precocious

I could tie my shoes since
before I was born, it's just
that I hadn't
had any on. So
then, when I was -
born
- distracted at once,
I forgot for a while.

A bit
of a dunce.

I've been getting ahead of
myself ever since, never
failing to notice much
later the proven points
that I'd earlier missed. By then

convinced,

it was locked, knocked loose,
pulled back together
and fixed.

I have
always made
time for this.

before a fashion

Adam and Eve and I
woke up one day

and Eve said, this fig leaf shit
is fly as hell, Ad-man, but whaaat

if we cast our nets
and webs
a bit farther and wider for material
source? Draw inspiration and muse,
of course, and invent ourselves

better second skins?

I took one look at Eve,
and I said
"That would be a sin."

We can just drive

We can just drive
and you can think about what
you want to say. No

tunes, no

need. It's silence
okay? And companionable,

between
such two as we turned
out to be.

Let's go home,
you fool.

Or just drive for hours
and miles, and see

where we've ended up.

It must
be better than here,
flying by just above

the limit of speed
toward the edge of all things

as we disappear.

more There Ought To Be

There ought to be

a movie or tv detective ace
who shows up with partner
in tow, and they both
just mingle and mix
grinning wide, chatting up
the place. Get the party restarted,

because

the body showed up! Killed
the vibe, kind of. They need

to restore the spirits
of all. Put every one easy
with lowered guards. They put
on the music, and pour the drinks

HARD

while they rock that body
for clues,

wethinks.

Their names are John Scotland
and Tina Yard, and
they're quite unattached
to official police. I suppose

you'd have guessed as much.
At least

tactile interiors

I accidentally swallowed
an entire half of a mushroom
cap. Had it in
with a mouthful of soft
sweet potato, and only
chewed that

somehow. When I swallowed,
the halved cap slid down whole;
I could feel it glisten
all the way down.

I almost threw up
my hands in delight! At
this wild sensation
I'd found.
How droll.

The smaller potato

The smaller potato,
the bigger steak. That's
what I get, but it's not
what I want. Yet
someone's been generous.
And I couldn't bring
myself to the ingrate's stance
upon any such thing. It's why
people love me, I guess.
It's not why I do it.
It's kind of a mess.
I don't know why
I do. But I don't
care to guess.

In a case like this.
Where they gave me

the best

they knew, or wanted
- and left themselves second
to one. But took

the potato of generous size
to console themselves. It was wrong

as a guess, but
I guess it was right
to lie.

This is so much better than doing it.

When you've got a horrible
imagination like mine, you're
kidding yourself. No you don't.

It's fine. Fine
for you, any rate. You just take

my word. So much
you imagine, you do
- the part that's merely
absurd! So much more, you
don't.

And assuage your dissatisfied,
unfulfilled fancy by
telling it off. By
calling it
wrong,

and vile.
Which it is. Well,

for a conscience,
you've sure got style.

the urge to do wrong right and fail.

Sometimes I want to write my
most beautiful poem of all, and
title it "rat semen," but

that would be wrong done
wrong, arguably. I want

to do wrong right and
fail. Now this

is possibly what keeps me
honest, but in

principle, it's a
predilection. Not

a policy.

discombobu

My balls catch
in my throat, each time
I see your eyes combine
in my mind, like the windows
have all blown wide
in the flying glass, your ass
well-covered for once,
this time
no scratches or cuts
shall come
between us, no harm
my leg to stand on's gone numb,
and the heart up my sleeve
beats red through my shirt

you can take it from me, but
oh lord
it hurt. I hold you

in my arm (where the other one's
gone I don't know) but both hands
say take this slow
motion, fast

like a fist,
like a knife like a gun

I will love this one
You will love this one

Life Advice Fool

Sometimes all you can do is your best,
and trust the other to do what's right.
True, sometimes the other is a free
and equal being - every bit as equal
as you, and so entitled in some sense
to employ their own reason on that.

What's right.

So sometimes they come up with a verdict
on how to act that reflects they don't know
a rat's buttocks from bollocks, or maybe
they think the "S" on their moral compass
stands for "Up." So what, some asshole

like you is going to stand in the judge-box
banging your little wooden mjolnir like
you're worthy? Please

Grow up.

It's fair. They get to judge
all they want for what's theirs,
including all self they do or don't

care

to offer. Or all of yours
they do care to decline,
or accept. It's fair, because

Same beans, free being. You do that shit
too, dude. Dudess. Besides, guess

what? Sometimes

all they can do

is their best.

