A Pocketful of Poesy was and is again a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog! For 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and now for 2017 and going forward, you may expect to see 365 poems every year, 366 for leap years.

but aren't they all random?

Saturday, May 19, 2018


She stands at the window
observing people
destroying the trees
around her house, so
the tenants won't have any leaves
to rake.

They don't understand

and neither does she,
but they won't get away with it.
She sees

What they're going to take.

She sees the workmen, impersonal.
They arrive in small
white trucks, for a job
they were hired to do
like any other.

If they had refused,
then somebody else

would be watched, right now

by the girl who is watching you

Who is trying
to help, to witness,
to do what she can,
to see what is wrong,
and not turn away
from such business.

These aren't their trees,
but they go right through
and they take them down.

These trees belong
to whoever will pay
to cut through the living trunks
and leave stumps,
like ready-made headstones,
marking graves.
These trees,

there was nothing wrong
with them, and no one
and nothing
to save.

These trees,
they belonged
to the birds, all around
dropping down
what they think
of us.

While they couldn't have known,

we can see they were right,
by how we treat
what we say

we own.

She stands by the window
and sees it all. In her mind,
she holds who's responsible.

And maybe, one night or two gone by,
she'll sneak out with a knife
and carve some sign

to show "goodbye,"
and "I wish I could save you,"
and "I know who did it."
I saw it all.

And maybe they'll see,
from their own windows.
They'll see and they'll know

she saw everything.

They'll go out in the morning,
to find the stumps marked
with a love heart and date
of the tree's demise,

and everything eerily silent
- no birds to sing.

And then, uneasy, they'll bring

to look up to the window

and meet her eyes.

chemistry set

There's no antidote to memories
No theory to explain how what once
we drew our strength from, now
is poison to us. Everything we base
in its remembered sweetness tastes
more bitter than acid ashes, and

we weep for it. We weep
for what was good, with the bad

even then, growing alongside.

If it was a case for going back in time,
knowing what we know now, which even now

we know means nothing - could we tease
the good and bad apart? With warnings

and encouragements, in every right direction
that presents itself? Even then, it's doubtful
the operation could restore us,
to where we wanted once to be.

It surely wasn't here,
now - lingering in thought,
asking questions, learning lessons
that are never any good to me.

Friday, May 18, 2018

city limits

When we robbed the city limits,
there was no one there to let us,
so we had to give ourselves up

The plan had gone awry.
But we took our chance to bolt
because we saw nobody looking,

And we haven't stopped escaping
ever since the city limits

We've been reaching for the sky

We've been reaching for the sky
We've been trying to get a way
back to where we hatched the plan -

but the city limits everything,
it comes in close around us.
Like no one's ever watching you,
even though they can

Wednesday, May 16, 2018

uncorrected proofs

I'm trying to learn not to say
the mistakes I make.
I know you will notice them,
I feel you'll understand,
and I've come to believe

I am forgiven. But
I can't help suspecting
they drive you nuts!

You know that I'm better
than this, I trust.

It was too, not to
And an, not and,
And, and I can't even

face the one
with the parentheses,
man. I mean damn. Please, no

just know
my humiliation at this
is beyond non-existent.
All I am is indignant,
all of it leveled against myself
at the inconvenience of these
imperfections, tiny,
malignant, eye-jabbing

scattered through. So few

Three, maybe. Two. For

To ruin it. This

is the total effect.

And I have already paid
sharp penalties, pangs
of missed chance, of
should have with ease,

what could be and was almost
effortlessly achieved,
arguably too effortlessly,

and far too almost.

But I feel that I owe you
something else.

To make up for the strain
of my failure to impress,
which you no doubt by now

had looked forward to.

You can see as well as I
how close I came, and could have

done flawlessly all
that either of us

could have asked
or deserved of me

so true!

And instead of which, both of us
deserve an apology,


First to me,
(Which I give and accept with solemnity),

And then, with a pause for gravity,

to you.

