.

i think if i stop and stare
a while, ill figure it all out.

i think if there is one for me
they'll stop and say, "hey,

i read your mind and i was so very pleased
to find i like what was inside."

no such luck on this auburn
october day.

and now my eyes arise to
the sights before me. i try
and try
to buy the lie that so recently
made my mouth taste gritty.

i ponder vainly on whether
the marlboros i smoke or
the drinks i drown in or
the still, bleak, hungry monoliths that tower over my city
will be the death of me.

those monuments of money
didnt give an inch
to my wrathful stare.

its like they dont care.

not care? preposterous!
how can one stand watch
over the shivering homeless
and the lost, wreckless wraiths
of the middle class
and the obsessed,
money hungry murderers some might call
"wealthy"
bumping and grinding into mediocrity.

no; theres no way they dont care.

finally, i stand up and move on,
humming a tune that makes those
uncaring bricks shiver.

and now, we come to the
culmination of my journey
through the dead thousands of
miles that rot within three city blocks.

and the only question left to
me is whether or not i
think there is a reason or rhyme
to the millions here who wander alone.

her eyes pass me over once again.
and, this time, i crumple the sheet
ive been penning and
offer her a smile.