Old Files

I can't sleep. Temples aching. See what I found. All the old things that used to mean an entirely different world to my old self. Fun.

the sweetest things...

We could go out if you want,
To dinner or a movie,
or both if it'll make you happy.
And when we're done we can
pause and gaze at the stars,
And for each one we see
I would bring up at least ten things
that make you wonderful.
So if you want,
we can stay together through college,
And experience each achievement and failure together.
And any wisdom I receive
from the most enlightening class,
Would mean exactly nothing until I can share it with you.
If you want,
we could get married afterwards,
Merging our souls with the infinite.
We'd honeymoon on the Riviera
and if you get bored we could venture
through the Arctic or even trek through the moon
if it would make you happy.
We'd buy a high ranch Tudor style dwelling
just like you dreamed of as a little girl,
And we'd give rise to three children
who will accompany us to the ends of the earth.
And every day,
I would make sure to wake up earlier than you,
Just so I could spend ten minutes admiring your beauty.
When you do wake up
you'd find several conspicuously placed
post-it notes,
Whose solitary reason for being
is to reaffirm my undying devotion.
And later on in life,
when the days become more valuable,
and the children have all moved on,
and you're downhearted
because you're not as young as you feel,
When this happens,
I will be there to take you back to every place
in this world that ever made you happy.
And in the end when all that is left
is waiting for a valediction
to supplement this life,
I will remain by your side through all that is left,
for as much or as little,
Until the very end and then beyond.
Or, if you want,
we could just be friends.

Blooming Phantasmagoria
(an elegy in thirteen counts for Raggedy_An)

It never occurred to me that your presence could be disturbing. Until I discovered these things.

1. I know that smiles are designed to send amicable or seductive signals. But your smile is different because it communicates dirty, smoky passion --- I hallucinate every time I remember that magnetic curvature of your nose ---rather than send inchoate messages to my confused senses.
2. Your eyes are never sad, your voice is a still cloud. You are a creature in my night/day dreams, the source of my absurd paranoia. You drugged me to become immobile, lazy as a couch potato, mesmerized as floating in a vapid, languorous stasis. Tricky is the word for such carousing signals. Careless contacts, unmeasured speech, delirious chortle, funny lines. Madness is the consequence of overreading random details.
3. That is why I’m writing this. I hate your presence and love to be with you. I don’t want to speak to you of small details because I want to talk to your mind --- about your achetypes, dreams, and hatred for this dehumanizing existence. How would you change the world using the perspective of your art and poetry? I detest reality as I imagine us catching butterflies. I denounce normalcy as I embrace my neurosis.
4. While I’m drowning in an impetuous piety, in a sea of burning pleasure, I am torn into ten pieces or more because of this mask I am wearing (contoured and delusive apoplexia and blue green brouhaha can develop into a violent coma).
5. My speech is dissolving salt and pepper in my tongue. My stomach begins to churn every time you open your mouth.
6. Your curled laughter is a smoke that pollutes pink and weak lungs.
7. Your cherubic stare encages a demon and forces him to pray.
8. You’re like a horny lion in an elegant cycle.
9. (Your hair is black) Your lips are lips.
10. Your skin, a skin (a silk is a silk).
11. Wicked eyes leave me unadulated.
12. Your presence is an absence of my presence.
13. And your absence is a presence of my absence.