Sunday, May 13, 2018

white noise privilege

Somehow a noise we're making
is much less interesting
or irritating. It's like
we don't even notice it.
That squeak, squeak
from the chair is just part
of the motion of our leg!
We're in tune with it,
like the thrum of our blood
in our echoing skulls,
as we cheerily turn a page

and around us, everyone's heads

the rapture

When the bus stop stopped working
we all had to run to jump on
The bus driver tried to slow down for us
but we were gone

When they ran out of things at the thing store,
We ran everywhere we could to go buy more
but they were out, also

They tried to sell us different things.
They tried to sell us different things.
We didn't want them anyway
it wasn't what we came in for

God is Luck, God lucks us all
Like people licking puppy heads,
or people-licking puppy heads,
the verse translation is obscure

God's luck is mysterious, and
sometimes looks bad, but

When said and done is over with,
we stand here, shaking hands and sweating
in our clothes and bodies thick.
Wait to see what comes of it
Just wait to see what comes of it

They tried to sell us different things.
We didn't want them anyway
it wasn't what we came in for.
We think "Of that at least,

we're sure."

fashionably absent

I like arriving never to every occasion,
and having amazing times. Sometimes I wonder
about fun I missed - before I arrived, or
after I never did - but for the most part,
I know why I'm completely at peace
with the sacrifice. It's a realization,
and though I came late to it:

some never arrive at all.

I feel fortunate.

Saturday, May 12, 2018

well research

If you live your life,
you'll learn enough about love to fill a book
about giving up on it.

And each time you quit,
you'll go back and revise
each chapter in stronger terms,

add appendices on for all the lies
you tell yourself, and how to spot them,

and everything else you've learned
but why.

When you've spent your way through
the advances you've earned, maybe

it's time to turn it in. Let it go
to print. Buy a copy for yourself,

and let it burn.

Thursday, May 10, 2018

calm, cool

Calm, cool,
she collects herself
to decide what penalties are due.
It isn't as bad
as the time he thought
she'd had enough before she was through.
It wasn't as bad
as the time he felt she ought
to do something for her health.
But this time,
he said it out loud.
That opportunity's not
going to knock itself.

horrors of the past revisited

I wonder what it would be like
if we found ourselves in the past
married, because society
would demand it, thronging
our cottage with pitchforks
and torches, sending us off
to honeymoon in some bucolic
by-the-sea, where you'd find



constantly subject in any
given moment to your clothes
coming off and giving yourself
with abandon, sexually possessed
and possessing wildly, willingly

because you'd been conditioned to?
"These are our roles," you'd think
"How fit!" Like we had a choice,
we'd choose them again and again

giving into it horribly, like

some trashy historical romance
novel, read together in bed
for laughs, left behind

at a bed and breakfast
by some other couple,

not us.

Wednesday, May 09, 2018

our mutual confusion

I liken us
to algae and fungi.
Alone we can
survive, even thrive.
But together we
leap into spiraling forms,
reaching and climbing far beyond

what either could dream to grasp,
exploiting new niches,
becoming new life.

Together, we
are stuck fast.

mirror delay

childhood memories
of everything except
for myself

it's like the lens bends
with nothing at the center
and all the events

come towards you,

to remember

Tuesday, May 08, 2018

within your power.

Actually no, it's not

important to be understood. It's important

to be clear.

To mean what you know you mean,
and not

something else. This sits

among your burdens, which
ride duly upon your shoulders,

as long as you don't shirk them.

And it is entirely
within your

other people

understand you

is an accident,
a concern possibly,
and none of yours;

To be busier meaning
what you say

than striving fantastically within the other's
imperfectly-imagined brain, tweaking tone, twisting points,
spinning them 90 to 360 degrees to appreciate

difference of perspective, angles of rotation,
arc and yaw, and other aspects of "how

will they take it"

is your business. What you give
is your business. What they take

is accidental. Partial.
A creative and experimental collaboration

between inference and implication,
so leave yours out, why don't you?
Hanging out for all to see.

As clear as you could make it for the world,
without contortion and adjustment for each

little mark you're trying to con. Each
little oyster you're trying to imperil. Each
little bird you're trying to line up

for the stone.

Be about
meaning what you say, and put it

unmistakably. Directly.
Unquestionably. If they fail

to understand, fine then.

Take questions and answer them.
One by one, once again,
following where they lead

- all the way home. Being understood

is not important. Just like being
fallen in love with

is not important. What's not within your power

cannot be important. Just give

what you mean. Give

what you feel.

Give others what they need,
if they want to.

If they see their way clear
and want to take it. Don't lead them, or sell them,
or spin them. Just find out what you mean,
where you're going with it,

and continue.

Monday, May 07, 2018

tactile sense

I remember you
touching me, from a dream
I always wake up from too soon.
I know you're here with me,
right here

in this new memory,
we're singing snatches of our song -

you haven't got the words, but
I haven't got the tune.

