I.

I think poetry
became therapy
sometime ago

so many moments
made to feel silly
in my own life

a joke earlier when you left me
fragrance in the air
and bathwater on the floor

off to unsaid location.

it doesn't matter really,
in the scope of this letting grip,
if it all falls to the floor.

but this time
I've chosen
not to clean it up.

II.

someone left a comment
on words I once wrote about you

and reading the poem again
I realize it was never really you,

it was me
commiting murder
and damn roses bled out.

III.

Last bottle of wine,
but no where I'd rather be

then engulfed by the crystal light
of this white screen

it's amazing the things
I'd rather share with you -

yes you, my pathetic friends.

you know me better than any lover
in my head

all the things I've tried to be
for other people

the fantasies, I assure you,
can easily turn into IKEA furniture

and a someone you'll
want out of your bed.

~

09/27/2008

Posted on 09/28/2008
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