disutility function

drowneed in repetition and predictable middle passages
seriously, its abt Mr tambourine man & our near-sighted timing

did you see the hand-shakin g and
nipple-twisted misgivings?

ok,
fair enuf

me neither

.
we sport shadows and chateaus; the least of which,
road-apples. maybe i just need that vacation…

or, well (shorthand?), i Guess(tm) its nice 2still have a few new experiences left in th’ repertoire; tho’can’t say ’tis the best thing around, to be fair, but itz Fund to report the chicken-feet and green-eyes with open windows and a new summer harness

er, um, sumthin’ (yo)

this isthat

a pause here
for the
yet, unspoken

i believe in
my
belief

and, as such, must own it.

pass youre name
thru my callousi

past our favorite cast-off;

this former pause is my town house
shared in all embraces and shattered
braces

its a rest’s nest. in hazel
green & a familiar rosey- cheeked
warrior
.

this time; speaking in clear to
nes & sin ewaves like
dumptrucks[dumbstruck, firetrucks] or ocean(gOLD!!)fronts(Z?).

ours is a timeline[timeless, timberline, ...] temporarily cut back on itself
, let’s lay the ground-work over a hundred yard dash

then

strolllllll [stroller, steamroller]

across the finish line

less words than the spaces between them,
weather patterns change
like similes in the wind.

what’s the wor(l)d this time?
are we the same silent sound as that one song.?

never.

again.

.

.

.

let’s shout from rooftops at pool parties,
let’s get lost in crawl spaces as kittens,
let’s never, but never, tell full truths
to the only donors who deserve it.

i wrote a thing

andits with the capital ‘em’ </any consonant would be appropriate here>

but we didn’t know what that stood for
so we sat idle
twiddling thumbs
<and why not? let’s also say privates>

spelling short words with double vowels &/or umlauts (sure.)

and in the end;
we knew it was the endd

so here’s how it stands:
things are things
and silence is sometimes silence.
but when its not, tho, my goodness, dear namesake, it’s elsewhere
and otherwise often shrouded in (punctuation)

i misplaced our lopsided error matrix; back peddling & out-sourced;
the scene is: a powder puff nose, fortnight of day-glo bedspreads,
snail shells and maps along rocky roads,

we split the difference & called on account of the rain (why bother with alarms).

in the interest of peeping toms this is a first, the long
time;scrub.the macho with soapbubbles &flea bites,carry one for good measure.
where plastic flowers are symbols or talking points,
lets let the lead out & the phones ring all in one fell swoop.

i’ve set myself up for this;
an unyielding summer breeze
& some breathless
sensual self-test.

who were we to judge?
this new stamina disaster
or we’re too forgiving,
forging a namesake.

(there’s a certain round corner to all of this,
or am i getting my shapes confused again?
my lipstick & memory are all that remain.)

in silence you’ll doubt me
& i will loudly prove you
right.

once we set the gears in position ’twas but a test of faith to start all things in motion, passing forth into the void as we had always feared was inevitable.

check-mark next to the name; cross whatever it is off the list of everythings forever.

i’m a quatrain not yet formed on the lips of your mother’s misplaced forgiveness. full of riddles with no response and a siamese evil twin you can’t quite shake off, let’s scream into our dixie-cup telephones likes saints and strangers once more.

how many empty glasses carry yr name; crumpled napkins, our story. alas, the dot dot dot futures teeter forward and back . . .
; count the passing holidays on our unclasped hands

lets sport a spread eagle steam shovel
and call it lost innocence. tim eto run fro m

the hills we buried ourselves under

ye.s i’d rather let my toes wiggle
and poke out dark covers stop period/.
this isn’t another blankety blank blank(et)
ive (un)made my bed of breath-taking;

and misforgo tt en Me rr iment.Kan’t the
spellbound spent desire set our letdown grief afire?
or, who’s the name-calling naturalist this time around?

whitewash all things
with a splintered rhyme scheme

the sun in my eyes nearly eclipsed by winos and derelicts
drying the sweat on my back .hands warming calm
shaking off the gone rushing air and this letter burns
three six tw[o]o

im my favorite basement stashed wishbone warrior narrative
speaking in tongues and written words
we scream ourselves to death, in nautical terms
and always puke over the wrong side of the boat

we’ve got abt seventeen wishes we’d like to have filled

(begin again:)
drumming up rooftops
strangled shorthand messages and malice
seemingly softmore: these parking meter metrics
yr a big apple afterthought
im my laundry long list of melodies and mistakes
can’t you stand motionless? magic 8-ball & all.

speaking of lipgloss & stereotypes, this
horrorshow of habits & halos aint quite so quiet
so lets wheel out the old scapegoat & a fresh coat of paint

faint forever feigned the same

< i,ve found its important to note' that is' once inherent interest has
faltered' that the only true/
well' actually no' i told her... . this isn,t quite the need we had planned'
nor is it any sort of implied hope or flamboyant rope tying she,d expected/
i lied.
but speaking of fortune telling' have we forgotten the countless notes passed
between cookie crumbles and salad rolls? it,s not me it,s/
and let,s not forget why we/
and occasionally' i must fail to admit' this isn,t all the reality to hand over;
i,m floating along that old salty river flowing all directions at once
/skipping stones and/

why,s my neck so broken. you said/ >

this favorite frost-bitten phenomenon. im that forthcoming faker.
you know what i mean!
come forth into favorite faith. this suicide
and social source, we believe in each other!!

im a love never known, yr that beautiful smiling face lost beneath dreams
and derelict dormant floor drainS!!

c’mon.
we know the fact
s.

this
is a fairly decent proposal
or my lazy laryngitis elastic bandwidth. what?
share that bridge never crossed.
the time is NOW!

oh, but for the years we lost,
is this that wretched half-mile marathon again?

i’m yr favorite frost-bite father figure
in
forgotten phone bill caustic costumes.
virtue?

damn the skyline and scalp all traffic lights,
we flash the badge of dreamers,
fluff a pillow
and leave the truth on sworn and scoreless doorstep(s).

this night is a broken mirror.

these words: a magical enunciated
            phantasy.
i don’t quite fear the future (yet), and yet,
      i will keep my pure and given-gift
            hope locked up, if only to keep it safe.

all else: i offer daring and direct. to you.
but let me keep my hope to myself.

let’s share another, and slightly different, hope
      between us (as we(had) always tried). this one made of
            overpasses and measurable mileage, yay?

all this timing and lease sign[ing].

and let’s both cozy-up to teddy bears this newyear.
for now; foreverz my favorite

      place to be.