You've got it locked up
like a secret
one to never be repeated
and I feel you moving over me,

and I'm this close to begging you,

And we will be completed.
As you whisper
something I can't catch,

I'll say it back to you
And that
will be just ours,
for no one else. We'll fall asleep
for once, both knowing
this time

we will keep it.

Tuesday, May 01, 2018

"Is It Better?"

Is it better to have loved and lost
than never to have loved at all?

It's better to have lived
several years past the loss, to the point
where you can answer that question honestly:
Yes. "Honestly," by then -

but that wasn't the question. The question was:
is it better?
Not: do we eventually
reconcile ourselves to as bad as the worst

That yes
will creep in eventually, a lie
made out of time's unwinding, which
has bound all wounds and limbs, pulled
tight the tourniquet, and we call it
"healing" as the numb sets in.

Has it ever once been better
to have loved and lost?

No. It's only the whisper
of flying, lying time
that dulls the senses
in the intervening years, gets us
to forget as they fall by, lost to us
- or rather, to change our mind.
And so lose our sense,
and loose our nerves to try again,
and so, try again, and if at last
we won't succeed - the timing
will answer that question, then:

A fresh, open, honest wound,
or a tight shiny-knit lie
that smiles where the thing that gets pulled out
keeps growing back.
The entire, sick, quasi-religious
pageant is monstrous, and then you die,

And it never was better to have loved
and lost. No,

never once.

But do you know what's worse? Some love,

and do not lose.

Now, that hurts.

It's worth the risk for someone, then.
Those who know it is better to have loved
and won,

than to sigh, pick yourself up
and decide

whether to try again.

things in place

I put them in a glass if you want them.
I put them in a glass for you, if you
want them and if you don't, for

anyone. That will be their place,
if you don't want them, that
is where they'll stay. So that

we always have some.

One day you may find
you want some, and you will go
where you know they are kept,

to find I've thrown them away.

I had to. They looked too sad


Sunday, April 29, 2018

"You Don't Really Want It That Bad"

If I could do anything
to be with you right now, I would
snap my fingers, clap my hands
wish on stars until
I found out how,

if I could do everything
to lay the ground, to pave the way
I'm paralyzed
looking around
they need me here
"They need me here,"
I say

And every day growing older
every day growing loud
almost audible, now
there's a voice of doubt:

"You don't really want it that bad.
Too bad you can't have it easy.
You can't have it at all, because
you don't really want it that bad.
Bad enough to reach out and seize,
and shake the tree until
everything falls."

I almost burned my hand on a star
by reaching too far,
almost close enough to grasp

or it seemed at the time it was.
I still feel the pain
of that empty hand

closing on nothing.
Unable to ask,

when wishes can't hold
what you're wishing for

there's a voice of doubt
inside, wanting more.

Friday, April 27, 2018

whispered counsel

If you deny all accusations of fault,
do you deny all observations of fact?
The one and the two
are like tit for tat, sometimes
with that.
And you have,

now and then,

to take a step back
from your stance,
where you stand

on a ground too far
for your grounds to support. Do you represent

yourself in life, as you would in court?

You seem just the devil
I would advocate for.

First let me teach you a thing or two
about how to get by with the truth,
you innocent you.

You don't know

how much stronger your case really is,
than the impression all your bristling
defense gives. First of all, let me tell
you why you did what you did. You will find

you have acted as all
of the passionate and righteous do,
who don't stop to think of how clever they are
- congratulate yourself for that fatal flaw!
But before we are through,
you will see your way clear and far

to how your blameless act unfolds.
Thank God you don't gloat, or threaten
or brag too much!

That could have destroyed
all the good
we are trying to mold.

sophisticated domesticity

You can't eat your cake
and have it, too. Unless
you made your cake.

You will then have your cake
to make! And eat it, too.

And if you teach
a man to bake?

You could get fish
for dinner, any night
you cared to scale and gut
and bread and fry the stuff.

And he? He would be mixing up
from flour, baking powder, sugar,
eggs and milk and salt, a batter
sweet to lick and pour and slide
into preheated oven, taking pride
and special care to show
he'd learned your lessons,
leavened with the love
you had entrusted him,
and not without a certain touch
of his invention, changing them. He's sure

he has perfected it. Another thing
to call his own. And for dessert,

you'll try

a piece. It tastes a bit
like burning fish. It takes all things
to make a home.

about your fortune

See, when you go and seek your fortune,
it's like you feel like it's out there
waiting for you.
It's a form of entitlement. But then,
so is destiny. Fate. Are we entitled to that?
I say yes, but
they don't exist.
So we may as well not be.

