He left her on the side of the road

Outside of salvation, the second time around

As a matter of fact, the times don’t count

Since all of the meaningful things happen so quickly.

in spite of everything, whether we have been dropped or picked up

Is hard to separate.

so far duality is indissoluble

Still she kissed another before

On a stomach full of apple slices

Chopped up by a statue

Guilty of having a heart.

This statue is one of considerable weight,

This holds the separate parts down.

And while the pressure grows he leans in and whispers:

“She deserves better, we all deserve better,”

And it is a song transposed

I comfort my insides with as we move along

Doing our own repairs, not without feedback

Since the statue holding us

Has monumentally rubbed off on each side

And we are all —

Fuzzily at first,

And eventually, when we realize what we are made of –

Perfectly receptive to each other.

(The Guilt gives way to Love)

And you act one part statue, one part shepard, one part witness to me growing.

As I see you don’t ask me to trust you

Or get down on the level

To show me there’s no consenting to get each other’s back

There are purely warm fires –

An example of duality comforting and ravaging –

With ears and ears, and feet to dance, fingers to fly by

And forget the time the friend stole the sweetheart

From you, from me, from himself!

where does trust hide when everyone steals

from each other, from unknowns

Short circuiting goodness graciousness

Great balls of fire!

there are more scandalous things than having a child

By someone you are learning to love.

Isn’t the right thing as plain as day?

How do I get the sun to shine in a lover’s world who claims to prefer the night?

I ask them to put their hands down

There

To do good

But all I get is nothing,

A Christmas song,

And a man who says he will only hug me if I do it his way.

Then he says he is not a man,

But I still should do it the way he wants,

Childishly

I make a map to go my way

Disguised as his way

Because it is too fearsome to make a way that may make ugly babies.

lost my sacred heart on the island.  again it has come off without even asking. i wonder if its laying on the ground or in somebodies pocket held between separate shows.

THAT MARK SHOULD GLOW IN THE DARK TOO

HERE’S TO RECIPROCITY LAYING LOW.  SHAPES ARE GOOD.

MAKING RESCUE

Emotive Portland People singin judgements in the streets.

you rubbin off on me, nothing complete.

it always gets to the point where its

incomprehensible

where it’s childish to consume

where everyone wants to get angrier,
shake and then pretend they haven’t made anyone upset.

when someone else helps them get better.

never mind how it looks on the outside it is not how it feels on the inside.

why’s it feel like we’re all waiting for the girls to start singing in the kitchen?

the kitchen where everyone has the exact one they take home.

RIBBIT, HICCUP, SNIFFLE, DROP IT

The words come together and fall apart. They don’t stay attached, strung to each other in the way they were that one time, when i wanted to write it down, before now.

The fleas bite, he leaves.

Going away to a new love that helps us grow.
I can’t say us any more.
He said it’s not “we”, “this is all you”. Everything to be your own artist.
Your own artist.  Your own art. Your own. Your own.
Why does ownership over ride everything?

Collaborating with others, working together, feeling equal.  Weight can be respected.  Confidence builds in the things others can’t see, the things i feared. They are just things i feel. Others feel too. There are things i could not see before, others could not see before. The periphery, what was at one time out of bounds, is coming into focus. The picture is growing.

Apart, i remember there really is no canvas. It, not we, not only me, not only him or her, can grow infinitely bigger. Health abounds, and sadness. They will grow.  There is no stopping what we have started.

I slipped again.
Not We
You
Me

I am admittedly slow.
I slip at this speed.
Do you keep up?

i am reminded of mortality, growing old before, before, before. Do it now or never. Like that bad Shepard says : “Only the Rebellious crave for happiness in this life.”

MELON ENWRAPPED IN WILLOW