How do you like their chances?
Versus yours, or perchance
with yours?

How do you like all our chances
in that everlasting, drag-racing,
often enough drugged and dragged
out bound and gagged non contest? You

just see to yourself. See for yourself:

You have to be vicious. Savage. Wild. Full
-grown and mature past a certain point, civilized
and socialized, acting at will in alignment
and harmony or deliberate, dissonant clang

and clash
with the forces around you, even if
you have to be sweet

- naive, even. Invincibly courteous,

and good as given. For real,

sometimes you have to be

the advice
you have taken
for living. And do

Your best.
And you trust them
to do what's right,
if not for you.

reverse invention

What would we do
to notice things, if we
didn't have our camera phones
to prove and show off we'd noticed them?

I guess

we'd have to look that much
more close and fond, and trust
ourselves

to memory again.

past it

You know you're past it
when you start to daydream
fantasize about yourself
in the past tense. Of

times back when you knew
you were never going do that
anyway, but you still could.

You could daydream, but
all your old favorites
have veered off to
impossibility, and

lost their sparkle
and draw. So what now,
pal?

You have to break your horizons
wide and find things you're still
never going to do anyway, but

anyway, you still could. Then
you see, you find, you realize

you were never past it. In fact,
it was always in the other direction.

naive discovery

Naive means
"strong, fresh, artless and direct" and
I think as I age, I'm becoming more
three out of four of those things, so

Naive it is. And that's how I reckon
I'll only be more, since
that's been my natural response

to it. And three out of four
ain't bad - it's seventy-five
percent! Good enough for a D. Any tests?
PASS. Whatever. Rhyme? I go
primitively, rude-hewn simplicity
of no rhyme, sometimes. Other

times it just falls into place
so fine? I'm like

WHO is the best? I'm like
WHO is the okayest? I'm like

hoo hoo "WHO'S the rhyme mastery
apprentice in the place to be
and when this party kicks into
a gear, it will eventually"

And then it is. There, too

Oh, it's RIGHT HERE.

- and I'm right there to match,
it's all I'm getting so clear.
Invincibly naive, I have been
lately being, so

that. Covers that, now

...uh, uh-um, uh-huh

one (1) dill pickle spear

to go

postposterous

you know at the time,
it all seemed fine
it all made sense

but after the fact?
I see that it was
just gigantically dense

of me,
the wise
(present-tense)
and correct
(retrospectively)
master of suspense.

I do not believe
I do not disbelieve
A ruthless and monstrous
skeptic, for sure!

I used to be taken in
by dreams, since
the logic within was so
right-just-as-if -
'til you wake,
and you find
it was bonkers galore

And you swallowed it blithe!
And you kept on for more,
in a course that was set
by some random tide.

You were doing such things
in your wildest dreams,
and they all seemed so tame, so
ho-hum, at the time. It's a wonder
that this
was all in your mind?

Surely somebody else's. Perhaps
you went visiting out in the night
into some foreign mind. But
it seemed to be you.

Well, it's over. Wake up!
Things will start making sense
once we open the wine.

So let's not decide. In fact:
let's decide not to. Just bury me now
on the underside of the fence,
and we'll see greenest grass
growing in towards the middle

luxuriously dense.
And in your defense,
I will say
It was all

no lie.

In murder movies,

In murder movies,
British ones. The scene
smash cuts dark just

When the character comes
to the door
to a room, calls
a name, and
knocks -

there is no reply

They open, and begin to go in

And we're outside. In the sunlight
around an airy table, chatting
airily with some other random
ones from the ensemble. And

after a while, as the plot weaves on
and you get interested
in this,

Back to the room! Inside
this time. But

The one who knocked
is gone.

And we don't know what happened
or did it

but

it's wrong.

That body

it couldn't be there.
It just couldn't.

It's the detective

dialogues in space 2

"No,
I don't even know her! She
just turned to regard me
while I was waiting
for the beers, and

so I look at her and smile, friendly-like -"
"Like you are."
"- like I am, and out of nowhere she
goes, 'hey
man, I think you're hot.'"
"NO SHE DID NOT." "Well, go ask?"
"She's pretty cute, man!
- what did you say back?"

