Big Wild

Pink/Black/Grey Matter

can you fade away towards light speed?

is there a pounding against your temples

on the back of your eyes and scrawled

into the tiny holes in your surface skin.

can you remember what it was like

to be weightless against the lights

in the back of the car windows?

Your daddy’s cracked leather seats

and the clunking incessant who begs

on one more year for me.

that copy lost the crispness as

you fold and line and the corners

of your face crinkle and fade in time.

can you become a spider’s web?

your incandescence could never warrant

it but your bible will tell you-

the worst kind of hopelessness

is hope.

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Why do I like poetry so much (you say as you roll your eyes because I've written yet another poem).  That's a good question, but I can't, or I won't answer it.  I don't have to answer it; and that's why I like it.  I'm learning, that it's okay not to answer.  To have an answer and not say it because really, when did it become anyone's business? Mary asked me if I was going to tell, and I said no.  Which really sucks because isn't it nice to be open about who you are?  It's really nice, but it's a privilege I can't share in, not in this moment, not with everyone.  Is that okay? I don't know.  Well, I do, but like I said, I'm not going to answer. 

Really, because I'm sure your interpretation is as good as mine.  I'm sure anyone's is as good as mine, and I think that's the fucked up and really beautiful part of it all. 

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This is All I Choose To Tell

I can feel myself fading into your wallpaper, smoothing my edges and lines. God, I'd make a beautiful beige. I'll lose myself in the swirling paint that adorns those which cage you; another eternity in a finite container. Eyes will ebb, limbs grow together and I am your wallpaper.  God, I'd make a beautiful beige.  A grandmother's beige; one that yells about running on wooden floors and upholstered furniture.  A grandmother's beige which will compliment her hair and linen pantsuits.  I'll fade, fade away and into your wallpaper.  Another eternity in a finite container. God, I'd make a beautiful beige.
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"If you built yourself a myth
Know just what to give
What comes after this,
Momentary bliss."