Naked Poetry

Soundproof not bulletproof

Wake up and smell the morning thunder.

Take what you wish From It.

 

Existence. A mirror image. A pleasant sound.

Your first quiet moment of the day. Solitude.

Jail cell with one window, just a Few cracks.

The guy in there’s man enough to admit that he thinks Birds are Beautiful,

and that flight could heal things. Secretly wishes the window was soundproof, but not bulletproof.

Says he would Accept death, if he didn’t have to Hear it Coming. The void is welcoming and

Droning. The void is a Perfect Pitch. I don’t think I have anything the void wants. It does not want

your Things. They are of no use to your Paths. There’s no such thing as Waiting, or Wanting.

There’s no Time. Problem Solved. We are Just Pieces.

Stop trying to fix yourself with a hammer and not nearly enough Nails– we don’t need Sealing. We are not envelopes–

Even if we move cross country

We’re not Envelopes

We don’t have destinations

We’r

Some kids laugh when they get baptized.

Other kids cry.

I wonder which is which.

I wonder which is more sinful.

What’s worse than a witch?

I think

It lies in their electricity.

Call it classic

Reversed Richard, extroverted Eric. Once more with feeling!

And this time

For the people

Let the music through.

What kind of love is that?

Roll it again, people.

To the people

You are a person

Wholly accountable

For your own last laugh

(Enter the orchids)

Roll down your sleeves.

This is your moment.

Tell me to leave.

You— you are exactly like this— derivative of my future melded I To the cleverness Of you Compounded by the circumstance of you.

O, I’m concerned. Yet I’ve never felt so ME I’ve never felt so tough and treasured ...I’ll have to come back to you in forty years listen, ask me the question in forty years.

My most prized possessions can be found on Paper. 

Something about the ink makes me want to be

Taller, Makes me want to stretch my arms out until they get So Tired  they (decide)

to transform into Pages.

I want to be turned. --( permanent.)

I want to be touched.

Folded, Crinkled Tear Stained Ripped Numbered

Filled to the Brim

I want to be opened

and closed

in the same day.

I want to be remembered and stood up to Rest upon Shelves.

I want to end in the perfect moment. (I want to end in all the perfect moments)

I want to be protected from the  rain and held in hands, frequent.

Want to be hard backed with one spine, 

maybe two.

 

I don't want to be judged by how many pages I have to offer.

or how heavy I am

or how dark

my Cover Is.

or the words inside me,

or my ink

or where I'll fit.

I don't want to drown in Dust on the top shelf of what once was paradise.

Don't want to be used as a stool to Step On--

or a weapon for your fears of insects. ( for what you think is

One fire at a time. One fire at a time.

What’s the deal?

And I saved a hallelujah for you. It is located in room number 353. Where your heartbeats should have been. I’ll be waiting there, along with a hundred other shadows. I see you in the mirror white devils. You are my ancestors. I am ashamed of you.

Smile.

Bad day, explained.

I believe certain places on earth remind you how to take a breath correctly.