I am harpooned,
(Unpublished poem files)
Sunday, November 16, 2025
hair
I love every hair on the top of your head,
the color of caramel mud in the Afghani steppes.
If I loved you any more, I would have to invent
more of you to love.
There is no space left for me to fill with my ardor,
with my passion, with my admiration and wonder.
Ah, but herein the troubles lie.
Not that my love will end, for it is far larger than
your entity, far larger than everything networked
to you in webs across the stars.
The more I love you, the more fear that grows
that you will leave and I will be left
holding a broken string,
my boat floating away down the river.
**ah, I crack myself up with this stuff. **
the color of caramel mud in the Afghani steppes.
If I loved you any more, I would have to invent
more of you to love.
There is no space left for me to fill with my ardor,
with my passion, with my admiration and wonder.
Ah, but herein the troubles lie.
Not that my love will end, for it is far larger than
your entity, far larger than everything networked
to you in webs across the stars.
The more I love you, the more fear that grows
that you will leave and I will be left
holding a broken string,
my boat floating away down the river.
**ah, I crack myself up with this stuff. **
(unpublished poem files - who did I write this for????)
oh my love
what if this is the last one?
and what if it is not?
every cell in terror
for an unpredicated,
unprecedented,
indeterminate
future.
He has never l
in words
(let me be so specific).
But in deeds.
So they say this matters.
I am shaken
sickened by this
bounty, this
windfall, this
newfound treasure.
Sipping from a well
with curled tongue
the smallest quantities;
it could be poison,
which kills the thirsty
as well as the half drowned.
I cut my swarths out with
a careless sword, clumsy hands,
run forward with no armor,
no real plan, except
hope that my bravery and
my charms and my wits
will protect me from
the onslaught of unknowable enemies
of unknowable strengths and
unknowable outcomes.
I may not recover this
time if I go down.
Have I another choice
except to walk with fear,
except to know each step
is in a new land.
and what if it is not?
every cell in terror
for an unpredicated,
unprecedented,
indeterminate
future.
He has never l
in words
(let me be so specific).
But in deeds.
So they say this matters.
I am shaken
sickened by this
bounty, this
windfall, this
newfound treasure.
Sipping from a well
with curled tongue
the smallest quantities;
it could be poison,
which kills the thirsty
as well as the half drowned.
I cut my swarths out with
a careless sword, clumsy hands,
run forward with no armor,
no real plan, except
hope that my bravery and
my charms and my wits
will protect me from
the onslaught of unknowable enemies
of unknowable strengths and
unknowable outcomes.
I may not recover this
time if I go down.
Have I another choice
except to walk with fear,
except to know each step
is in a new land.
(unpublished poem)
suicide is painless
not a day goes by when
i do not think i would like to die
and someone tells me on the radio
you need to ask yourself
what is saving you right now?
and she is saved by Christ.
she is saved, but I am not damned,
not damned for all the ages,
I just meander on through.
I am so lost.
this life I am living, this life
is such a painful thing these
days when you are so unkind to me.
But I would not lay my head down
on some kind of block for
you. That is what a younger me would
do. Instead I die and kill myself
on my feet, and silence my voice,
and put my mind in another place.
You are so full of hatreds for me.
You are so full of some poison.
You are poking at me with your
fingers and opening spaces on
my skin and bleeding your fury
on me and into me so I spend
my days asleep, my days asleep,
killing everything in me,
as there is no desire left.
No will to do what must be done.
I am slow and thick and it is hot
and summer.
These are the days I have and you
rape me for them.
I blame him for making me so sick,
them for not teaching me
that on my own I am okay.
I would not stay here in this place,
would not die a thousand suicides.
To think I was so in love just
days ago, just maybe moments.
i do not think i would like to die
and someone tells me on the radio
you need to ask yourself
what is saving you right now?
and she is saved by Christ.
she is saved, but I am not damned,
not damned for all the ages,
I just meander on through.
I am so lost.
this life I am living, this life
is such a painful thing these
days when you are so unkind to me.
