variations on reality and perception.

the hands of time, the hands that held you

when you fed at your mother's breast;

they are, in essence, the same. they have

both changed, both grown worn and faded,

more impressions now than skin and bone,

and silver paint, and fairy-tale stone.

yet what held true before is still true:

the hands of time sway onward, as

the hands that grew tired grew softer

as well. as the mist kissing the window

presses closer, breathes so deeply,

what is inside yearns to be outside —

the girl within seeks the girl without.

not an incongruence, then, merely

a story that was not told in full: things

occur not at once, but in folds,

overlapping and intertwining and

making fools of the tellers, the believers,

you and i, and who we sing to, these

wretched faces, tragedies in shearling coats,

slipping mist beneath their sleeves, and

caressing it away. you see, then,

don't you? there is no difference, no change.

time is only a space, a steadily expanding distance

between what was and what is, rendering

an impossibility for what was to be what is, and

an unerring inevitability that

what is will be what was. so you see:

this is a lie. these words are self-aware,

more so even than you —

you are not aware,

for if you were aware, you would know

not to read on; it is all lies from here and back.

the only truth is that the true truths

never lie. and yet, here i am, and

i have given you none.

thought you were a proper boy

with your top hat crown

and satin glove touch

stacking teacups

on the brim

thought i was a proper girl

with my pinned up hair

and parasol laugh

hanging china

from my curls

thought we were a proper two

’til your teacups slipped

and my china crashed with

your satin glove touch

and my parasol laugh

thought this was

a proper crush, but

it’s just mad,

mad

love.

Big 

Friendly 

Giant 

... what do I win? Nothing? 

Blue 

Fluffy 

Goose

... that's more terrifying than it should be. 

Blobs of

Fig

Granola

... maybe I should stop now. 

when she laughed

her teeth shone silly

gleaming

life

coffee

and

cigarettes, her

strong attraction

to blending reality like

german heritage

and

jewish guilt followed

catholic longing,

she married a Baptist

read the cards

practiced her kriyas

so what the fuck

does that make me?

Provide me more, my darling would say, the;

Roses you sent to me are withered, the;

Oil and sweet spices are washed away with a quick

Shower but only your words remain, so don’t linger! tell me how I am

Everything to you, before the lonely night comes...

I may not be a gourmand

or connoisseur,

But I know what I know

And this I know for sure

That smoked Gouda cheese

And honey ham make great

Lunch partners in a squeeze!

Grapes on the side, no bread

And it's all good!

Nick Carraway: Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter - tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther... And one fine morning - So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

A dog's love is unconditional

Never teetering

Always faithful

For their hearts are pure

And always caring

Protecting endlessly

Selfless to the end

Hachiko

He waited and waited

For an owner who would never return

Lucca

The brave army dog who saved lives

And lost an arm

They contain a certain bravery

That men couldn't show

They love us endlessly

Unconditionally

We

Were

A

Candle,

Lit

For

Ten

Years,

Hidden

In

The

Back

Of

My

Mind,

Burning

Softly.

I

Turned

My

Eyes

On

It,

And

It

Blinded

Me.

I

Burnt

My

Hand

To

Smother

Our

Flame.

I 

Wish

I 

Could

Find

A 

Match.