(1999)
i love you for the doubt you show me still possible in this body where you show me
first fruits hardly a handful, the garden
let’s put all the stupid things in a pile and call them “love” or “worry” or
of the things that make me become better only music is unlike surgery
reflecting on the moment before, would be useful only were it not already perfect.
no means no. no response means no. (everyone knows maybe means nothing
my spirit sings to you, clears and quickens. losing you is impossible
now, I’m no Bukowski but my friends who don’t like poet… except his stuff, tell me they like mine, and I can drink like a drinking machine
this being we are, delights in all things, yes but is held breathless
Fieldwizards and firetops. Wobblybirds on snowflowers. Chilled milk and chowder for the little prince. Mothercake for mumbled thanks.
the very idea that i could be
every story, especially those promising finally to grant the square hat with tassels, is a load of shit. the god which
life and even one good thing– anything, a course in wonders becomes? no school, thanks not for me. no lesson one so likes declaring to find itself legs. no
stupid met crazy decided to have a baby or two... what else you gonna do?
they really do know how to shove something up your ass like
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