So, I'm a sympathetic.
But I've decided-
Sympathy is reckless.
A virtue; punishable.
Look at the kind of behavior that it influences.
I've decided to finally judge books by their covers,
or at least, take notice of how shoddy their binding is--
or at the very least, close the book at that exact moment of realization-hmm...some important pages are missing...
I've decided with the abolishment of
tangled telephone wire-I will
never again coil myself around
someone else's despair.
And I will continue to bear the burden of
transjudgementalism- sans my
unique however, "warped" viewpoint of
what I think cute and friendly are.
-and what "fuckable" is.
What is it about sympathy
that causes the big turnaround,
the initial one.
-that "ah-ha!" moment
like they've struck oil
and then turn crude.
Years of spilling over,
and trickling down,
and painting the floor,
and just wallowing there
like a puddle?
-oh those poor children,
we'll call them men for the moment,
hound-dog you, the second turn around-
3 circles before sitting at your feet,
when they realize they are not
a fraction of what you are.
Even though you are just a fraction
Even though you are just collected
doll-parts that makes a girl:
Crazy.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
-
driving home from the farmer's market- I can't see anything- through this storm- I come home to sleep- with you-rest in your arms fu...
-
like me- it serves as a question as well as an appropriately foolish letter in bad company it only teams up with words like yodel, ...
-
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...
-
Under a blanket it was at high altitudes in love or nauseous? I once held his hand his touch was so soothing-but with a lion's face. and...
-
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...
-
Tickling toes- there was something about that barefooted madness something about that wistful waist-high wishing and wooshing in the woods, ...
-
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...
-
confession is all: it is what my poetry is, and that is my life.
-
sex object. not afraid of the words. I've used many objects for the sake of sex. in fact my body has been pretty disposable- I don't...
-
Reminder "You do not seem to understand," they'd say "That rivers are wide, and are not so easily crossed, we fear, they ...
No comments:
Post a Comment