[x]

the same handand how I shake at the thought of
sprawling, city-sized manifestos of the self.

sketch your soul in five lines or less
and the outcome can hardly minimize the input.

but, oh, to spend a lifetime
catering to a monumental silence -
that is something worthy of praise,
and damnation,

and the slow crawling horror of a dream.

the gift that keeps ungivingher dark arts
and pale arms
were spread
large
accepting my
lunar tics these
half-witted quips and
verbal cheap tricks my
instinct
dictates
(displaying defense
as gifts)

seems she sees
this mess as
the me
that I
want to be
not the oft
bridge burnt
wreck that
presents itself
constantly
with self-
fulfilled
prophecy
un- or sub-
consciously
collecting
the ghosts
and dashed hopes
that haunt
as he
shakes
in shades
of dusk and
decries
the night
he smothers
sparks & signs
of possible light

of passable life

of that one last
last chance
at getting it
right

collector series 45sI'm not yet
tired
of stumbling through city streets
basking in the soft glow
of someone else's dream
peering through windows
in twilight
uninvited

it's the ebb
and the flow
of a heart
almost ready to beat

escaping lives
left behind
covered in miles
and muddled intention
making small talk
in a foreign language

old dog
meet
new trick

the odds are already against us

if a tree falls in...a fenceless garden
defenseless and unguarded
she watches you grow

lists and listlessnessEach name I mark down is a list.

I write every single word
I intend to promptly forget,
making sure to underline
the important parts.

These are the things I really meant to say.

You'd smile and feel
the way you were supposed to.

It's all so simple.

These little plans of mine
are drawn up and drawn out.

It's too meticulous
to be destiny
and too ridiculous
to be enjoyable.

Would you even feel it if I crossed you off?

I have that power you know.
(That and more.)

I could rearrange you.
I could erase you
completely.

I could kid myself all night,
but I could never let you go.

It's everything...I've found a spot where the floor creaks just for me.

I sit & wait there
for the boards to collapse,
for my unannounced visit
to the neighbors.

I sit & wait
at lights, and in lines,
and in conversations
that go in circles.

I sit & wait for the music to end,
just so that I can go home.

I keep quiet as the world sleeps;
afraid to wake someone up,
afraid to sleep alone.

I've built a routine
dependent on falling apart
and still somehow manage
to be surprised

by every last bitter goodbye,
by every last haunting regret,
by every last
last word.

The rest is easy.This is not the hardest thing I've ever had to do.

Putting down thoughts for you
to think about
and put down.

The hardest thing is
forcing my heart out
through my mouth.

Forcing one foot in
front of the other.

I've reduced cradle
to the grave
to an infantile
crawl.

These days, I will take comfort
wherever I can find it.

"This is not the hardest thing I've ever had to do."
(she said,
slamming the door in my face.)

the truthIt's simple to be confused by every day.

At the present time,
I am enthralled by everyone -

and no one.

I wear my heart on my sleeve,
but it doesn't compliment
the chip
on my shoulder.

I take each of these words
and try to wrap them up
in meaning,
only to come off
wrapped up
in myself.

I will get taken at face value.
I will get taken advantage of.
I will eventually get taken away.

The only time I can remember
being in the subway
I was on my way
to see a building
full of memories
and monuments
to the dead.

Somehow, that seems fitting.

waiting on 50let me
perform
delicate surgery

sing songs of chain-
saw love
along

your supple
summer spine

place the pieces
of your
struggling
jigsaw
map
which match
with mine...

is it safe
to say
that I've
talked
you
to bed
for several
weeks?

would it be
wise
for me
to sew
your proper name
into my
sheets?

or play
your
memory
like a
melody

arranged
in bits
between heart-
beats?

well

my heart's
refrain
repeats

'til my mouth

stutters
what it
speaks

and though
the
syllables
get jumbled

sentiments emerge
complete

has anyone
else
ever told
you
you're
the good
kind
of
cannot sleep?

miracle growI spent the darker days
of my youth
demanding
proof
or consequences

and I regretted
every stretched
and desperate
second

how the land
would cry
out

as if
hungry
for the weight
of heal-marks
wandering

waiting on
weak spots
to plant
its teeth
in

but the heart
moves you
toward
stationary

revelations are
sedentary

and reflective
as
memories

both defined
by the sensory

we may dream
involuntarily
but
r
o
o
t
s
are a conscious
decision

another doomed doomsdaymankind set their clocks
the omniscient unknowing
slept through the rapture

elevens inseparableon the subject of confidence
the room grows
quiet
and I
quite tired
of not explaining myself
so

in case I do decide
on somewhere else
I leave behind
little pieces

each part
proudly
proclaiming
to be
(or not to be)
a whole

with each tiny silence filled
life imitates life

art takes note

and to hell with the rest of it

ever onward & expanding
tensions mounted
on the forefront
and somewhere
(in the very back of things)
is you and
forever

collectively assembled

distinguished but undefinable

and overall
not impressed

dear

it's always with a final thought
I leave you

charmed, I'm sureseize the sights & sounds
from beneath your skin
and tear
them
out

it's just art
imitating life
anyway

I hope this letter finds you..on the evening you
fully realize
you've spent the past
(half-decade)
doing nothing but
fumbling at
relationships
you will be

twenty-nine and
all too aware of
the feel of youth
fragile
and fading

mostly un-
broken of
your bad habits

confusing
used to have
with
exclusion from
the hasn'ts

searching
fistfuls of
water for
drops of
inspiration
still

spilling
your heart out
everywhere

when measuring moments
your life
will seem only
to be
less about living
more for
cultivating
lonely
and

the spaces
between
contented
providing most
of the
content

with love be-
come some
strange creature
peering

all my time is spare timeI was sitting on a bench,
avoiding the company of my own home, &
imagining the conversation we would have
when you sat down next to me.