Still, something
is inevitably going to happen.
It always does. It's happening right now!
And in another moment, another thing - something.
It's inevitable,
in fact, tons of things
are inevitably, inescapably, inexorably
happening right now. Even if perhaps,

with planning and foresight,
tutored by hindsight and previous
failures to plan, many of them

might not have come
to be called inevitable. So
it makes a certain amount*
of sense, to bank on the odds
that the one of the inevitable somethings
which eventually will happen
will be good,
and plentiful, and
have some sort of positive cash-flow aspect
attached to it, in some way - and to call that thing

one's "fortune."

And if that's the case, then
what's more natural than to go out
and seek it? In fact,
in a manner reminiscent of a "time paradox,"
it's possible that your determination

that it does exist, out there

waiting for you somehow, coupled with
your decision to "go out" after it, and
compounded by all the other shit
that happens to happen (what the French call
la coincidence), is precisely

the thing that brings it about

when if you had done nothing (or
something else), it may have never
had happened at all!


is the kind of shit that drove Oedipus nuts!

in the modern age, we know
it's not that simple. It's not all
prophecies and oracles, with the exact person
we flee town not to fuck
ending up pursuing us to the town ahead
and having been in fact,
a completely different person all along
so we can conveniently fuck them and gouge out our eyes
when the cosmic joke is revealed. No,

the truth is more modern and "hip"
these days. We can express it best
using pseudoscience: The Present is
a binary probability wave,
passing over the Future
at a constant rate of Now,

converting all possible events (events
with some nonzero probability of happening)
to events with either a 100% or
a 0% probability of having happened. It
happens in an instant; it happens Now. (Note:
"events with a 0% probability," not the same
as "nonevents"! Nonevents happen,
but nobody cares). In that moment,
100% probability events happen, and 0%
probability events

do not.

There are no in-betweens, as the great probability wave
is collapsed into one or the other, by Now. By the Present,
rolling over what was until just recently the Future. The Present

is the measurement reality makes upon possibility, seen
or unseen by we
mere observers.

And the probability wave keeps rolling,
passing over all Possibility,
collapsing each possible event's quantum
indeterminacy state into a zero (0) or a one (1),
and flipping each from Future to Past for the ones (1s).
It all happens in a moment, and when it happens, it happens
forever. It's a moment that never stops happening, and never
stops having had happened.

This is what Buddhists
and surfers are talking about. A lot of the time.


asterisk mind

My sense of proportion has terrorized me.
My measured response
must be measured, not once,
but again and again
'til it's found to fit.

By then it's too late to be offering it.
It would make too much
of a comment that passed
without comment, objection, correction
or fuss.

Besides, the conversation has run
considerably past

where I thought it was.

Thursday, April 26, 2018

what we forget about the best times of our lives

Remember how much you've forgotten
before you decide how much of life
to give up on, and throw away. Remember

how unexpected almost every one
of all of the bests
you have ever had,
really was at the time.
How you couldn't believe

it was happening to you,
while it was happening.

Please note, at this moment
you do not expect
anything like that, ever again.

Just as you didn't then.
So when have you ever?
Now as then,
you can't ever believe

that it was or it could be happening.

That's how it is, in the time between.

But who
knows what
tomorrow will bring?

Clich├ęs, most like.

More of the same.

Same verse,
Same verse,
on the way

to a different refrain

You Be The One

Turn the corner, here right
about a hundred miles back
and I don't know if the map
really has this part.

Let's call it a road trip
and see what comes,
if we drive
towards the light in the sky

Whether we get there
is half the fun

Just you be the one,
please, you be the one.
I know I am two, if you
could be who I was counting on.
Just you be the one,
then I will be two,
and call it a song.

With a one and a two
and the way we've gone,
Between us, do we have
the math for this?

But simple is best,
in ignorant bliss.
If we fly to the heights
our fancy can kiss,

Whether we find it or not,
we'll have this.

Just you be the one,
please, you be the one.
I know I am two, if you
could be who I was counting on.
Just you be the one,
and I will be two,
and call it a song.

What time is it, girl?
Are we almost there?
Let's just sing along
at the tops of our lungs

And trust in the fates we don't admit
Have found us half-way

to the start of it,

And move on from there.
We'll be moving on
to wherever you say,
I'll turn, just

You be the one.

