after silence;
after meals and held hands and
goodbyes,
i am waiting.
the girl was harmonious: a little one,
the kind who still could.

listen now this is more important than
the last thing i said

once remembered, i read poems at the bar
while i wondered about the outside.
is he talking to himself?--
is she a lesbian?--
it doesn't matter
! but still the thoughts come like indiscriminate whitewash

and my neurons
like tainted topsoil
bear blue fruit and are ill.

i am sick with judgement
confused by love
and dogged by gruesome hatred
:(when can i be alone with love?--
i am not strong enough to step into that ring
(he was not talking to himself after all...god

did you hear me when i said
all those things?--they were not important really
i think

the last thing i see when i look up is a red van
that reminds me of a family
that was never mine

the only thing i regret
is not being all of this
all that has been used for an anchor
but never went to sea herself
and never even wanted to be a boat to begin with

and never began with herself
and never began

but the sun bakes me like a potato in my skin

04/16/2002

Posted on 04/16/2002
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