love poems

i want to write them, but i am not in love. do you have to be in love to write love poems? at least pretend, then it becomes fiction. life function: poem. poem as function, equation for the poem. mathematical. poem as x. solve for y. where is life? art as motion. death as dying. love as poem. potential for or because of. //?M?YOP?IA?//

i keep forgetting things. / reliving them / like an echo / or a shadow


this is what i am supposed to be doing is this what i am supposed to be doing what am i supposed to be doing i am supposed to be doing what what what what doing am i supposed to

so say if,

blue yr eyes or



old news



no news




new news



good news



(o, & le 1st picture is credited to amir eustice. sry i forgot.)

wasting time; wasting space

if just a little less selfish or more, maybe, or if on the wrong side of the bed i wake up function present tense, decide to keep sleeping, or maybe, just this once taking care of myself a task unworthy or thoughtless or seemingly a waste of

the most challenging

a year of the small victories

this, and then, this

process[es][ing]

if i document it, does it make it less real? if i write it, does it become less of life and more of art? where that boundary lies. does it?


STEP ONE THROUGH






photo used without permission of ngl, drb.

the difference is in the choice, see?

just finished a book called darker than night. it's true crime, written by this guy tom henderson, about murders that happened near my hometown and weren't brought to trial for 18 years. two local men killed two hunters from downstate and fed them to pigs. got rid of the vehicle.

sitting and reading this yesterday, two women at a table next to mine talking about abortion. strange parallel to the text, where henderson claims all northern michigan to be rife with inbred shitheads.

IT ISN'T THAT EVIL NOR VIOLENCE NEED TO BE UNDERSTOOD, JUST THE ABILITY TO RECOGNIZE THEIR PRESENCE.

yet, couldn't we say the same thing about love? that no one quite understands it, just knows when it is there?

i'm thinking about choice, i'm thinking about essence, i'm thinking about self. human nature, life, biology and justice. some common ground upon which we all stand, the languages of our bodies, the thirsting of our souls, the desires of our hearts.

not to understand, just to recognize what is there. compassion. sympathy. just a little conversation, human interaction.

chckcush

the city



the city







the city




fotos used without permission of baby lauren

looks like rain, feels like fall

we are, we are going to the city soon.

stormy misty's foal

according to my calculations

the equation for a broken heart:

let y stand for the unknown

x for conversation, thought

xx for sex

thus

x+xx/time = y (or why)









in the words of the lovely ms. anna ash: heart breakin' is a dirty game, but i'm a fall in love with you anyway..

lay me down in the tall grass

field notes

circus, all a circus, circus

i figured out my horoscope. is this because i forced it, or because it really happened? what do you believe in? i think everyone must have something, someone.


i wrote this letter and i never, ever would dream of sending it. but i wrote it with someone in mind, addressing it to said someone. i put in an envelope. took it out. put it back in. sealed envelope. ripped it open. taped it shut, stamped it. i should never send this letter, but it's already in the big blue mailbox.

hay boi hay

dear donna,

r u my silver or r u my gold? this is all 4 u. all of it.








photos courtsey of ms. hannah ensor