Wednesday, April 25, 2018

sunny not sunny

You're not at all smiling in this picture.
I've looked at it full dozens
of times, and just

noticed now.
I always thought you were

smiling, here. This moment snapped
and taken off, to save. Why

have I always seen you
smiling, just then? Just look

at you! Maybe you had just stopped
smiling. Maybe you were on the point
of starting a smile. Or maybe you
were going to continue standing there,
with your face more or less
composed in the sun. But

not smiling, clearly. At all. In fact,

you look a bit like someone

who's been told she should smile, or

she should smile more.

That suggestion
is frowned upon.

Monday, April 23, 2018


The elephant in the room
leaves copious turds,
which must be quickly cleaned up

while each other's backs are turned.
We have to take turns. It's worth it

to plausibly deny there's a pachyderm.

Sunday, April 22, 2018

soft shoulder


this is sad enough

without me having to hear it though,
unable any way
to change
the circumstance or fix

your pain, I know

sometimes it helps to just
how much it hurts,


to listen and
watch their face,


not me
please not me

it can only get worse

Saturday, April 21, 2018

for most of you

I wake up in a body
I don't know how I found
but I've worked my way into it
inside and out, and
I still feel the reaches
I can't wiggle all the way
to fill

Most each and every day,
I've been turning my head around
inside and out, and
I can't decide what everyone
is talking about, but
it's easily enough
done and said, to play
my part

Almost each and every day,

And I imagine for most of you,
it goes the same
I imagine for most of you
it goes the same
Imagining you're the only one
stuck in a brain, born
a little too close to sane

For comfort, I will carry myself
everywhere my memories serve me well
but I still can't handle it
I was born with intuition but
I've backed my way out of it
staring into the abyss
where I used to fit,
and I look back

Each and every day almost,
to a soundtrack of all the greatest hits
that somehow missed every one

so close

And I imagine for most of you,
it goes the same
I imagine for most of you
it goes the same
Imagining you're the only one
stuck in a brain, born
a little too close to sane

to get all the way out
or all the way in
you get just enough of the joke
to make it sting
you get enough of the rules
to know
it's not a game, and therefore
you can't win.

but you play

And I imagine for most of you,
it goes the same
I imagine for most of you
it goes the same
Imagining you're the only one
stuck in a brain, born
a little too close to sane


Whenever I think of you
it's like you beep my nose.
And no one's ever really
beeped my nose, so

I don't have bad associations,
forcing me to tell you "No!
Please don't!"
"You shouldn't have anyway,
without asking! Some one
used to beep

my nose like that. I hate it"

But in my case, no. I know I don't
have to tell you that. I'd have
no excuse, it isn't true. And how
can I expect you to ask, before
you come to mind? BEEP

there it goes

I find
I like it fine. But how about



The crack in a broken heart
is a lightning bolt,
to let the power out you've held in for too long,
and known too well
to not know how to let it go,
and how and where to aim.

You learned
to hold it in,
and now

you learn to let it out again. Your enemies

- their chance is slim.

emotional labor

Trying to find all the ways my life
is beyond my control, so I can let go
of those, and concentrate on

educating everyone

as to what the conditions are
when dealing with me, and everything

they should know they're responsible for,
which I never chose. It's exhausting,
though. First,

to find out the facts to explain,
second, explaining them over again

every time they forget what they have
to do. It's excruciating

I wish everyone knew

a servant shouldn't smile

A perfect servant.
Never says a word, except to agree
when spoken to.

This hint of a smile
could threaten us both.
You shouldn't enjoy
what you're bound to do

- not visibly so.
At most and always,
a deep satisfaction
in job well-done

as evidenced by
a placid face. Not such a grin
as I've got on.

Friday, April 20, 2018

some secret agency

It's ok. I'm not going to find you out.
You don't have to worry. The impression
you've made, that you love to make

that I love to get - the way I see you,
making all these days -
you're not going to slip

and give it away.
You will never betray yourself
to me. I will cover for you

every time you trip, and no one will know
but just us two. I won't even have seen

it reflect on you.

one more person

If one more person lacked my way with words,
I think sometimes it would be free
and clear, and life

could go unspoken

oh so easily

at least,

it would easier.

