Oh Proes!!2!!

Thomas stared at her blankly. This was too much.

"Jen, I can't take this," He said again.

She placed her hands on the desk. Her fingernails clicked on the wooden surface, "Why? Don't want it?"

"No, it would just..." Thomas leaned back against the doorframe. The letter dangled from his right hand.

"It would be inappropriate," Jennifer finished for him.

Thomas let his knees buckle and slowly sank to the floor. A ball of fur attached itself to his slacks, but he didn't notice.

The cat turned its head and looked at them. Grey whiskers bristled and its tongue darted out to taste the air.

Jennifer began to drum her fingers on the deak. The clicking of her nails filled the room.

"I understand that you're upset," Thomas said, bringing his hands to his knees, "I'm sorry."

Jennifer stared at him. Her ice blue eyes bore into his. She had set her mouth in a line and her pale skin looked as if it was made of stone.

"You broke up with me, remember?" Thomas said, not moving his eyes from hers.

The cat suddenly stood. It walked between them and out th door. Neither of them moved. Somewhere in the house a clock chimed, it echoed.

"Yes," Jennifer replied. She looked away from him. Her fingers stopped drumming on the desk. She brought her hands to her lap and pulled the sleeves of her blouse over them. Her fingers began to twist and wring the cuffs. It made a soft rustling noise.

Thomas straightened his back. He folded the letter again and placed it on the floor beside him.

Jennifer looked at the letter. The lightness of the paper reflected on the hardwood floor. Softly, she asked, "Would you like to know why I kept it?"

Thomas looked at her and then the letter. It was next to his right shoe. "Do I want to know?"

With a creak, Jennifer rose and walked over to Thomas. She leaned against the wall next to him and dropped into a sitting position. She drew her knees to her chest. The letter was on the floor between them.

"It gave me hope," she said slowly, "I never really believed someone like you could love me, at all. After you left, it was the only thing to remind me that you did."

Thomas stared ahead.

Jennifer looked at her and Thomas' feet. She was wearing an old pair of tennis shoes that had begun to grey. The shoelaces were frayed. Thomas was wearing a pair of brown leather shoes, meticulously polished. They began to swim in her vision as her eyes filled with tears.

"I didn't send you a wedding invitation," Thomas said. He let his head fall back to rest against the wall.

"I understand," Jennifer said. A tear escaped and she blinked. Two wet streaks began to extend from her eyes.

"I figured you would be too proud to come," Thomas went on, "but it bother me that I couldn't have someone there who meant so much to me."

He brought his hand up and ran it through his hair. It began to stick up. He looked over at her. He saw the wet streaks and his hand instinctively reached over and touched them.

She turned, facing him. Their eyes locked. She brought her hand up and placed it over his. She dimly noticed how large his hand was. It covered her whole cheek.

They kissed softly. His full lips met hers. Niether seemed to move. They held themselves together for a long time.

Thomas pulled away first. He withdrew his hand and stood. He walked over to the bed and grabbed his coat, pulling it on over one shoulder.

"Tom?" Jennifer asked, wrapping her arms about her knees.

He walked in front of her. She looked up at him.

"I'm sorry, Jennifer, but I've got to get going. I'm meeting somebody for dinner," he said, pulling his leather gloves out of his pockets and putting them on.

She rose as he passed to the doorway.

"Tell her I said hello," she called softly and he was gone.

Jay Mobley

Eggs

the Man with two Colors of christmas
drudgery particularly when he smokes
alternately his Starbucks and Marlboro
as I enter the steamy upwards:
A lispy man concealing his sanctuary

a Capillary (solipsism) runs across the glittering surface
of my heart - screams:
No!
but I - Man with two Sides of crispness -
like it anyways. Wedges at least,
the little Orange and sloppy;
with their once-acute eyes now peeeeled open
and smashed into the conglomerate like
a "small Business"
...Entrepreneurial spirit, my ass.

i ought to have complained
about the running whites
but should i wait?
for someone who is paid
to wait - rather than making for a fast break
and a short (5 foot 2, perhaps) order chef
who makes her orders tall?
Eggs - eggs and the bacon i asked for is sausage
eggs and the bacon I asked for is sausage.

can you find all of the allusions?

