over under little wonder

i knew then more than now what it is that i want, exactly.
old age does a number on my heart, with heels.
little metal edges with clicking and clacking and clanging.
do you have any idea how much i regret saying you were too late?

it's been a year since my last confession.

betwixt

you are lodged so delicately between two paragraphs, between two years, between two sets of teeth attached to one jaw and i will never have the chance to gobble you up.

i don't suppose i really truly care, but something about my insides insist that you're still there. you're not you know. not in my blood or lungs or eyes or arms. not anywhere that isn't far far away. i never loved you, but i wanted to.

vast

truculence will get you nowhere. you know where i think you are headed.
this is the first in a long line. a string of red, a strand of pearls made from your descendants- so very like the sand.

i saw the only good picture of you today
and half your face was broken blood vessels.

you still have another half a face to go to a pleasing countenance, and i'll bet it's the wrong half you're thinking of.

sleeptalk

life is a thing to love a little. there are a lot of things to love. i love verbs and nouns considerably. people, places, things, and all the action that accompanies those particular objects. i'm not interested in objectifying. with the right objective, practically anything can be accomplished. i get so tired right in the middle of all the exciting things i think and feel and desire. one day all this sleep will make a little sense to me.

musickening

i hate your voice completely

it's very small

i run out of places to place conversations between myself and me. i spend countless hours creating counterparts out of technological advances. i will generate commentary. i will stimulate discussion. i will be the only one communicating, and i'll never understand a word i say in response. a word once lost is lost. where is the beginning and end of a forgetful tongue.