technology is wrong

In another life, I think I would have seduced Johnny Depp. I think I would’ve been a rock star, The Tubes world tour. Holy shit, I would have been friends with Kevin Bacon. I wouldn’t have known you.  I wouldn’t have told you, with my eyes, why we must stay on earth. Erase it all. Is that what you want?  I want to know the new you, but the new you does not want to know me. What a shame. I forgive you, just like you have taught me. 

And I looked for that answer in everyone. In the movies, music, eyes of strangers, words, quotes, books, everything. But, I have yet to look for the answer in myself. What is the solution? The solution, above all, is to forgive. He doesn’t love you? Forgive. You messed up? Forgive. Forgive. Forgive. And through all this forgiveness, love will be found. But do not mistake love for images. Love is not a picture, nor a word, nor a set of rules. Love is, at least what I have found and believe it to be, seeing yourself in another and recognizing the parts of them that are not you by adapting them. I thought that was the message of Fahrenheit 451, with the mirror factory and all. Not so we can see ourselves, but so others can see themselves in us. I used to think writing is what made people immortal. That only the writers would live forever. But I was wrong. What makes people immortal is loving each other. We can all be immortal. We can hide ourselves in one another. 

little confusions

what hurts and what is right?
                  you are here, fully equipped
                  with fireplace and candles.
At night, I try to make my mattress full
with your presence by
tossing and turning and filling it with sea water.
I try to pull real, sophisticated imagery out of your lips
but, we prepare breakfast in a different set of circumstances.
Before this, my room is bright and you, in turn, are glowing with us.
I want to know what you think as you send me to space.
The moon, vases breaking.
Leave your mark on my neck
and other places.

too involved.

I am concerned that everything has measures. Our touches are quarter notes and our kisses are slurs, blending melodically. I can never decide if I should feel fortunate for looking at simple gestures and objects romantically. Half of me wants to think I am doing simplicity a grand gesture. The other half is the reality of a morning after a good night’s rest. I’d like to meet an artist who sleeps well at night, one day. I wonder what their hands would look like. 

After Last Night

I tried to bring back purity by 

drowning myself with

tangerines and lavender 

but they came up as 

us and I

My body has been on a funeral march 

since my birth. 

You are a king,

I am a slave. 

Let us find a path. 

(II)

I ran four miles. I made sure to count. 

I felt sorry for myself

then for you

then everyone after that. 

All the virgins, the very apple.

Every truck in America. 

move back. 

I apologize to every ant I kill,

to every flaw.

To every speck. 

A long time ago..

I keep wanting to write letters to the people I love. For some reason I think writing letters will sufficiently get all the little ideas that are really just warmth on my skin all collected and able to enter the physical world. So dear you, here is tomorrow. Here is to living on. Here is to Saturday. Here is to you. Congratulations, you captured a bird. No, the bird flew to you. The bird gave up it’s wings for its new found curiosity. Look at me. I haven’t smiled like this in far too long. I want to tell you so much. Everything. I’d grow old with you. I’ve known you for barely 3 months. I like human beings. Too much. It’s my fatal flaw. I want to wake up to them. Sleep with them. Drink with them. 

Lucifer

If everything beautiful must be set free,
can I just make you ugly enough that the
window will not take you from me?
And perhaps that deems me cold.
But I would let myself freeze 17 times over,
just to keep your body
touchable.
You, me and
sunlight drenched sheets.
Turning brighter with each morning:
you dissolve.

Bad film.

Storage Space

I want to curl up 
near the crook of your secrets
Kiss your brain
Hold your liveliness in between my fingers
Read your eyes
like a novel
and your heart beat
like a symphony 


I am sure I can put all my efforts
into constellations
but who has the time to look anymore?
So I can turn them into 
fireflies and keep them in your
back pocket so the hope in my eyes
will illuminate your wardrobe
and disperse throughout your body
without me. 


-"the bee"