01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101

"with love in so many places, it's hard not to stand in the corner, your eyes giving away your position, glowing in the low lit center of my universe..."
he hesitates.
"if you realize love, it will be your reality. i've fully realized it."
he pauses, eyes fixed on the floor. he waits for her sigh then continues, still content on averting his stare.
"i've realized the love i'm capable of and that, as of yet, have yet to love more than i do now."
he practiced this speech over and over, for weeks he perfected it, but it wasn't until he started talking did it actually take shape. he didn't remember these words, in this order or at all. in fact, he knew this was what he truly believed because this was nothing like what he prepared.
he looks up and she's staring at the floor, possibly the same square inch he'd been seemingly fascinated with for the past however long. then, after a collective breath, she looks up and he says,
"now you realize why this can't work."
she did. she didn't understand, but she realized something. something that made it okay to nod at that moment and figure the rest out later. and she would.
sooner or later, she would.

three dates

I.
he clutched his bag and ran ahead of them. he wasn't scared, oh no. he knew better than to be scared of a bunch of big bullies who only made fun of him because he had better hair and a better head under it - his mother was very wise - no, he ran to catch up -
to her.
she heard his footsteps racing toward her and turned to see, not big bad bullies - her mother was wise, too - but that boy from english with the weird smile and the piercing eyes. he stared at her a lot, but not in a creepy way, no. in a nice way. he appreciated her and she liked that. so she slowed to assist in his effort to walk beside her.
and he did.
they walked beside each other until she split off down her street, him continuing down his. and it was then they realized they were holding hands. they let go, almost as if embarrassed - or excited - or whatever it was, they looked at each other, shy and apologetic for letting such a thing happen. but they knew.
they knew.

II.
may i?
she asked, reaching for the glass which was sweating in the sun. she grabbed it without waiting for a response and drank the remaining liquid. they weren't on the porch for five minutes when he asked,
is it really that big of a deal if someone has a weak handshake on first meeting them?
for a girl it is,
she answered. she tilted the glass upwards and let an ice cube fall into her mouth. she elaborated between crunches.
see, if a guy meets a girl and has a weak handshake, he's lame in bed.
okay, he interjected.
i'm not done. but if his shake is weak, but he pulls in for a one-armed hug, he's a sleaze. some women like that, i dunno.
he nodded. she continued.
but if it's weak and flirty, like rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb, or letting his hand slip out slowly as he pulls away, then,
she breathed heavily before continuing,
i wouldn't give that man a day.
a day before what? he asked, but her mind was elsewhere. maybe on the events of yesterday. maybe on a cloud that reminds her slightly of alan arkin, but with more defined cheek bones. maybe on the fact that it was early yet and they had yet to do anything they had planned for the day, but still had plenty of time.
but maybe her mind was on then. when everything just was and this was that and nothing changed, but no one cared because everything was perfect. yes, that's where she was, though still sitting on his porch. she was there. and he was not.

III.
they were sitting at a table waitressed by a persian woman with a big cheesy smile and an awkward walk. she limped a little and they watched whenever she walked away after taking their order or bringing their food or making sure they were satisfied with their meal. they watched to see if she fell, silently making bets with each other, but both betting she would.
nothing really seemed too important as they chit-chatted and laughed and sat nonchalantly staring at the other couples, but casually glancing back to see if the other is staring at them.
she liked him. really. the kind of like that made her stomach tingle and her thighs ache and her head spin and heart scream I WANT YOU! but she was playing it cool. she had to.
her friends said - as she was leaving to meet him tonight, mind you - that she was letting too much out and not getting enough in. they emphasized 'in' so their innuendo was made clear. clearer than necessary really. she knew, but at this point, she didn't care.
he looked happy, she thought. no, not happy. content. content being with her, sitting across the table, not speaking or speaking or whatever, just being.
and so there, in the candle light, she saw the man she would sleep with, not just tonight, but for the rest of her life. it'd been a year and she was certain he was the one. and even if he wasn't, she'd always remember him how he was at that moment. and that would make it alright.

who am i?

who am i to decide your life?
who am i to indulge your pride?
who am i to invite the tide
to drown the condescending night?

who am i but a misread line.
who am i but a man by design.
who am i but a "keep me in mind,"
a celebrated metaphor for "please, take your time."

who am i to invest in your fate?
who am i to determine the stakes?
who am i to contribute to the waste
as an apathetic hero who arrived too late?

so who are you to give up on your dreams?
who are you to wake me up with your screams?
who are you to give two seconds to think
about anybody else but yourself and your team?

