forgive me, for i go too far

Forgive me, for I go too far.
I say too much, 
yet not enough.
I mean what I say, 
yet I fail to say what I mean.
Cowardice or realism?
That is my choice I suppose.
These words on the tip of my tongue,
so very present,
that I wonder if they are palpable
to you too.
I sail in an unfamiliar breeze.
Waters I do not yet understand.
At a speed to which I am unaccustomed.
Forgive me, for I go too far.
Forgive me again, for I shall lose myself in you again soon.
Surely, eventually, I shall say what I mean…
What we mean?

i (don’t) hate

I don’t hate. That’s not me. I don’t hate the guy who emotionally abused and manipulated me. I don’t hate the man who did things far worse. I don’t hate the woman who should have done something about it. But when we lie here, your hand on my thigh and your words hovering above our…

X.

With a dull, defeated thud, the Suitcases, the Trunks, the Rucksacks, welcome the ground. A bold move, imperceptibly bold. A mound of smooth leather, coarse felt, shimmering silk panels, and grating hemp. Perviously, arduously carried along by young, worn hands, obstinately straining at their Weight. Defensively refusing to let go, or hand it over. Now,…

stupid question

Can I tell you something?
Dare I tell you something…
I want to tell you something. I want to
ask you something.

witching hour

Start up.
Middle of the night. Midnight.
Witching hour. Early hours.
Breathlessness. Panic simmering within.

old news

I wake to The News,
a little notification.
The King of Evil is dead.
Long live the King.
I read about you in the papers.
I read about you in a poem.
I think how you should
have led a different life,
You: the Devil and his wife.

the sentinel of our saviour

On the ledge he sits
Patiently
Majestically
Simply

from his pedestal he observes,
wise, yet no more grand
than the other spires.

delicious disgust

Doesn’t like to be understood.
Me, or him? Both?
I like the idea.
Of being understood, or understanding him? Both?
Knew from the start. Always
trust your instinct.

the fortress

The courtesy flag flutters in the wind.
Unchartered waters, indeed.
Fair is foul, but foul is less fair
than predicted.

dear adults,

I suppose I’m one of you, but I’m not sure I’ve made that transition yet.
I’m new to your club, and I have a few questions about membership… 
How do I upgrade mine?

former glory

The first time I spelled millenium. The tattered dirty rooftops of Stonetown. The slight curls of Mormor’s bob. The barreness of winter branches. The bottomless nocturnal conversations.

how the other half lives

Not the other half;
the one percent?
I must be in
the other half, the top 50?
But am I in the
one percent?