leaving for this.

i miss you. and hugs. and shave ice. mostly i miss hugs. remember when you locked the keys in the car and because of it i found the white bike? that is what life in the city has been like since then. only it doesnt rain as much and the only peacocks are in the zoo and at the midget colony.

seven days too late.

i think im still in love with you.

wait, its a metaphor right? (putting things off until tomorrow.) hey, lee!

nothing flatters more than pedestals. pictures lie. she's tall. its springtime and im in a good mood so i take a chance but as always when it happens she has to make the first move. im taller, and when i realized that i couldnt stop laughing. when i realized that, i couldnt stop smiling. oh god and then you sent an angel and shined a light on her in the middle of it all. open eyes and lips both full and full of thoughts spilling from the place where brain and heart hold hands. i couldnt stop talking, and you looked at me with the quiet amusement of not seeing me since the last time, this case being two years not counting halloween (you in a hurry, me on hallucinogens), we were invisible.

do you remember when we were in the middle of everything i stopped and said i should have five minutes ago? and then you put your finger to my lips right there in the middle of everyone, and told me it was perfect. just you and me bathing in the sea. dark hair that smells like right after it rains, and when we hug my chin touches your lips all flat footed. stuck in eyes laughing with and at life and love and me; i wonder how it was i was able to know you all this time without noticing.

coke coffee toffee cake.

take tokes. stay broke. same jokes i use to drink with. your ass. your class. its first your brain and then your legs i wish i could stay with.

july. (or notes on time travel through voicemail)

i took some time off and traveled. sixteen months of hell, and then i met you. confident and full of grace you bought me a beer and i would have bought you a burrito had i brought my wallet. completing me yet completely unavailable. its not you its me. no. its not me. then again its not really you either.

what it is.

prowless prowess. the left-hands call it game tight.

and like that the asshole becomes the idiot with -tap tap tap tap tap tap- the sounds of the backspace and the smartest move he ever made.

weed party.

dreams. (day/night/day)

public self, private self, self.
destruction. reflection. resurrection.

suddenly i see that the picture on my wall is a door and it leads to a hall full of roots. big, twisted, earthy roots made of flesh weaving and snaking their way around each other to another doorway that is casting a reddish glow and from the room comes a high pitched drone not describable by words, but rather emotions. anger. fear. love. sadness and optimism, seemingly together but separate, i could pick each one out distinctly not so much in layers but in twisting, weaving pulsations like the roots i was unconsciously crawling over to see what was inside the room at the end of the hallway. suddenly i was overcome by every one of those emotions and felt them (it?) weave its way from my through my legs and around my waist and in through my chest. at the edge of the room i peered inside and saw a lady with her mouth sewn shut, and had the unmistakable feeling that this is where it all began.

i dont hate you. i just hate you right now.