incompetent thought.

There are times

for singing and

dancing close

up to a body.

A way or the other.

It kills me not to talk to you.
I want to.
I think you do to.
I want nothing from you,

palpable

There's this certain lever that you pull
from time to time

Steel shaved and never truly looked carefully after.
It's instructions it reminds us, you, to oil
and clean away deposits.
which we never, ever, do.

Our soul(s) to keep.

I just guess.
That's all I really do.
Take a sliver of the known
information
and
draw the most simple connecting
lines I can.

Trying to Keep It Simple

I have this folder of incomplete works
That follows me around
It’s anywhere from three sentences
to twenty five thousand words

Divided Intentions

well well well.

Time and Place

I hear the sound of returning geese
In there V shaped flocks flanking directionless sounds
out and about at each other.

I walk through the woods I walk through
everyday (I walk through the woods)
with an intensity I just can't seem
to muster on sidewalks.

Meanderin' whichever way.

It's like the Mets calling off a game
because of rain.

(hah! Like they'll ever win anyways?)

Distinct Camber

I find myself slowly putting together this list,
this list of songs in
      my head
One, or four that I want to sing
        to you.

I'm gonna try to, not to.

I am a spring soaked tentacle.
Dried up and on shore.
The sun, it's fatalistic giant warmth
provides rays
normally enjoyable do nothing but
provide a coat over, one that
brings warmth, but