You're a fiery one
and like a moth
twice burned
covered in ash and dust
glittering through amber
as angels fluttered by
a taste of chocolate
has been replaced
by a ring of power
invisibly I'll fade
a ghost of something past
lingering behind your blue
as the oaths you swore
tarnish and rust
covered in ash and dust

OMFG: so funny.

http://sites.gizoogle.com/index2.php?url=http%3A%2F%2Fapriljosephine.blogspot.com


I particularly like:

"She followed tha cat wit her eyes yeah yeah baby. It was groom'n its tail . They call me tha black folks president."

"He did this fo` `bout a minute n then said, "Jen, I ciznan't takes this . Listen to how a motherfucker flow shit. I wrote it fo` you.""

"She wore no makeup n her mousy brown hair was pulled B-to-tha-izzack into a halfhearted bizzle tendrils of brown escaped hizzle n there . Snoop dogg is in this bitch."

"A grey tabby cat sauntered into tha room. Upon dippin' tha two of thizzay it began ta purr loudly in tha dogg pound. Gangsta extended a hand n tha cat nuzzled it cuz I put gangsta rap on tha map"

et al.

Oh Proes!!1!!

Thomas O'Connor entered the room with a heavy step. He took off his hat and let it linger in his fingers for a moment before setting it on the desk. His blue eyes searched the room quickly and efficiently. It was dirty. A bookshelf covered the northern wall, filled with old tomes and pictures frames that were dusty. There was a cluttered desk covered in papers and books that lay to the south and against the western wall was a small bed with a tattered blue blanket. All of this was illuminated by the sun that streamed in from the east window. It was almost midday.

Walking a few steps in, Thomas removed his dress coat and turned it inside out with his leather gloved hands. He could not think of a place to put it down. A thin layer of dust had settled over the room and its contents and the fur of an absent cat had clumped together in all of the ignored nooks and corners.

"Hello Thomas," said a voice behind him.

He turned to face the woman who stood in the door. She was clad in a pair of old jeans. They had some tears that were fraying on her calves. Her shirt was slightly wrinkled. She wore no makeup and her mousy brown hair was pulled back into a halfhearted bun; tendrils of brown escaped here and there.

"Hello Jennifer," Thomas replied. He played with the coat in his hands.

"Well, make yourself at home. I can't have you standing about when you've traveled so much today," Jennifer said, taking his coat into her hands. She walked across the room and put it on the bed. Thomas took off his leather gloves and put them in the pockets of his brown slacks.

He sat quietly on a rickety chair that stood by the desk. The wood creaked beneath his weight. Jennifer smiled at him and walked back across the room until she leaned against the doorframe opposite him. She leaned back and slowly let herself drop into a sitting position on the floor.

"You're looking well," Jennifer said, placing her hands on her knees.

Thomas nodded in thanks. There was a brief silence. Jennifer moved her arms to her sides and let her hands rest on the floor. She reconsidered this a moment later and returned them to her knees. Thomas picked a stray cat hair off of his hunter green sweater.

"Things have been busy around here this fall," Jennifer said, "Mom's been trying to finish her Master's degree online and my sister has been busy with my nephew. He's starting first grade next year. Amanda's trying to get him to learn the alphabet ahead of time, but he has trouble remembering anything past P," She brushed a strand of hair from her face. "I don't think he'll ever be a librarian."

Thomas leaned back in his chair and smiled, "Daniel says that kids today get too much stimulation. They have so many things presented to them incessantly that they can't even begin to desire to retain anything. There's always something shiny, obnoxious, and new to distract them."

Jennifer considered this. Her eyes, also blue, seemed to focus inward momentarily and then she replied, "I suppose, but I think a lot of stimulation is good. You can't ever learn anything if you're not exposed to anything. And, you can't ever be interested in something if you don't know it's there, you know?"

Thomas began to drum his fingers on the desk. The soft rhythm quietly supported him as he asked, "How's your brother doing?"

With a quick snort, Jennifer replied, "Oh, he does what he wants. It makes him happy."