Wednesday, April 18, 2018

belief and comprehension

If you knew how much I love you,
your head would explode
inside your heart
from knowing,
and your heart would hold
it back together, then
pop your head back up your neck
with the most amazing smile.
It would be a happy ending, but

baby I don't want you
to go through that. Your smile
is the most amazing already I think

maybe you found out

Tuesday, April 17, 2018

the big reveal

Some things it's best to just let lie.
Some people, it's best
to just let lie.
Some loves, it's best to just let die.
To just let go, and say:
There is no why.
Some lies, it's best to leave
unsaid, some questions unasked,
some thoughts

But sometimes I wish
you could read my mind,
lay every little bit of it bare,
every corner exposed to light and air,
and tell me just what you think
of what you find.

What do you think you would find?

I want to explain
all the things we don't know
could be in there
that could be upsetting
to you. And maybe there's nothing

- but maybe there's
something, as well. I wish
I could open myself, to let you inspect
everything that's there

before we're through.


My mind has gone. Not blank,
but white - a picture of you
fills the frame, but
I am stopped from seeing you,
by all the things that
you're not mentioning

Saturday, April 14, 2018

I've had enough of your bullshit

Listen, I've had enough
of your bullshit.
I'm not sick of it,
really, or angry,

in fact,
I have been enjoying it
all this time up to now.

I have had
a pleasant sufficiency,
I think we've reached
a good stopping point,
for today,
for your bullshit.

Save some bullshit
for a future occasion.
while your bullshit is ahead. Leave them
wanting more

of your bullshit.

But I don't, though.
I've had enough.

I emphasize
that it was exemplary
bullshit. Just what I've come to expect
from you, and thank you

when you're through.

Please don't take it as a slight,
or rejection - not after
so much bullshit from you
was just welcomed and accepted!

I've enjoyed your bullshit
more than thoroughly. All day,
to a point.

This is the point
I think we ought to focus on,
and move on from.

Friday, April 13, 2018

a packet in my pocket

I had a packet of butterscotch krimpets in my pocket
a packet in my pocket
a packet in my pocket

I put them in my pocket as I went outside
with a big cup of coffee and a plate
of Vegemite toast. My hands were full,
so I put

a packet in my pocket
a packet in my pocket

and I settled down with everything
into the reclining chair. Leaned all the way back,
with my coffee and toast, and cigarettes
and lighter right there, and the krimpets

carefully withdrawn and placed
on the chairside table, all set and cozy.

I didn't have a packet in my pocket at that point
I didn't have a packet in my pocket at that point

And I was reading Joseph Conrad
to complete the scene. He was of racist times,
for sure.

After the toast and during the coffee,
with deep satisfaction I picked up the packet
of butterscotch krimpets, to open it

and I saw

It was open on one end. The cellophane
gaped wide. My mind considered whether these krimpets
were safe, or had been tampered with.

By what means? Some chemical, brushed-on?
A solution of deadly germs in a spray?
Or a needle

stealthily injecting an injection
for the unsuspecting to ingest?

In that case they needn't have opened the packet,
though. And these butterscotch krimpets

were the last. I ate them, reflecting
that they had probably come open in my pocket.

probably come open in my pocket

But just in case of my mysterious death,
this poem cries out from beyond the grave

(everywhere is beyond some grave, surely?
look at all the cemeteries) and points

a slim grim sepulchral finger
accusingly at the truth

Wednesday, April 11, 2018

bless my soul

Our cause isn't even a cause,
but it's lost
The effect on me
is something I need
but the cost isn't something
that we can pay.
Maybe someday,
maybe someday
we'll say.

And you believe it
but you're not hostage to your belief
And I can't see it
Even though it's all I see

You bless my soul
You give me proof
of things there's just no evidence for
And I don't want to know the truth
unless it's you

I found myself in things
that weren't there,
or anywhere apart from you
The times in my life I was so sure
Are pulling me back
pulling me back,
and through

'Cause you believe it
I am hostage to your belief
But you don't really need it,
And it's everything I need

You bless my soul
You give me proof
of things there's just no evidence for
And I don't want to know the truth
unless it's you

unless it's you
unless it's you

You're making aches in places in me
I'm not sure even exist
So maybe you've created them
They'd be all the more real for it
You took my soul in hands of clay
and sculpted shape, and gave it breath
and hid a light that went away
I still see all the world by it
there isn't any less

Tuesday, April 10, 2018

careful who you compliment

I love this. It's like
what I imagine German Existential
Film lighting

could be like, if they were in color,
and happy. Though of course (as we all do)
sometimes the color

would play ironically

against our sadness. You know,
this was probably not your intention,
but you could revolutionize
modern clown makeup

with effects like these.