Me

Slippery seconds let me pierce
through the clouds.
I punctured the center of the earth,
the mother.

I saw it swimming there
in the center.
Me, in tiny molecules, melted together
by her fires of intensity.

I pierced through and saw it.
Brilliant in design.
I absorbed and memorized the map,
the goals, all of me.

Then I looked away, briefly,
and forgot.

Written: Feb. 18, 2004
Form: free poetry

Movement

One stroke and I ruin you
Bleeding ink through your
spotless leaves

It's done.
No turning back.

You are compromised
by my desire to
teach the world lessons
I have no name for.

One hesitant moment before
I mark you as the unwitting object
of my life's desire

Branded.
No regrets.

You are immortalized as
the babbling of a would-be teacher
an almost artist, nearly noticed,
the optimist that is me.

Written: Feb. 18, 2003
Form: Free poetry

What Is This?

That's a good question.

I'm glad you asked.

This is a sketchbook for words, my words, specifically. The content is mine and mine alone. And if you steal it, then that's really sad. Also, it would be infuriating, because these sketches are not yours. They are mine. If you'd like to use my work, contact me. We'll chat. I'm fun to talk to. But don't take my words and pass them off as yours. I'll work through all the channels to bring you down. Though these words may be simple, bare, and merely sketches of ideas, they are important to me.

Feel free to respectfully critique, even if the critique is negative. I'm okay with that.

Or, feel free to click right off this page and move on to greener pastures. I'm okay with that, too. My sketches rarely have green in them. It's not that I don't like green. It's just that blue, grey, brown, and every shade of red tend to permeate my thoughts. Patches of green are rare, and I wouldn't blame you in the slightest for searching elsewhere for exactly what you need.