Naked Poetry

She taught me that I was love. Yet she had never met me, or heard me. Or seen my flesh in real time, minute by shaking minute in my own tremble. It’s never on purpose, I swear. I am always just a little bit afraid, I don’t think it’s anybody’s fault. I think I’ve a frantic mind. She has started to notice, I can hear her getting frightened—she is talking craziness now. She’s not stopping and I can’t keep up with her. So I get down on the ground and do nothing but listen to her. Everything else now is not there anymore. It is these moments I want more of, the ones we never realize. The happening. I know now, how to allow myself to believe that there are no worries, to focus only on THIS, the moment.

Things imagined are almost always heightened. It’s called synthetic dreaming, or “synthetic happiness”. Everything is slightly or horrifically colorful and perfectly paced. Out of bounds and out of reality. So you see, I know that there c

Told you to meet me on a roof

because I wanted to see you in the air.

I never knew you were sky.

Teach me how to be so many colors

in twenty-two hours

and the last two:

how to enter

dreams.

Give me your gaze.

Go ahead,

Give me the bullet.

Fuck the rope.

I miss my home.

I miss my shape.

All form,

it’s preposterous.

I know we are more.

I know I am dead.

You pretend that you’re sure

Trying to kiss my lips

With your heart still in jail.

We’ve been so close it’s evil.

Meanwhile I am left to feel

alone

forced to watch you

Splitting stars for fun.

With your devil hands.

I can see you now. You’re in the middle of a pile of flowers. Purple. I’m guessing your face is relaxed and pleasant. You don’t want to get out. You like reaching for sun. You like the green of the air, the purple stains on your chest, neck, and thighs. You like to be the cause. Your beauty is disrupting-- I’m going to panic if I don’t get this done. Stop. It. Please go away. My heart is not steady. My paths are not paved. My mind is a weakness. I’m going to panic – if you come my way. Your beauty, it unnerves me. And your soul, it’s too kind. I want to put you on film, but I’m afraid to be alive. I want to put you in a ballerina box only to open you in quiet moments. Your sound will fill and warm me. Your dance, I’ll feel in my toes. And when you look to me I lose my words. When you leave I start a new chapter. If you stay I couldn’t go. If I see you I’m going to panic. So if I die

promise me you’ll still marry me. Th

I still love you.

It still makes me smile.

Siren starts. Your name like fire. Froze the wind. This door needs locking. Isn't what I saw. I am a movie. I am a moving thing. I move things. You are a movie. You are a moving thing. You move things.

you saw my monster. Hugged the death out of me. That door needs locking. Yes, okay, but it isn't what I've seen. I saw a great movie. It was you and me. Kiss me around every corner. Night like the dawn saw you like snow I saw you compulsively. This heart needs a locket. Like the hand inside of a wedding ring.

Let’s dance.

I’m feeling natural and bleak

Let’s dance.

I’m awfully tremendous.

I am just joking—

I’ve got a backpack full of bricks

bring your body to battle.

bring your body to battle.

this isn’t us you are fighting

you are fighting yourselves.

Save me some survival

and remember

Poems

Are never useless.

I talk to people you know

Your friend is a marvel.

Says she has a collection of collar bones

Hidden in her bedroom drawer right next

to the promise that she gave to herself

I say those things are simply Beautiful

My friend tells me not to lead the flock astray

But I would—never—they inspire clearly with their ever-circular reverie

I could not; pigs bite and I don’t emerge in that kind of

Pain.

Because you are distinguished

shift shape and conquer

Like the monsters we hope to be

A singular heartbeat, seek the structure inside

Seek the structure inside

I have heard that vibrant love gets you mangled,

but under superb lighting

Every one notices you’ve become iron.

Strong in your red boots, strong in your

Start.

Agreed. Success is measured by unconquerable prose

Dripping with horrible resin from the outer banks of the sun. The

Swamp is a corridor and we must find its inception to know how to exit.

Dream up

a century.

Hands in the fire. Walk into

Musings on the word, “yes”

But if I had a building—-for every time you took my mind from me—- I’d be New York City by now.