i cry
sometimes in the privacy of myself
sometimes in the anonymity of the night
tears are private
the inexorable leakages of emotions
furtive thoughts and surreptitious emotions

if i were to cry
if i had to cry
let me not be the only one
when i pour out in rivulets of tears
let the skies be lachrymose too
so that my teardrops might mingle
with theirs
so that mine might be washed
away by theirs

today i realized i’ve yet to cry
for the loss of you
it’s been half a year since
and still i’ve yet to cry
for my loss of you

but the skies now begin to sniffle
(i imagine they’ve only just
realized something had been
taken from them)
but the skies now begin to sob
and as i await their teardrops
i gather my own raindrops
in anticipation of the moment
i might wash away
their dolorous tears
with my endless rain

that we might
(one day)
dispel each
of each

Very nice (((Harold)))

You lied to me when you
told me you loved me
you lied with more than words
you lied with tender kisses
soft looks and gentle touches.

You lied when you told
me you needed me
You lied with late night calls
and problems you said only
I could solve.

You lied when you said
You would die without me
You did not die
But
Something in me
Did

i have been told
that as a little girl
i had been pretty as a china doll
i have been told
my pageboy bob
looked almost wig-like
in its thick, straight, shiny perfection
i have been told
my skin was beautiful
soft and fair and a healthful pink
the peach-halves of my rounded cheeks
my rosebud pout would never need
artificial painting
i have been told
i had candle-lit fingers
the tips of which burned flame-like
ten fire rose blossoms

i have been told
when i was younger
i was plump and adorable
i was told
when i was older
i was fat and needed to be thin
to be beautiful
i did – i tried

i have been told
i am now a woman
(even though i still feel
like a girl)
that i “look sweet”
that i am “sexy”
“have breasts enough”
“nice legs”
(“what’s your number?”)
“you’re hot i wanna
**** you”

as a girl-child
as a woman-child
i have been told
head to toes
how i looked
how i look
how i should look
what i heard however
was
you are the sum of your looks

i have been told
lies and half-lies
truths and half-truths
i have been told

but i’m none of all that
but i’m more than all that
the sum of my looks
no
i have not been told

no
i need not be told

Thank you

mteagle
pkd

[ what is it ]
i have remembered to remember [ ? ]


how can i recall & recollect
all that has been blown away [
private thoughts &
public words &
yesterdays’ silences ]

blown ever farther away
into time’s cobwebbed corners
receding residual dust
trickling into nothingness
history [ there & then ] has no past
destiny no future
all that remains [
yawning abysses

&

cavernous depressions ]
all my squinting mind’s eye sees
rapidly is fading away is dissipating
previous thoughts & words & silences
ebbing ebbing ebbing

discovering [ here & now ] however
in these fractured fragments
echoes [ faraway so close ] of the
messages i have forgotten to forget


because i know you read

Thank you (((Bill & Twin & pkd )))

Thank you (((Harold & Brookline )))

I don't live here, not really
I casually occupy a space
a room inside a house
where sometimes I sleep and eat

I don't live here, who can say
all my possessions in tiny boxes
are line and stack in the corners
rearrange now and then
to change my apparent horizon

I don't live here, how can you tell
when I easily blend in
a wallpaper with no patterns
barely clothed inside the shadows
showing up only as a tiny blur
inside someone's eye

I don't live here, not really
I casually occupy this life
a room within a smaller room
down the streets
they can sometimes hear me
in the careless wind

I don't live here, can that be true
sometimes I become easily recognize
as being part of the living
coming only to depart
still stuck in the motion
of the passing day

Thank you...

pkd
Harold
MisKim

Wonderful, sweets

A voice is passed from hand to hand,
smoothed, shaped, until distinctions
and design rub and fade. The sound
goes out, hesitates, comes back,
crafted the way driftwood is made.

What we speak is marked by
splits and cracks. The grain of speech
pops and grinds. Each solid syllable,
each heavy word, is circled with
other’s lines, rings that chance
creates. Sometimes it’s pocked
with odd mistaken signs and
the lover’s simple question hits
the ear as hate.

What is nature for us? A larynx
and a low nodding moan. For the
rest we speak in chorus, thousands
talking through our throats. Pauses,
coughs, slips collide along with
every sound we’ve ever heard. All
curses and seductions fill the play
of every word.

To say “I want that” seems desire’s
trick for seizing on the thing. But a
crowd shouts in that sentence.
Question the “I,” the “want” and the
answer they give — we’re owned
by our unknown

motives. Squeezing and closing in a
rhythmic dance, lips unlearn. The
infant’s choking scream becomes
possessed and freed. We begin to
breed a million ways to approach
and recede, to mark with an
orbit our unutterable need.

oh my, pkd!!

very very nice!!!

Nice write

I was where,
I wanted to be.
While love flowered,
Each petal,
Bruised and plucked,
Savored in mutilation.
Growing in barren soil,
Grew and seeded,
Into love of I.

You showed me pain,
Pain and
How to bruise,
To silently suffer,
How to bleed.
Joy and
How fleetingly fragile it is.
Grief, sorrow, misery,
Heartache and anguish.

You showed me escape,
With knife, rope, or gun.
Your blunt knife,
No escape, just fear,
Your frayed rope,
No escape, just burning pain,
Your empty gun,
An empty threatening.

I’ll show you,
My gift to you.
After all,
You've shown me,
All you had.
And in doing,
Shown me all,
That could be.

I’ll show you the door.

thank you, darlin

a small black spot carefully engrafted
between your ear and your cheek
creating a small road
divided by a narrow patch of skin
ever so gently caress by your smooth
fingers laced with a trace of warmth
graceful in their movement
hair grazing your neck
intertwining onto your fingertips
jokingly teasing us
kiwi colored teardrop dangles from your ear
longings of our hungry hearts
muted desires
no more realistic then before
our hands write these verses
pocketed inside dreams
quilted from a million other dreams
random expressions of foolishness
surrounds our smiles
tousle together in our
urge to convey
valentines that makes our heart aches
washed away into bits and pieces of
xerox copied love notes
you leave us, our muse
zealous poets with endless words