just like the wind.

Je ne vous voulez

uncertain of how I arrived on this planet of ----blank
you start reminding me of all my past: memories.
i start to pick,and prowl,the sediment
whispering
I only want you,I only want you, near


near midnight
into a piece of plastic
we gather.
a landline and a box of plans
to have you -hear
even through a
a scratchy telephone wire.

it keeps this together
it knits you next to me


by night,by night
our ears,swimming
in songs of romance
an idealistic fight.

All morning you are thinking :why do I not
cross these boundaries
and in the middle of the day I am waiting
for our moon to come out
so our eyes can see,the same beams?


I look down at these streams,these city puddles and ask myself:
how does love begin and end in vain?
a miracle 
a mistake
he gives he gives and he takes away.






.

I used to have an egg shaped heart.

when we are bent away from familiarity and find ourselves indulging in things like gaudy cocktail rings and red tea we often discover how well we adapt to awakward silences around the table;how much I hate waiting for the bill to arrive, the way i often act too forward with strangers in the best possible way.
Fatima often dreamend with a blueish green sheet over her lens. Often times when people dream they discover some kind of deeply hidden desire about themselves,your tossing and turning and screaming at the top of you lungs and no sound comes out because your in a dream,you idiot,and your well aware but you still scream. the best part of Fatimas day was the part where it didn't start yet. she looked prettier in the morning,without all the hairspray and eyeliner and self tanner on her face,actually most women do...look better without all that mess on there face. if you think about it the only reason women really do where makeup is because its the mask they have to hide behind everyday because it is expected from others. life is about pleasing others no matter how much you scream you are self absorbed,everything we do is for the service of others. I'm meeting him now,i have to make a good impression because,i need to look handsome ,tonight. Masks reveal more more of who fatima is then her plain face. she is un even and scary. scary uneven fatima. i love Halloween.
Francis was crazy. once when he was 3 months old he publicly declared himself crazy. there is no proof of this but we like to think its true sometimes at parties because it makes a good story to tell a crowd of stranger " yeah onetime I knew this dumb baby that claimed he was crazy" the thing about dumb babies is they don't know how to speak. the thing about Francis is he is 27 and keeps falling into the same routine. wake up write it down pray it still sounds good in the morning. should i get a tattoo today ? should i not ?should i crack the egg from the top bottom or the side?



eggs are eggs.


what i've learned from ink pens is writing your thoughts for others screams louder than over sharing with your mouth. my mother always used to say" people always wanna talk about themselves" and i always wanna talk about oceans. which is why my sign should of been water,but its fire instead. go figure.thanks god. thanks mom. thanks match box pleasure.

francis hates astrology.

On tuesday there is half price acrylic paint and catfish on the same street,4th street and you have to get there before noon and leave early so you don't get caught in traffic and call ahead for reservations because its a really trendy restaurant and lets pray and hope and fast that they have valet. francis lived alone. he moved to Istanbul to escape the war in the uninted states in the year 2006 the war between all 13 of his personalities & his main personality/persona,really brutal. only a few survivors. luckily the best ben survied.

the thing about living by yourself is you have to remind yourself to keep going.... the thing about sundays is you don't wanna get out of bed because your mother wont be in the kitchen making eggs even though you just dreamend it. the thing about dreaming is each morning you wake up hating yourself for being so venerable. because maybe francis is a vegan but he still dreams about eggs.and his mother. and hes sorry he never appreciated them. the eggs with ketchup on the side.
oh,thanks mom.


eggs are eggs

intimacy is boring. i have always felt this. not literally of course. but its like you are reaching this pinnacle then its like then what?being naked can only last so long then someone gets goosebumps and its awakrd. hoding hands is always about who is holding on tighter when which one of us is gonna let go first. i win. you loose. loneliness is what happens when we reject intimacy so its pretty much all my falt because francis hates holding hands. I've once loved someone so much I wanted to jump inside of there soul and wrap my arms around his artiries and all his wonderful icky insides. i wanted to write a book just with all the new words that I had invented to describe to you the ways that my heart leaps when i just here your footsteps. i kept telling myself :love is a disgusting word,and i am disgusting for feeling this way. its not true. i love everything about you.

on Thursday nights we would just get into fatimas red rented saturn and say in three exclamatiion points declare " lets get McDonald's!" so we would get all excited and turn on top 40 radio station and drive to a dogdy part of town where none of our cool friends would recognize us. wede pull in,roll down our window and wait for the womans voice to ask us " how may I take your order?" The thing about being in your 20s is you constantly think others actually care about what you do. therfore you always assume you are being judged. we are so aggorant.anyways, " how may i take your oder?...hello? helllo please place your order" we would giggle & look down at our 14% body fat and drive away. francis has issues. he hates being judged. but loves the attention. dont we all. not really.

the worst thing about everything is nothing

FOR AS LONG AS WE BOTH SHALL LIVE

spring to fall

1952

southern blues

After the spring.

{I should have known}

my butterfly's would

die

my garden would cease-

 to bloom.

on these nights:


i miss that love
I ran from.


vintage love


baby-hunny
sweet southern thing...

broken e n g l i s h

"he is a 5 piece jigsaw of a well known face compared to you..
you are a million piece jigsaw of a clear blue sky.."

ROUGH DRAFT

Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance.

