we are donehere

I guess i could never grow up

when you are a good girl gone crazy
when you are a girl little
when you are bigger and bad things
hurl at your ways then think
am i old and grown

no adult adults do not figure
they are bad
bad girls do

bad girls do

seeing

desire that dries, one as completely
as a cold day that shivers in and out
or frozenalmost like honey which chokes
on its own sweet
this day which sprinkled you
across in stories of magical life
springing in utter breathing
which muttered crossly
point, pointed at these love
and laughed and mocked
me who spells erised
and calls every minutesleep
your picture enter my mind.

replying, of kinds

no you do not write well
why you even write what
you never see
the cliche
the dead moth's dearest
word.
but the body.
its soul
rising smiles
at your word
and its not even
great, or great
what do i call this
reaction,
this error
uncorrected;
do i let it stay
and grow on the heart's
plane or do i crush the
soul and scorn beloved
beloved, or coldly.

this need to touch

I am
tonight
filled with irreverential love
for you
and i foresee a dream
of un-understanding movement
and i touch you
which broods the entire time
and that mark uncovered
lightens secrets
and pleasure of white
severing a vow
and making another
sign with its beauty
and forgetting it there
along with the night.

music must soothe

i read into your mind, to tell that you are shouting. therefore, i must cry and not talk.
tears sell slowly, they are a few weeks old and are eager to come, whoever said you
cause me pain, or you, cause me pain, tears are a blind eye's way to touching the
world even with new beauty when there are faces around you don't want, all that
matter like dreams is the glow of that feeling, the blue-touch and the depth of knowing
like no other-maybe you did. i am blind and still running. tomorrow when i don't speak
i'll cut the pain into, and see how much it lasts. till then for years and less sing well.

god, see how i have made my bed
tell me that it counts
and warmth among other things
so i can tell you other wonderful
stories about the rescue
and the explosions in the sky
and the falling in love
before that
that i also wait for spring
to be a woman
waiting, for the bells to ring
half an hour later
then to purse my lips
against all the scratching
so i can get a sleep of
warmth, sucker for warmth
and lie with all the other trees
while they lie awake breathing
i like the little man,
he teaches me things i do not have