Today I read poetry aloud from a black binder half
the length of my arm...

Your sole existence dwindles off my swollen thumb,
saturated with snow...

it's always about you.
i know you don't always mean...

-
6/19/2011...

I let the flowers die,
not even batting an eyelash...

The frames of two-year-old roses and tulips
are kept laminated yet still they fade...

I never paid much attention to what the sun
would feel like- if you were captured away...

the AC kicks on and rattles the closed door...
how many times now have i been told...

Why did I arrange
your chair to face me...

Just driving away from the collarbone of an...
makes me feel like I've woken up from a deep...

.
Writers feel the need to escape reality...

I see the emerald eyes of Taurus
illuminate my idealistic mind...