We're both writers but,
why is it that we cannot
truly express what it is
we feel without the recommendation
of a movie reel-
We're both writers, so,
then why's it so difficult to row
through this murky sea
of dyed blue cotton-
-the softer things forgotten
between you and me.
Why have we not yet had our fill
maybe because we cannot still
we cannot put things into words
we're just translating notes we thought we heard
our lack
of vocab
is truly absurd.
We're both writers but
we just cannot
say everything we should have said
we just have to put those things to bed,
Curl up close with that heavy weight.
Pretend it is not too late.
So every morning our mailboxes tote
another hastily written note-
or you let those things just float
and give me lyrics that someone else once wrote.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
-
there ain't no other place like you to roam. where I dug in my heels and said "No, I won't come home!" Dancing in the warb...
-
motionless sap. ogling your shadow, you have much thinking to do. has the potassium kicked you in the arse yet-and got you going? you a...
-
In my dreams I am the fictional version of myself. The one I seek to be in my short-stories and prose. The one who gets her point across but...
-
nipped at the ankles which is how I wander through life sometimes I must be pushed through a door finally opened after years of knock...
-
and now that the anger is gone there may be a few more glimpses like looking out of the window through a thin veil of silk. a look in...
-
There is something spooky about me. I am certain of it. Or else why does the thought of you dying for me, somehow slightly perk me up. Bette...
-
The Opera The eyes of the firing-squad are aimed with lashed cross-hairs for now we, the chorus, all look like oiled up black ducks in a ro...
-
stuck-wallpaper, tickled, matted-madness, in the morning before matinee wallflowers at school dances just want to be asked. ask them. they...
-
two squinting painted eyes looking solemn on a leathery face. this knight of the golden age has a 20 gallon bucket of a hat atop his slicked...
-
July 9th i feel like running again. it's either that or swimming in a valley of tears. July 10th you couldn't tell by looking at us,...
I feel like this was written in a way that I'm not supposed to understand the subject, however, after reading it, I feel like I might understand the subject better than you had intended. We should discuss this piece some time when you're able.
ReplyDeleteglad we discussed it. It's something you really should consider more.
ReplyDelete