"Well,

I paused.
And I took myself a step
aback, regarding her

with
that head-cocked
-to-the-side kind of quizzical
imperceptible narrowing of one's eye
that I do, and then
I said,

'I think you're thinking of somebody else.'"

a dialogue in space

"You know,
lightning is invisible in space." "God.
What are you talking about now?" "In space,
lightning is invisible. We can only see

lightning here
because of the atmosphere.
The visible light

is generated by the incandescence of the air
molecules, super-heated by the barrage
of charged particles
passing through them. In space,

there would be nothing to see - completely
invisible."

"There is no lightning in space."

... [pause]

"...how would you know?"

In a spirited defense of "girls"

What we would like to believe
and imply in calling women
"girls"
is that all women are
young, physically attractive
sexually desirable, available
and willing, and perhaps
with an implication of being placed
at a social, legal, or financial
disadvantage, so that they would
naturally as a matter of Darwinism
compete fiercely to gratify
our needs and satisfy
our wants - animal, rude,
classy romantic and
otherwise - with their
bodies, principally, their
physical presence, proving
we were right there, next
to her, same time, same place - though this
is by no means their entire purpose, or
the complete extent of their duties
which nature and honor impose

on them
(it's not us)
from time immemorial. However,

None of this is suggestive
of any attitude of superiority
towards, over, above, beneath
or especially behind
these girls! In fact it is we,
mighty, proud, rich
- and damn attractive
in that sense, if not exactly
'good-looking' - who consider
ourselves grossly, cosmically,
spectacularly inferior! Though we are
in all fairness, very nice. Still

they are goddesses. Unattainable
to be praised in abject ignorance
and obliviousness of their specific
attributes. They were bestowed
to us from on high, to be highly
sought after, rejoiced and fought
over. To be killed, or be
killing. We know
we are unworthy
- so naturally if they spurn us,
that stings. We curse
and threaten them in only
the vilest terms, to their face
or over phones, all as they've
just deserved! We are unworthy
of girls, women of this girlish
and perfect kind; we know we throttle
and trample ourselves and each other
in the dirt
and filth
and mud
they've just recently had
to walk through, we worship
there. Right where this precious
and special one only just trod,
barefoot and eventually pregnant

towards some picturesque perfect
kitchen.

In the future

we will always be more considerate.
It is part of the deal we offer
all girls. Every girl. One

would be fine

Comment on my sister's philosophical social media post share

"The difficulty of
apprehending the emergent nature
of consciousness consists partly in
the entrenchment of emergentism
and emergence itself, and partly
in an individual human being's subjective grasp
of not only aesthetics,
not only deontology,
but ontology: our approach
to the reality of being, and all
it implies. What *is* is, and how goes
it? What it bees, Keanu Reeves? What the hey,
my gentle peeps and mah rough and tumbler ruder-hewn
peoples? How does it go for you today? How does what's up
get DOWW-W-W-N, and what are we - as free beings - to understand
about that, as part (if we wish and embrace it) of our part? This,

and other things, are wrongly grasped
ass-end up as problems, when in actual fact,
if properly held and possibly stroked, fondly
probed and scrupulously scraped and examined, each
is its own solution to something largely unasked,
and so, underappreciated. The modern problem

of our minds with us is that really, we don't know how to begin."

benediction number twelve

When you can't
get by
on a wing and a prayer

...a leg and a curse
will get you
there.

WARNING: STRONG LANGUAGE

WARNING: **STRONG LANGUAGE**

or "profanity" as they say

is largely a matter of pathetic superstition
involving some syllables pack extra FOUL, BAD
POWER despite synonyms of exact same denotative
value, typically inculcated by parents
of an ignorant, incompetent or abusively
cruel kind, in order to install in their
own child's mind a weakness for the whole
wide world
to exploit with glee,
for their whole dang life
long, unless and except they
spot the flaw, discard it
as unworthy, and

GROW UP

- and therefore, should be avoided.

Most
of these
superstitious types are good
kind, decent and harmless, or at least try
to be nice, and you don't want to hurt
such sitting ducks. They waddle and quack
pleasantly enough, sometimes cluck. Mercy

is indicated

upon the weak.
Whether it was done
to them, naturally
or nurturally, or whether

they simply chose it each day, and in each
such encounter. Mercy is indicated.

