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I

I would ask you
to be my sunburn,
not so my skin crawls,
but to feel the warmth.

                        in my bones,
                        I feel the earth—
                        move

I would ask you
to cut my throat,
so I can feel my blood
flow. (emo I know)

                        a wet smooch
                        of rain drops—
                        as I sleep

I would ask you
for something,
just so I would know
that nothing wasn't.

                        of this world,
                        a smile is—
                        treasure

II

My back,
broken by a world
that never asked
to be carried.

                        green grass
                        burnt to a crisp
                        as cicadas sing

My song in the silent
night, the moon
envies the pool
and its stillness.

                        why would the moon,
                        in crescent – frown
                        at the world?

My daybreak,
the sun smiles
upon my face, a shadow
on my pillow.

(and now a transition)




III

I use'ta could play guitar,
not like some alien Vai monster,
but enough to hear
my innermost dreams.

                        midnight—
                        outside is alive
                        with song

I use'ta could write,
not in an earnest Hemingway,
or a haiku Basho,
but in a distinct, my way.

                        the blank page
                        screams at me
                        in silence

I use'ta could live,
not  so pseudo,
but a life in absentia,
all I can manage.

                        a sweetness
                        that is the sunflower—
                        now wilted.
I've worked on this far too long, so have at it, rip it apart, ect... and thanks!
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July 30, 2012
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