Sure, I didn't know you would be you,
or any of the words we would actually speak,
but what I needed was someone to pay attention
& you fit the bill.

Or, at least, I think you did.

It's hard to gauge attention
when I can't meet anyone's eyes
for more
than a few seconds at a time.

It's hard to really connect
when our very atoms are repelling
one another.

All I know is, you sat down and that's what matters.

At least, I'm pretty sure you sat down;
almost positive that I wasn't talking

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bygones: part Ireturning to words
(tongue to sore tooth)
like talking to myself
before a live studio audience
better kept like a secret
better to keep
in my head
to be inappropriately prodded at my leisure
picturing
thousands upon thousands of words
and not a single one wisdom

look at the source
poking at sore spots
hiding behind sloppy penmanship
crying over spilled guts
as if pain
should be presented
this graphic

"life
isn't
one of your
little poems"

a new and better lostI'm being haunted in odd places
crowded airports
park benches
and the faces of strangers

escape is acting casual
escape is logical confession
of course
we've never met
of course
the names have changed
and how could I
possibly
have loved you once?
you're not even a passing acquaintance
you are strands of dna
a double helix, unacquainted
and I am
projecting stars in the corners
of your eyes
and sunsets in
the tightening of your smile

the past is not through with me
it sees
right
through me
it walks and talks
and breathes your air with different lungs

ladies and gentlemen
I present:
the past!
passing through corrido

in, is, itI feel there's something lacking
in these attempts at connection
in these isolated thoughts
it's the feeling
that I get on nights when the sky is decorated
-breathtakingly precise-
and the stars seem to be directions
I never have the nerve to ask for

it's between the late hours and long talks
the intangible that almost presents itself
in a shape perfectly fit
for my arms to wrap around
for my words to pin down
while beating the air with frenzied movements
bewildering to the untrained eye
making (almost) perfect
sense to me

this is! excitement
this is! frustration
this is! loneliness
presenting themselves in palpitations
a

miles marked on a calendarit was with an only slightly dampened sense of wonder
that I found myself walking in the rain at midnight
covered in newspaper
laughing loud against the silence
and thinking of you, childhood friend
reflecting on our lives so far
laying them beside the secret plans we once made
surely, it was not for this -
not these tired loves
(tired lives)
tired smiles
tied to heart's
failing words

how I long to scream you out of resigned sleep
if only for a return of the favor
because this
committed abuse
and endless self shaking
only seems to find me
burrowing deeper beneath
the bedsheets

as obvious as possiblesomeday
I'll be able to tune out the sound of my voice
to turn a blind eye
to sit comfortably in silence
to no longer argue
with the weight of words
with the length of time

someday
I'll be able to safely say
I just stopped caring
and rest easy without
the burden of feeling
wrapped safely in
parts of myself
left pure
and ignorant

someday
I'll no longer have to
justify myself
to my self
for someone else's benefit

someday
I'll stop
and be
the roses

tempo, pleaseit all seems different in the dark
softly out of focus
buildings lean politely askew
windows lit in secret code

but
I'm tired as I write you these letters
waiting
always waiting
as if life is just one brief moment away
as if I'm just another tourist in this town
keeping the streets from loneliness

this is how we fill the spaces
with mistakes
with crumpled sheets
with separate rooms

and as I wait outside
I almost feel as if
I believe you

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Submitted: May 29, 2006
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now accepting applications...

by `YouInventedMe, May 29, 2006, 4:32:28 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

the smoke beneath your bed finally finds you
staring crooked in broken mirrors
searching frantically
for the fire of your former features

forever and ember
still breath and false starts

'til it whispers

sure
the universe is big business
constantly expanding
but the fact of (the) matter is
it desires you deposit d.n.a.

demanding genetic building blocks
on which to lay its foundation

and though the future of father's daughters
is
certainly uncertain
the sun set's assured
eventual
consumption
of
everything

meanwhile

I'm eagerly anticipating the arrival
of the non-linear one-liner

something like:

yes it all implodes in infinity
but buildings retain their names anyway

or

mountains and their silhouettes sit still
yet oppose portraits on general principal

opinions vary

the stars think they're brilliant

the general population favors vague impressions
and

most allow the words
(to escape unnoticed)

now accepting applications...by `YouInventedMe

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

full title: now accepting applications for life's purpose

~MissUnderstand Feb 21, 2012

Hi.
I think your first stanza is about me.
How did you know?

`YouInventedMe Feb 23, 2012 Writer

MAGIC!

!insober Dec 10, 2011 Student General Artist

MASHED POTATOES

`YouInventedMe Dec 10, 2011 Writer

yes, but can you do THE TWIST?

!insober Mar 25, 2012 Student General Artist

admittedly, i cannot. i can walk with a full glass of beer and not spill it though. but since i've quit drinking it hasn't done me much good

~Penessence Nov 27, 2011

great expression of decay

`YouInventedMe Dec 10, 2011 Writer

thanks. nice to hear from you again.

~Penessence Dec 12, 2011

~Piscesandthediamonds Oct 25, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

i love this one so much

ur a master of endings, dear Shane!
"I'm eagerly anticipating the arrival
of the non-linear one-liner

something like:

yes it all implodes in infinity
but buildings retain their names anyway"

*melts*

"most allow the words
(to escape unnoticed)" - yet i know you don't

Well done!

`YouInventedMe Oct 26, 2011 Writer

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