Cheers

fuckface

my Yelp review

Yelp is an anus of lies.
Larry's Deli (Tampa Bay
Area, Florida) is gold.
Their Cuban sandwich
is fuck hot toasty
meaty bun-crunchy
just the right cheesy,
mustardy and with a kiss
of pickles DELICIOUS. Yelp

is ego shit for prima donna crybaby diva TANTRUM CUNTS
who think the world's purpose is to wait on their
hyperentitled overprivileged ASS, just because
they're the customer, they came in

for help,
for service,
it should be with at least a sting of HUMILITY
that you petition another for what they can do
for you, and the fact you may pay

does not elevate you to a lordship, lady. Yelp

ought to be rechristened something more unambiguously
painful, because it is to see these fucks
disporting their dudgeon and snoot
in disgusting comportment
all over the internet, or at least

on Yelp. Yelp
can go to a bag of dicks restaurant
and order the famous five-star bag of dicks
blue plate special,

and eat it,

and I give it two
and a half stars,
on a scale of eleven.

Which I think is fair

Explanatory Notes

I explain things in an offhand,
deadpan matter-of-fact way
that goes on and on with digression
and fractally-multiplied kaleidoscopic
tangent until something or some one thinks
its (or their) intelligence
may be insulted, or has been, that I
must be kidding (them
or self) and I am

not! I mustn't! I'm just
enjoying the sights along the
long, long way right over the cliff.
A pleasant daylit amble in ever-changing
weather and light of the moment's notice,
blasting from my Aldis lamp, clickety-flashing
like a disco strobe aimed laserlike at key
features, burning the ants

off of them

this,

I mean well. Very well! And I am sincere,
endlessly swinging at shining length, a huge
garbled knot of gleaming metal, sharpness of point
and blunt force of clarity, swung deft, feather-touch
light and car crash hard by imposing haft. Heft that
masterpiece of peace weaponry! If you will,
if you are interested or worthy, and find
- is it unwieldy? No! 'Twas light as a beam
and I loft it so. And besides, people
get that. About me. Not what I mean, always
but that I sure do mean it. They get it. They

would have to. Process of elimination. Who the hell

could conceivably lay down so high a line
of patter with an ulterior purpose to serve?
WHAT purpose? It's indefeasibly purposeless,
how I roll - and right, and fair, and just

my way. I don't mean nothing by it.

I mean everything. So mean
I mean it all, but well, you know

it isn't and/or wasn't
important. My interest in the topic
ends in yours, anytime we or you
like! We can talk
about nothing, or anything

else. This

and other explanatory notes
drift floating in bottles populating
the undulating surface of every ocean
on earth by now, some of them even
wending up rivers like salmon, clear
glass or green, once beer-filled,
not freighted with a more papery
sort of hope and refreshment -
all jotted and stuffed
and carefree flung
by me, off-hand

in the hopes it's enough. Or could be

coping mechanism verdict full acquittal

I was beginning to
despair, but then
I hoped
it might only be
dismay, disappointment
at expectation, not
unfulfilled so much
as the glass cracked in half
such that neither could be
filled. Except incessantly,
perpetually, a futile
endeavor. Anyway,
in such ways
as is often my wont,
I distracted myself
splitting hairs between classes
of adjectives, moods
and problems about which
there's nothing to do.
Or nothing that could be
done. That ceded, that
grasped, I concluded: there is
no solution, and
- there more or less
never was. So

no cause for despair then! It was not
a problem really. More a mere personal

subjective
invincible

distaste

for some inalterable aspect
of reality, and

you know me

I never sweat those

Abortive self-criticism

As beautifully-written as this is,
it isn't really. It's as if some
asshole...oh yeah.

Okay, never mind. That explains
it.

the once-bitten hand

The once-bitten hand
never feeds again. It would
never quite dare, even though
it can. It would rather
teach lesson in stinkeye
and pout. "No, my dainties
within me can rot! They are

not

for your mouth." And so it
draws out.

know thyselves (ad infinitum)

Conformity
is personal integrity at a societal level.
And therefore monstrous and wrong,
or at the very least criminally
and medically inadvisable - as
in order to unjustly anthropomorphize
and reify society in one being,
we must perforce submit to
a mass self-diagnosis as
the worst case of multiple
personality disorder
on record or imaginable, and worse -
a case attempting to pass
as socialized, rather than
radically, incurably, irreconcilably
dissociated. Imagine
of how many minds we would have

to be
on every
decision we had
to contemplate, combatively
and endlessly. Well,

we pretty much are! But at least

we have integrity. Some of us.
On a personal level, integrity
is self-conformity. A much overpraised,
undervalued and unpracticed virtue. I myself

even (pissing hypocrite!) am very much
a self-noncomformist, and what's more
- entirely unprincipled. Almost. I suppose
my principled stance of anti-principle
counts as at least a credo, and therefore
counts. But the point is,

I am as strong as a can of spinach,
and I yam what I yam.

