Note that some of them were written when it wasn't snowing. That's not really the point. The point is that snow means i can stay at my mom's house all day and post the poems i have written and saved on this machine, moo ha ha ha.

Yeah.

Comments, etc, appreciated greatly as always. They make my little world spin on its axis.

in chronological order:

"zero g"

rocket to the moon
rocket out of this skin
i'm going to shoot it away
there's nothing left in
so then i'll be weightless
then i'll be free
among the stars among the dust
there'll be nothing
there'll be no me
there'll be no you
no failure, no challenge, no winning, no waste
no you, no you, no infinite debate
just nothing me, with
nothing face,
nothing but cool logic
and the slow spread of space.
(12/16/01 - the rest are from today)



"paraphrasia"

his diagnosis of me:

an unfortunate love
for endlessly asking questions
ceaseless movement of
elastic mouth and mind
ever manic baby
hypervigilant hands wringing out
all nascent drops
of an echolalic life

he adds, apologetical:

my paraphrasia praeceps,
i think may be
a girl ahead of her time.

"strand"

i guess it's settled now
that i dream in your own language
that before i knew anything
of your beard
i dreamed of it and of hope
and you

tied to my life
always resurfacing, my sweet secret
always magnetizing me
though i try to resist, i'm
tied to this winding life
and you

our divergent paths cross
yet again, my love
yet i cannot breathe a shadow
of what i see in fate, for fear
our kingdom will crumble back to the sea
and you

will somehow break the strand
that it will shatter with my speaking
that my utterance will unravel it
and finally you
will find a route away from
me

"muddle"

the first time
i sat down to rearrange words
into a bouquet of my choosing
was so long ago
not even the elephants remember

the last time
i sat down to pull myself together
with the aid of my vocabulary
was so recent past
that my hands are still shaking

seven years, five years, ten?
that is, since i first picked up
a book and pen

and wrote in my best life blood

it bothers me that i can't remember
our first time, love

and it irks me that even now

the pieces splinter further apart

too broken to follow to the origin

follow them

*back*

to my heart
which i must have left near the start.

"a call to silence"

i think i might be aphasic
that is, i mean nominally
it never seems that the right word
ever wants to come to me
it's okay baby, i know
we all just want to be free

free of the syntax,
free of the relapse,
free of the contracts
and the complex contractions

it seems

silence is the science
of satisfaction.

sweet sweet Aphonia
come on and set me free
because everybody knows that
everyone wants to be
free of violence of the noise
in the silence why won't the silence
ever claim me?

claim my reflux,
claim my dumbstruck,
claim my traction
and the unreasonable attractions

take me

into the deep silence
and satisfaction.

"malcontent"

what do you think of me?
a malcontent?
a trouble maker
who, like the say,
eats her men
like air?
you're not the first
to be here
not the first to be
scared
there's safety in numbers
true what you
have taught me
alone i count the days
til across the chasm
of our relations
i will be free
just to be alone
and tired
and angry
and unknown
so i'll go where no one
knows me there
and no one thinks
that i eat souls
like air
and no one there
is hell bent
on believing that i'm
a malcontent.

....
and because i think the number six is evil, here's uh, one from the top of my head:

"handholding Kelvin"

you make me so cold
my fingers grow so old
and stiff with this
emotional arthritis
it's hard to write what's real
hard to identify what i feel
difficult to find the keys
and make them work for me
will not this winter
end somewhere?