Friday, September 30, 2011

The self as given is inadequate and will not do.

Every poem a poet writes is a slight advance of self and a slight modification of the mask, the one you want to be. Poem after poem the self grows more worthy of the mask, the mask comes closer to fitting the face. After enough poems, you are nearly the one you want to be, and the one you want to be closely resembles you. The happiness . . . cannot be observed by others because it is only a different way one has come to feel about oneself. "Nearly," and "closely," not "exactly" and "perfectly." Hope hard to fall always short of success.

Monday, September 26, 2011

White Balloons

The changes in me are likely to be like the weather:
cloudy at best.

(carry me away...i hope they don't break)

Sunday, September 25, 2011're not trying hard enough

Our lives are changing lanes; you ran me off the road.

Friday, September 16, 2011


You haven't answered my

concerns & questions why
you left me standing here,

speechless with butterflies...


please put away the attitude?
ill be the one to follow through
without any fucking help from you.


how long
can i
go on
faking this life's what i want?

Saturday, September 10, 2011

This Be The Verse

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.

Saturday, September 03, 2011

you can't mistake me for the enemy tonight

How does it feel?
             What does it mean to you?
Your heart is real;  it isn't bulletproof.