But I would not lay my head down
on some kind of block for
you. That is what a younger me would
do. Instead I die and kill myself
on my feet, and silence my voice,
and put my mind in another place.
You are so full of hatreds for me.
You are so full of some poison.
You are poking at me with your
fingers and opening spaces on
my skin and bleeding your fury
on me and into me so I spend
my days asleep, my days asleep,
killing everything in me,
as there is no desire left.
No will to do what must be done.
I am slow and thick and it is hot
and summer.
These are the days I have and you
rape me for them.
I blame him for making me so sick,
them for not teaching me
that on my own I am okay.
I would not stay here in this place,
would not die a thousand suicides.
To think I was so in love just
days ago, just maybe moments.
(unpublished poem files )
twitter poem of the day (it's been awhile!)
Problem is, relationships hurt,
trust is hard and comes in spurts.
trust is hard and comes in spurts.
twitter poem of the day (improving...)
sun up comes, sun down goes, sometimes I yearn for my toes
to sink in sand along the sea, take me away, rescue me
to sink in sand along the sea, take me away, rescue me
(unpublishe dpoem)
the places I go will pass beneath my feet and I'll walk one step at a time until I find that I never needed to walk any further than the place I already am.
(it was your birthday today, and I didn't even wish you a happy one. It was a deliberate choice, because I couldn't bring myself to speak to you. But that doesn't mean I didn't want to. I'll do it here. Not that you read this. Happy birthday, baby.)
(it was your birthday today, and I didn't even wish you a happy one. It was a deliberate choice, because I couldn't bring myself to speak to you. But that doesn't mean I didn't want to. I'll do it here. Not that you read this. Happy birthday, baby.)
(unpublished poem)
love me love me love me
i know from your eyes
wide, dilated eyes
and the way you touch me
with your hand and i think
but then when i try so hard to
wide, dilated eyes
and the way you touch me
with your hand and i think
but then when i try so hard to
(old unpublished poem)
From the objective,
You offer what you don't want to give away.
As if hooking me will solve for your unknowns.
I'm here, yo, I'm here.
Don't try so hard.
Don't play it like that.
I give it away for free.
You are craftier than I
with nothing to lose.
Dial that down to simple things.
I don't want you to die,
From the subjective.
I am here, yo, I stand for you.
Can I? I said so.
Throw that log on and watch it smoke.
I don't think anything of me gets in
You're so crowded in there
So many little people pushed into that bus,
a woman with a caged chicken on her lap.
So much baggage. So many limbs.
Miracle these don't fall off the cliffs.
You offer what you don't want to give away.
As if hooking me will solve for your unknowns.
I'm here, yo, I'm here.
Don't try so hard.
Don't play it like that.
I give it away for free.
You are craftier than I
with nothing to lose.
Dial that down to simple things.
I don't want you to die,
From the subjective.
I am here, yo, I stand for you.
Can I? I said so.
Throw that log on and watch it smoke.
I don't think anything of me gets in
You're so crowded in there
So many little people pushed into that bus,
a woman with a caged chicken on her lap.
So much baggage. So many limbs.
Miracle these don't fall off the cliffs.
(old poem republished)
checklist
I want this.
Arms to hold me in the darkness
The scent of a man, slightly of earwax, slightly of sweat,
ground down into a pillow
a line of drool pooling from his open lips.
He wakes, eyes on my eyes,
a smile spread at his good fortune
and brushing the hair from my face
kisses for these lips, soft, deep, sloppy and moist
He hugs me to him tight and I'm too hot, but it's skin on skin
and he hums in my ear
I love you, I love you, I love you
more every day
Wednesday, November 12, 2025
Why Not Write
Shams, I have not written anything in a long time
I filed chapter 11 on passion
I wither on the vine
Dried up plumpness gone raisin, leaves brown and curled in on themselves, thin stalks still hanging by tendrils
This was once a holy place with a honey sweet temple
Doors open wide to let the sun in
Crowds came here in droves to see the goddess
If she is crone now, can she be a maiden again
There are seasons, are there not?
Will spring follow winter, or is it just a steady march down
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