famous

the dog in my heart howls continiously at you

there is real pain in not having poetry (jack spicer, reading)

untitled: morning poem: little sleep and more beer.

there is sweat from glass jars
and it isn't even hot outside
but the faces are burning
red, orange, some sort of magenta.

like a vision,
I see their faces floating
merging together like angels.

I wiped the sweat from the table top
and wrote a letter,
turned on the fan,
and imagined myself among them,
a little bit angry,
thrown in with all those sinners.

new york city

I need to profess my undying love more often.

I have a lot of really intense feelings for strangers almost every day.
I wonder how other people deal with this, because I am sure they are struggling, too.

Cat calls bother me, and I don't think it is an appropriate response.
But I should profess my undying love more often.

sleepy

Thinking about it now, if I were to lose my ability to remember, it makes me sort of sad and lonely. But, if it actually did happen, I wouldn't know any better anyway, because there wouldn't be a past and there wouldn't be a future. There would just be the present, and it would probably feel like time travel, or something similar to a feeling that might feel like time travel. It might even be mystical.