Word Warp, IV

Care for me, care for me You said you care for me There for me, there for me Said you'd be there for me Cry for me, cry for me You said you'd die for me Give to me,give to me Why won't you live for me? Lauryn is still so relevent. You too.

Subway Story

Have you ever seen a stranger on a subway platform
and wondered, as you stared, what it would be like
to hold him,
to nestle your face on his neck--
that little lover's nook--
as he reads a novel in bed

This has happened to me
and I wonder what it is
where does it come from
and does it say anything about me

Why do I desire embraces from perfect strangers?

Oh,
and as I stare
if they look back
I always make up perfect scenarios
on how life would be if we were together

for example:
in five minutes
we're on a beach--
vacation
drinking cocktails and
holding hands

later, there are even wedding bells!

is this needy
or romantic?

I. C.

the one line post

i want to call you and ask for help, but no.

irving.

i now know
because of this
that my poor bed
flies
through the clouds

i'll explain...

you made your way
to my crooked place
at two
you quiet, closet man
and stared.

my poor nerves!

I rolled my eyes
and laughed it off.
“Don’t stare,”
I asked
and you mocked me.

We began…
and oh, how you were gentle!

afterward
you stared some more
I quickly sat behind you
and wrapped my legs around you
you were trapped in my embrace
and as I held you tight
kissing your back
you caressed my arms
and asked

“can we cuddle?”

and it’s my fragile state that keeps you alive
‘til this day
because a one night stand is never supposed to last.

The Radical Woman

Check this out... It's exactly how I feel.

"Who gave us permission to perform the act of writing? Why does it seem so unnatural for me? I’ll do anything to postpone it- empty the trash, answer the telephone… How hard it is for us to think we can choose to become writers, much less feel and believe that we can. What have we to contribute, to give? Our own expectations condition us."

Stuck.

I haven't been inspired to write in a while. There are many reasons for this. First, whenever I do finally conjure up the inspiration to create, nothing coherent comes out. Secondly, I've been afraid and ashamed to release for fear of sounding stupid or childish. Sometimes, I guess, I'm my worst critic. It hurts.

I can't forget that there's also a great deal of laziness which plagues me. It's like I've got heavy weights placed right on top of my hands which keep me from moving my fingers to and fro. It's a disease really. I know I'm facing some sort of developmental error, perhaps a nutritional deficiency, which has made pencils and pens too heavy to grasp anymore.

Vitamins?
Maybe.

Gossip Folk

I don’t need a recorder
I’ve got echoes
and buzzing bees which speak for me anyway
There’s no way I can hide
Even if I try
and that’s the way it goes.
Too bad, you know?