At Least I'm Dreaming, Again

"At least, I'm dreaming, again."

She said.

"I called in sick, and then came by to visit you."
"You were sexing with my friend, Miss Nadja."
"I tried to explain, to the both of you,
that I wasn't mad, just bored."
"Then, I rode that big green bike, right up a two story wall."
"It only stopped working, when everyone told me that I couldn't do that."
"And, I fell."
"All the way down, I just kept thinking..."
"I really, so love this old Schwinn..."
"But, it's going to hurt, like the Dickens, if I don't disengage myself,
from it, pronto."
"You know that sick in the stomach feeling,
that you get, when you fall..."
"Well, it woke me up. I was mad at you, all day."
Not really mad. Just irritated."

"So, Ultralith, what do you think that it means?"

"I think that you know what it means."
"And, I think that if I tell you what I think it means,
it won't be any different, than what you thought it meant, before."
But, I do think, that you'll be irritated, at what I think it means."

"Well...
"It's been since December."
"And, it's almost my birthday."
"At least, I'm dreaming, again."

Not Worth The Salt

My son came here, one day.
He knew I was sad,
about not being able to figure out a particular friendship,
and the loss, of lied to about, relationship.

As he left, he turned, and said,

"Mom. I tell you what I do.
I know that you don't always like it.
But, I tell you.
I tell you the truth, because, I respect you.
AND, I trust you.
I trust, that you will love me, always,
even if you don't like what I do."

"Never be sad, at the loss, of someone,
who won't tell you,
the truth."

Then, he said, "TRUST IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN LOVE."

"I CAN LOVE SOMEONE, BUT NOT TRUST THEM.
BUT, IF I TRUST SOMEONE, HOW CAN I HELP, BUT TO LOVE THEM?"

As he walked away, he finished, with,

"Someone who lies,
is not worth your purest tears, of friendship."

My son is twenty~two years old.
What he said, is wise, beyond a million.

People lie, out of fear.

I am weary, of chickens.

Much love.

हे इस परफेक्ट.

मर्केद, ज़बू, ओं थे बॉटम, एंड १९५७.

इ कैन फंद नो रेफेरेंस.

दोएस अन्योने क्नोव हिम?

इ हवे बेकोमे तो रीड म्य्सेल्फ़ ऑफ़ थ्री थौसंद थिंग्स...

थिस इ हाउ आईटी बेगन...

विल यू अल फोल्लो?

Guns That Shoot Knives

Guns That Shoot Knives

Did he have a gun, that shoots knives?
His eyes, were guns that shoot knives.
Did any girls show up,
who have eyes,
that are guns that shoot knives?
One.
But, her eyes
are like guns that shoot lnives
made out of wet bread.
Did you get shot,
with wet bread?
I don't know.
I wasn't that hungry

A Bike's A Bike In Summer

	it rhymes, so it must be poetry.
	Dearest M. You ask of winter mornings, here, and I don't know what to say. Arent' mornings in the winter, everywhere, the same damn shade of grey? It rains on things it shouldn't. I break things with my words. The coffee's never strong enough. The frost has killed the birds. You ask of winter mornings, here, and I would have to say, It's afternoons in summer, here, that make curses go away. A bike's a bike, in summer. A song's a song, and lazy. The kitchen isn't filled with smoke. There are less people to be crazy. I'll get through winter mornings, here, and then through summer, too. I'll get through all the seasons, M., though, how, I've not a clue. Love, M.

Alas, The Madonna Does Not Function

You un~leashed the dogs of Hell, on me.

I know these dogs.
They have been housed, there, in the same exact kennel,
the same exact, bloody, rusty cages, behind mannequins,
and sale banners.
It's the same exact street, in the same old neighborhood,
and, the same old grey man,
with his tightly corseted secrets, his strange,
round spectacles, and pony tail,
who sweeps the curling leaves and dead things,
from around his little world.
The Prince of Darkness owned the same animals,
many years ago.

In the end, they ate him.
Devoured him, tearing limb from limb,
peeling all his meat away, leaving it,
for me to find.
We sat, you and I,
and, I told you this.

When, I was prepared to tell you
that I could no longer be beside you.
Not because the beasts had gotten loose,
but, because,
I needed to know that you would keep me safe,
from them.
I needed to know that I wouldn't be taken by surprise,
by these same wretched, brutal, curs, again.

Don't think that because you don't feed them,
they won't come panting back.
They have had the taste of blood,
and, they will try to get beneath your skin.

You asked,
what can I do, except to say that I am sorry?

Shoot the dogs.
They're sick, and, they won't stop.
They want the rubber ball to stay inside their mouth,
not for fetching.
They like it as a gag.
But it keeps you quiet, not them.
It makes it you, that keeps on running.
And, they will call you, at their whim.
I don't think you heard me,
when I asked...
one thing.
Shoot the dogs.