learning clowns to frown

i get bent to level out
embodiment of a rebel shout
talking shit to wake the dead
fed by a left hook, aching head
make time for no man
tell us what you told them
when confronted by the mob
an alibi blamed on a head nod
grab this sucker by the nape
set him straight, innovate
a new family outing
gauge the success by his shouting
i make fake bets with myself
to fool my bookie
never been one to forsake
the snake for nookie
my city fights for broken lives
'til everyone in the shire dies
'til every saint and sinner denies
the misread tarot card must lie
take the knife out of my back
and whittle down the interface
take the sticks out of the asses
of the nay sayers, call 'em splinter face
race to the finish
final lap with both my ankles braced
strapped, dripping sap
legs bent and wrapped in wedding lace
i accidentally made face
and set the pace
for all these clowns to drown
maybe now they'll learn to frown

everything and more

i am my own escape from my own mind
taking my own sweet time
to calculate the day in a straight line
straightening crooked spines
and spooked minds like yours and mine alike

i'm just a metaphor for my state of mind
leaving my soul behind, i climb
up the steps to your door,
like i've been here before
and knock with the rhythm of a clock
the same tick tock mocking, begging me to stop,
but i've never been one to listen
to reason or rhyming lines
i find solidarity in nothing but the passing of time
as i stand knocking, rapping knuckles
til i buckle under the weight
from the pressure to wait for an escape
it seems i made my exit too late...

or were it early, there's nothing for me
but the prospect of being
something greater i'm not seeing
so i wait at your door
with nothing more than before
except the promise of everything
and more

ignorance in a kiss

how can i ignore the fact
that everyone but me has sat
exactly where you're sitting now
a queen without a king or crown

from your thrown your past
is clearly out of reach
and on your own your last
night in town will be, at the very least,

a reason to forgive yourself
for every thing you've read
and made believe a better future
awaits you in your head

but when you decide to come back down
from your castle in the air,
just think of when you were happiest
and work backwards from there

questioning a backwards glance

if the question is "why?"
then the answer is:
i needed a reason to need a reason.
if the question is "where?"
the answer is:
the edge of the world.
"when?"
noon-ish.
the question: "how?"
the answer: whithout any effort at all.
and if the question is "who?"
and the answer isn't obviously "us,"
well then we a lot more questions to ask
and a lot more answers to find.

but to answer the original question:
yes.

waking up and realizing it’s still a dream

so you woke up from your dream?
what's that supposed to mean to me?
so i was a fling
in your most recent mem'ries.

and when you came up to me
and asked me "how can you sleep?
without me next to you?"
i responded: "i haven't slept in weeks."

so when will you truly wake up
and see enough is enough?
when you see all that i've become
that's when we'll finally figure
out.

i will become the one that overcomes

i will see it through
the doors to this place
have been sealed
and the wounds on my face
have all but healed,
but i will see this through

i will not be scene,
this seen is nothing new
i have been, but will not again,
the picture you painted
will not hold up to
the time it took to paint it

i wish i was down for you
to give up on me,
but in the truest form
our shadows torn
made giants by the setting sun
dancing in the halls,
these walls have much to learn

i will see through you,
will not be you,
but rather see you through
this.

aux champs-élysées

"i trotted on the avenue my heart opened to the unknowns
i wanted to say hello to no matter whom
no matter whom, it could be you, i'd said anything to you
it was enough to speak to you, just to calm down

you said to me 'i was pinned in a basement with fools
who live guitar-in-hand from dusk till dawn'
then i accompanied you, one sang, one danced
any one who did not even think of embracing oneself

yesterday evening two unknowns and this morning on the avenue
two in love all dazed by the long night
and to the star of concord, form an orchestra with thousand chords
all the birds at day-break singing for the love"

when subtle letters spell

make life faster
love haphazardly
find beauty from disaster;
a makeshift romantic

frantically listen
with untamed ears,
untrained tears fall
before unnamed fears

here in any weather
down for whatever
the clever never settle
when subtle letters spell

the bold type
might not look right
in the wake of last night
but look closer and you might

see more clearly
when the sun dawns
earlier than expected;
a new day undetected

in it

in a lover's trance
embraced
defaced but for the uncertain
certainty of adoration
for another
by another
of another
kind
of being adored
so i abhor being
or rather
abhor being abhorred
for being adored
in this trance
happenstance has no
happy stance with me
take lightly
this make believe
and make believe we
are one
of a kind
to bind and display
the array of subtleties
displayed before your
royalty
and know that
i - no, we -
are in it
to win it

a face in a cloud, no trace in the crowd

"but where a young man will forgive the stray, an old man will cut it out. youth always tries to fill the void, an old man learns to live with it."

my void is inspiration, or the lack thereof. fingering the pages, i find a voice of absolution screaming for attention and a [paradox] with which i am sorely accustomed. a new apartment and a knowledge of the scene keeps me from ever truly knowing who and where my true friends are. where my inspiration lies is in a book unwritten, a passage unread, a song unsung, and a painting not rendered by God or his constituates.

if not beggar, label me mercenary, patiently waiting for someone to either:

a) save me, or
b) appraise me.

def believe nothing more than this quote out of context.

"cameras or guns, one of ya'll is gonna shoot me to death."