Please yourself, that's
your business. One's own
always is.

Realization is

Cognition is an engine, and
recognition, the exhaust. This
tossed-off metaphor is
the steering wheel, and the whole car
is lost. All this was hard-wired
in synapse and neuroquantum fizz
long before GPS or even maps, but
we've traced and we've track'd
our ways to it. And it isn't

as if
we can find our
way back.

So you stand in the street
waiting for your own ride
with yourself at the wheel
still exploring surrounds
and environs, far-flung
and far-fetched enough. You are
by now quite real and alive,

doing stuff.

hard horrible knocks

If the head 
took the knocks 
and the blows 
and the beatings 
the heart has habitually 
kept to itself, concussion 
would not even need diagnosis. 
It either would have killed us 
off in the nest, or else 
we'd survive 
by evolving a skull
much more cushioned 
and meshed with supporting 
webs - which exists
to degrees, but nothing like what 
we would need
if our brains
had our heart's kind 
of guests. 

Protest 2: Much?

Everso slightly
making too much
of a humorously-enough
remark,
intended
as neither fair,
nor just,
nor certainly cruel,
but just a fond
jape, such as fits
in trust, so neatly
between you, fool. Yes I do
mean your ears, dear
dope. You do
hear such horrible
things, sometimes! Have
you thought of cleaning
them out? It's a scandal,
the hope and the bliss
so ignorantly dashed
by the beast and the bully
I've been to you
- to hear you go on
and on
all about. I should think
I'd want nothing to do,
but I do.

interpersonil

I think people really
are mostly fairly
reasonable. But

I think also that
as soon as they perceive
an antagonism, reason

switches over to pure attack
/defense functions, and
any capacity they had
for objectivity goes

out the window. They're forced
and focused 100%
on defeating the challenge, and

they're primed to escalate
to the next level (and the next,
and the next, until finally they
find themselves doing something
utterly unreasonable! But in their

minds, it was
in their defense. Each step
of escalation was just
what they had to do

in response to the
threat) as needed

Misinterpreters

They did not reck my rod, and so
I wrecked their read, they'd read into
so recklessly. Their faces grew
about as red as probably
they saw. That moment,
all came round. And each
accused of rude, and all
protesting most objectionably.

I reckon they
most surely knew. But if

they didn't, now they know.
I never rowed a better boat
as I that day took oar
and steered right down
their throat, and
disappeared.

The red skies grew
to towering, sparkling black
and still, no sign

of anything afloat

despite my peers
of equal weight
and buoyancy
into the darkness
all around - and ears

strained silence quietly.

Ah, well! Let's call
a crew to drag
the moat.

compliments for granted

How do you interpret
insincerely or for real,
some poor probably socially
awkward person, trying their best
to make a favorable impression on you,
probably
botching something
they’re not particularly good at?
Are they sincerely fawning and really
believe you’re good? Or just

fake-fawning for obsequious reasons? Some
charming, wily cunning-tongued sort, mauve
of motive and spectacularly unfathomable,
inscrutable as a fox carved in living rock
- symbol of the trickster! A silver-tongued
devil so to speak, their words like shining
velveteen going down your ears so easy - but

what do they MEAN?

Somebody you were pretty sure didn’t like you.

NOW what’s their game?

Do they think you're playing?
You get SO SICK
of taking compliments

this way.

Hypotheticold

Sometimes I wonder, what
if I ran into my younger self?

What would I tell him?

Dude

I would be like

GROW UP.
IT'S EVERYTHING

it's cracked up to be
spaghetti every NIGHT
if you want, but

you won't

still.

Some dreams are sweet enough
to wake up from.

This one's gonna be

Already is.

I'm gonna make it
the way it is
It already is
It already I'm
Gonna make it
the way it is
It already is It already
All we gotta do is nothing!
Stand fast! Hold tight
Keep firm to the purposes
We're gonna make it
The way it is

CUI BONO!
Who benefits?
It's the status quo!
Get invested in, and
watch it not
grow, oh
no

We're gonna make it
The way it is.

how to draw a dragon

first, get swept up
in the art of the moment and
by the time you get to the end,
you have a dragon. If you missed it

think about trying to do it step-by-step
backwards, which you could easily have done,
but it seemed dishonest somehow. So you thought,
"fuck it."