=

.bright star Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art-- Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask Of snow upon the mountains and the moors-- No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable, Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast, To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever--or else swoon to death.john keats.

le garçon le rêve

Il était une fois une petite fille ont déménagé dans une grande ville sombre. elle passait ses nuits pas dans les soirées avec des gros ballons, mais en sécurité dans ses draps rêvant à son seul véritable amour.

there once was a little girl who moved to a big dark city. she spent her nights not at parties with big ballons but safe in her sheets dreaming of her one true love.

son amour était très loin. il était loin des océans. son cœur se sentait triste quand elle a compris.

her love was very far away. he was oceans away. her heart felt sad when she realized this.

autres garçons voulaient l'aimer et l'embrasser mais elle a refusé. elle attendrait pour le garçon. le garçon son cœur le plus aimé.

other boys wanted to love her and kiss her but she refused. she would wait for the boy. the boy her heart loved most dearly.

son cœur qui lui appartenait. son affection pour lui resterait.

to him her heart belonged to. to him her affection would remain.

être poursuivi...

to be continued

THE SECRET GARDEN

It is good to be alone in a garden at dawn or dark so that all its shy presences may haunt you and possess you in a reverie of suspended thought. -James Douglas

SILVER LINING.

You see gold in everyone but me,darling.

It's a short story:

I saw grey sky's

descending

over the west-indies

a wind of hope that could barley

touch the east.

and you are calling my blue skies

a" mirage" or...a "random happening."

your 'conditional love

is strikeing.

You see the gold you want to see.

Sadly.

flaw to flaw,speck to plank,pot to kettle.

flaw to flaw,speck to plank,pot to kettle.

SPECK.

PARADE

I delay the process

of exploration into the caverns of my heart.
my flashlight is broken anyways
a thousand more excuses later and well...
sometimes I just feel quite blank,honestly.

I fall in love everyday.

It is seen through the shape of my eyes
they morph into moon beams and my ribs start to show,they sometimes even start to ache.

if a thousand hearts came before yours
you remain my only love,my song,my king,my parade.

I will love you in a garden
I will love you in a castle
I will love you inside a card board box.

i will,i will.

a love to last our life-lines.

I would like a garden,a house built over the sea,a grand piano,and you.

all my bones worth breaking.

bone by bone

i break 

   my 

off.

my body,my heart

my  ways.

not a question asked

not a moment too late

for the wound.ing.

As the words

'take as much as I have

take it all,all you want'

slip out ,sink.

I am dying.

And you seem deserving

and I seem crazy

always.

A kiss --a lake-- and a drowning all in one day.

No one even saw her slip! it just happened,just like this!

my heart attacks all displayed

front page.

And in the hallway we think we heard a baby

screeching

beyond the silence we hear a baby

crying,endlessly.

I wrote down the reasons for this

...sentence constructed was something to do with:

the reincarnation of feeling.

pale the well

leave me in the leaves

a massacre poured down

washing all my obsessions away

just as rain cleanses the streets

after we dirty it with our eager selves

and our foolish feet.

perhaps it is the death of a god

the murder of a thrill

that pushes me into a corner

with

 a gun to my chest.

I don't recall:fear

nor the shakes

sometimes I just move this way.

We were all the things

I would of wanted to remember,in a memory.

I used to drape leaves over your head

and dare you to be a child

He would:engage me

the way I needed him to.

You never looked at me the way

I know you wanted to

you never kissed me the way

a husband would,not even with your eyes closed.

I don't cry

I weep

I haven't mourned

I've just buried myself 

underneath the soil of

all these things

I can't bare to watch

I can't bare to breathe

I felt/fell into love

blindly

like a thick cloud of smoke

or a fancy magic trick

now you see it

now you don't

you give and you take away

you give and you take away

you give and you take away

your eyelashes they stick

to my sheets

your aura it clings to my:

memory.

some things were only just meant to be-

momentarily.

JEAN-LUC GODARD

the blackening of a building against a dark sky

The turquoise turning in the lunar sky
The soothed nape
The concave mirror


The lengthy stair

the imitation of love,the burning of a ship.

I feel  not the slightest bit of remorse

for the ship that has gone up-

in flames.

The ship who has struck:

the obstacle

the ice

the end of her days.

I have shed far too many tears

for such a feeble romance.

An imitation of love.

I lift up my eyes to the heavens

the sky is smiling at me now...

there is even an applause.

second by second:

I see the future

one planet at a time!

No longer shall this be my shipwreck.

I have set fire to docks

which hosted:

sleepless.

aching.

nights.

The Imitation

of love

The wrapping

up

of romance.

gold and silver

i found a recording

a token, a cry in the night,a plea for me to stay

I was leaving,you were begging me to hold on to something

that I couldn't see,that you could feel

a hand, a whisper, a reach in the night

5 years

-pass

A thousand broken hearts later

and your love was the one that

remained

the purest

the truest

the one that came and left

it-

sank.

a silver ring

and a memory with unopened wings

the empty womb of an

unfulfilled possibility

the stale memory

is the coldest cavern of all.

I should of seen this

I should of been at that front door

not across the ocean wanting you more.

Is it ever wrong to mourn the loss?

Of som e thing--

that was never even there!

 it was simply lost

a piece of the puzzle floating,

elegantly

wave by wave

 it is tossed along the shores of

youth