The End

The birds are up and singing
in an air that feels light and free
my ankle is now stinging
I know you want to leave

I haven't closed my eyes
since I found the evidence
Is your sympathy a lie?
Can I leave this, my new nest?

I should have known I'm just too young
too soft, and unawares
But out this window my heart is flung
I don't know anyone who cares.

An orange frigid sky is there
made bleaker by the empty lots
I feel ill, eyes are swollen, hair
is falling on my shoulder in knots.

It's time for "baby please"
that speech I know so well
it doesn't fall off my tongue with ease
Now i'm too afraid to tell.

On Risman Plaza Kent State

I want to dance on the Risman Plaza
with strains of "Fake Plastic Trees" in my ears
and the fountain running behind me.
Dwarfed by the buildings that impose and remind me that this is my home.
The gentle breeze and pink setting sun cast no shadows on me.
The campus is illuminated, each lamp a tiny moon...
or spotlight casting its rays over me on this stage.
"It wears me out."
The flags blow gently by
and the cold spray of a sideways rain touches my arms gently...
and I am over powered by memory.

A Harsher Critisim

It doesn't do to be simple
simple minded, simple sighted.
My words are enlongated and
florescent like the lights that show
every flaw on a face that's pancaked pathetic
in makeup.
it's a harsh truth in reality, to see what
words uncover.
And so I respond with harsher critism,
because it's written to be "constructive"
coming from someone I don't inspire anymore,
at least I still write.
And am forever perfecting my craft.
Forever.

The Sweetest Thing

There's a lingering smell on my hands
chocolate butter mixed
with the kind of soap that brings
you back to preschool.

You,
fresh out of the shower after we made love.
pale body, the kind that echos a bootcamp some years ago.
dark arms covered in colored stories,
some i still don't know.

and i'm lapping up the sight of you
giggle mad as you get dressed
reveling in the lucious smell of your body wash.
a playful kiss when you get your shoes
turns deeper the moment my fingers
transend friendly and run tracks
through dirty blonde dull spikes.

and i want to stay there
ten minutes longer and not have to leave
so my deep kisses become hunger
to both come and go, and stay.

urgency makes love as well.

If It Lands on the Pavement Is It A Slam Poem?

It's hectic, spastic,
and I'll trip the in the light. Fantastic.
Run into the wall, make a
CRASH and then
my thoughts would flow freely
from the GASH in my forehead.
Wanting CASH needing a CAST
moving too FAST can't seem to
let go of this PAST something I can't
PASS. GO COLLECT $200 or so.
And tell me this.
Can you stand the heat?
Handle the truth?
You can't handle the kitchen!
Get out of the truth!
I can try to wring more words
from a sex-addled brain but they're
WASTED, time isn't wasted
getting it, getting fit...
I'm getting shit.

Paranoid

I have dreams that shake the foundations of
the buildings that enjamb upon
this ground that I am walking on.
Quiet, reserved I could only make you
come by whispering my secrets in your
ear since you scratch yours out on my back
and what I hear could give me a heart attack.
Eponymous, anonymous...hypothosis?
I can't hear you and can only read you by
the ink that wears itself on your skin,
the stories you won't tell me.
Free verse; no charge for this next line,
Show me yours I'll show you mine.
Fingers grip the hips that rock the
cock that presses in my back now stop:
I can't take it anymore.
No one's voice tells me anything.
But not everyone reads body braile.

PQRST Wave

Heartbeat.
Lub-dub,
Love-rub.
Hug-bug,
Thud-thud.
And I
Can hear
Your heart.
Its beat.
So calm.
So cool.
So warm.
It blooms.
Flow-ers.
Em-brace.
So soft.
So high.
Up, down.
Tha-ump.
La-ump.
Ba-ump.
Stead-y.
Read-y.
Liv-ing.
A-live.