"Here there be DRAGON."
Always put your caption on first.
A bold statement of purpose, to guide
your muse
as you go. Note what you did here: first
typed the text out, then
cut and dragged the word DRAGON
to the bottom. This creates suspense

and provides a natural framing device
for the drama that unfurls
in the space between worlds.
Imagination and fantasy
are a natural combination: artifice
effortless and easily. Step 2.

As you can see,
The head. "Rough it in"
with some lines, drawing and redrawing
– eventually the design and contours
come out, and are settled on. Got one you like,
"trace over" those lines in a different color,
and erase the rest. Step 3.

The body. Similar. Many, many "roughed in"
contour lines, describing the sinuous curves
of the beast's serpentine form. Then
rounded contour lines, to fill it out
and add body. There it is! The body.
The reptilian impression of volume
is beguiling. Finally

Step 4. You add wings and limbs. Note
if only one limb is visible? (There
wasn't room for more, somehow) – this is a touch
of almost magical realism, it creates the illusion
that the other limb(s) go(es) out of sight
on the other side. Psychologically, this little
trompe l'oeil touch

makes the dragon seem almost enormous
in the viewer's mind.

Color. Step 5. This part's easy. After
you decide on that dark blue for the background,
you end up changing the color of the caption
TO RED
so it "pops."

STEP 5A. FIRE! Loose the pink
streaky-looking lightninglike lines
of the dragon's fire-breathing, and then
– in the single most complicated step –
'cut' the entire image

leaving only the blue background,

oops.

Ctrl-Z, can we back up? WHEW
It's back. Now that's

a dragon.

I think it ends up looking better that way,
arguably. Explosive. Ferocious. Step 6

Finishing details! Go to town
back to the head and add horns,
those stark "outlineless" white
snagglefangs, nostrils, and
– most ghastly of all –
glaring jet black eyes
with piercing red pupils
and rims. Shocking
If you actually screwed up
with a bucket fill and couldn't turn
the whites of the eyes back to white
without turning the whole dragon white?
That's how it ends up - an accident,
but an improvement! Leave the whites
of the eyes black, and what we're left with

is this stunning effect.
Those eyes turn my blood cold.

Perhaps the most important step
can sometimes be a mistake

Mistaken i dear

I fear you're not myself today,
dear. Pray
take deeper breath
and calm
myself, or if
you could -
your own. I trust
we shan't both
make it home.

But hell, if you
could straighten out
whoever ends up
without doubt
as to whose
pride
is placing
bets - I will
confess my guess
what's next,
and who

will end up
dressed

in which disguise,

and who'll pretend
to be
impressed.

your worst daydream

Who am I punk?
I'm your worst daydream
you think you can just waltz

away from the past? Well,
one
two three one
two three

just thought I'd ask.
Don't fret,
you'll be seeing me later

you ass.

1-man ilk

I am haply
as it turns,
or sadly a one
-man ilk; I have
never met my like. I'm
indifferent to the fact,
in fact. I wouldn't mind

meeting someone like that.
It might be cool!

I don't mean I'm unique
(well, I am - everyone is
there's nothing fucking
special
about unique) but
in the flat intersection
of characteristic aspects,
I must admit

I am curious
in both senses, one of which
is peculiar. And

I expect I haven't
exactly met myself
coming or going. I can't be
entirely sure. It's funny

but I've only just noticed
now? I mean,

it always
seemed perfectly normal
to me.

Why wouldn't I be
like everyone else is
(apparently): nothing alike?

I expect
every one
to be more or less
oneself (their own
one's self, naturally
- not mine!) And
they aren't. Mine,
I mean. They more or less
are their own. Something

entirely strange to get
used to! New. A universe
I've never seen
behind the other's
eyes - and I guess,
mine too.

Funny

I never thought about that.

Point is,
aren't we all?

A spreading, manifold
multifarious ilk
radiating into
such night-identical
points of alienation, nothing

like
each other.
Or any other
other, at that

point.

just same

I love you with a ferocity wildly
timid and shy, sly and blithe, dense
and opaque, oblivious and relentlessly
lucid and luminous, limpid and clear
and hard, clean and dry, and I
don't mean to pry, but do you
as well? Does this
describe us, or only
this one, this fool,
this guy? I

don't want to know, please
tell me why please
tell me this instant, so
I can finish before I start

to cry. You and me, baby
babe we were always

just same

and suddenly, I know
why

I think I know why. At least
I can try
to know why.