A grey tabby cat sauntered into the room. Upon seeing the two of them it began to purr loudly. Jennifer extended a hand and the cat nuzzled it. Bits of pink showed as it ran its muzzle across her palm.

"This is Copernicus. He's my room mate," Jennifer said with a smile. Dimples formed in her cheeks.

Eyeing the cat, Thomas asked, "When did Galileo die?"

The cat's ears swiveled around after he had spoken. A yellow eye turned on him. Then, purring loudly, the cat walked over to Thomas and starting rubbing the length of its body on his leg.

Thomas shifted his leg a little and the cat followed it. With a soft sound, the cat plopped onto Thomas' shoe. It looked up at him, still purring, and twitched its tail.

Jennifer shifted again. She crossed her legs and straightened her back. "He died three years ago. It was a few months after you left."

Thomas stopped drumming his fingers. Not wanting to look at Jennifer, he bent over and reluctantly began to pet the cat. "I'm sorry to hear that. I liked the thing."

Jennifer laughed, "You hated him. Remember when he used your bookcase as a scratching post? You wanted me to get rid of him. You told me to get a fish."

The cat, enjoying Thomas' attention, purred louder.

"It was an antique," Thomas said, "Anyway; I never made you get rid of it. I even let it sleep in the bed once, when you had that nasty cold," he laughed, "There were tissues all over the place and you drank all of the green tea. I made you chicken noodle soup, remember? And we laughed because I'd forgotten that you're a vegetarian."

Jennifer, laughing, reached over and began to pet the cat as well. Accidentally, her hand brushed against Thomas'. They looked at each other. Thomas sat up and began to pick cat hair off of the cuffs of his sweater.

"How is your fiancée?" Jennifer asked. She kept her eyes on the cat.

Thomas shifted in his seat. He replied, matter-of-factly, "Doing well. We're going to the orchestra with her parents next week."

Jennifer smiled politely, "How lovely. I've heard that the orchestra is sounding wonderful this season."

The cat, bored suddenly, stood and walked over to the bookshelf and began to groom itself. Jennifer brought her hands to her knees.

“Her father keeps telling me that we should have a Catholic wedding, but Heather doesn't think that's a good idea. She doesn't want the ceremony to be too long and have the guests sitting there bored."

"She's anxious to be Mrs. O'Connor," Jennifer said. She followed the cat with her eyes. It was grooming its tail.

Smiling, Thomas stood. He walked over to the bookshelf and ran his fingertips over the spines of the dusty tomes. Then, he ran the fingertip of his index finger over the glass of a picture frame. It left a streak.

Jennifer stood and leaned against the doorframe. She crossed her arms. After a moment, she walked over to the desk. The sound of rustling paper filled the room. Thomas turned to watch. "What are you looking for?" He asked.

Searching a moment more, Jennifer grabbed a slightly yellowed piece of paper. It was folded into a small square. She turned to face Thomas, "Here, I'd like you to have this."

After giving her a confused glance, Thomas took the piece of paper in his hand and looked at it. It felt fragile. He recognized his handwriting. "What is this?"

Jennifer sat in the chair. It creaked. "It's the letter you wrote me from Cambridge," she said coolly.

Thomas unfolded the paper and began to read it quietly to himself. His lips formed the words silently. He did this for about a minute and then said, "Jen, I can't take this. I wrote it for you."

Jennifer looked him in the eyes. He noticed how blue her eyes were. No, he had known that. He'd just forgotten.

"I know what it says. I don't need it," She said crisply.

Not Mine, but Tom McGovern's "Untitled"

Franny took in her breath slightly but continued to hold the phone to her ear. A dial tone, of course, followed the formal break in the connection. She appeared to find it extraordinarily beautiful to listen to, rather as if it were the best possible substitute for the primordial silence itself. But she seemed to know, too, when to stop listening to it, as if all of what little or much wisdom there is in the world were suddenly hers. When she had replaced the phone, she seemed to know just what to do next, too. She cleared away the smoking things, then drew back the cotton bedspread from the bed she had been sitting on, took off her slippers, and got into the bed. For some minutes, before she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, she just lay quiet, smiling at the ceiling.

V-A-C-A-T-I-O-N: spells more bad poetry!

"A Delicious Heart Attack"

My green shoes are black
because it is raining
sausages and onions
my breath smells like
a greasy hole in the wall
restaurant where the cook
hits on your friend and
the bathroom is a shithole
yet aching after ingesting
a delicious heart attack
I wonder
will there be a parallel universe
where you and I sit
next to each other
in an empty bus station.


"A Glance That Lingers"

beneath barren bookshelves
I watched your face
aglow with the light
it moved with grace
and I pondered what kind
of us we could be like

I pictured us laughing
dirty backpackers by the Siene
behind us the city of light
but what happens then?

"Poet"

I have a first sentence
it flowered in me
a burst of creativity
as I rush to get the words
on this blank page

these little black marks
hold no meaning
but with them
I will make a world
and take my day of rest

Poet.
A person who is unable to
look at a closed door
and not wonder about
what magnificent secret
could be on the other side.


"O'Murchadah"

I know very well how I got my name
the blood of sea warriors
courses through my veins
as unpredictable as the salty waves
with no particular course or aim

The emerald isle kept them
until it bore no more earthly apples
and they ventured to the sea again
in search of greener shores

A port in Boston received the lot
and in firehouses and cobblestone streets
the blood of my family did clot and heal
until it was ready to explore once more

Now the tide has reversed
and the salty blood of Murphy
shall return to the earth that gave it birth

"The Caravan"

Sand is blowing on the wind
it is too caustic and grates the skin
as the particles fly past

brown spots dance on the horizon
silhouetted against the sun
camels and horses
scattered like bagatelles

This silk will fetch a fine price
jewels for my coterie
and that must suffice
for a trader in this dry sea

"The Four Wish Tiger" or "Shitty Poem about Imaginary Allegory and Shallow Rhyming"

The four wish tiger prowls these woods
each stripe ablaze in different hue
I can't quite describe and not sure I would
if able to describe it for you I could
but I will say its are are a sapphire blue

above the clouds in a dark cave it dwells
perilous and arduous is the journey
past the dark wood the water swells
and off in the distance a wolf yells
but the tiger is waiting for me

He will ask me many questions
and I will try to answer
putting together a sonorous string of definitions
and witty monologue on the importance of intuition
but, he, the tiger, will not listen

the four wish tiger, a magical beast
dislikes pretensions and will roar
openings its jaws wide to feast
my answers, so shallow, it will abhor

ee cummings "i have found what you are like"

i have found what you are like
the rain,

(Who feathers frightened fields
with the superior dust-of-sleep. wields

easily the pale club of the wind
and swirled justly souls of flower strike

the air in utterable coolness

deeds of green thrilling light
with thinned

newfragile yellows

lurch and.press

-in the woods
which
stutter
and

sing

And the coolness of your smile is
stirringofbirds between my arms;but
i should rather than anything
have(almost when hugeness will shut
quietly)almost,
your kiss

Meant to be read aloud.

"Time"

the tick has come my dear
to tell the tock of us
sit settle simmer shine
your eyes they silent observe

the hands are leaving
the footsteps leaving
must the calling clock always call
but darling it is so
misleading
to take ticking tocking true

I am here it is clear
to those who hear
and wish to tenderly
sigh sob swimming dying
by giving themselves away

the mermaids, the black woods
an errant path is showing
and off in the celestial bureaucracy
He waits knowing.

Trial and error slightly
denied the way I'm breaking into
JD, Capote, Fitzgerald
a dream in sepia
you reach without a word

through words calling
through the tick tocking
and the clocking
a face always stares

seaweed stares
from aquamarine eyes
that resonate from the seafoam
and the sirens screaming

luring us and echoing
resounding around the sound
while leaves cracking and
closing call quietly for a silent God

crunching echoes footsteps
leaves dry brown
breath smoke steams
streams water laps
enjoy cold air
clouds out and in
time slow goes
mittens cold hands
scarves neck warm
three one words

water whispers beneath
the grey veil of air moving
invisible mazes neurons fire

My next argument for Phil 334

If pirates are better than ninjas then they will meet more of the revised criteria for awesomeness than ninjas.

Some definitions:
Pirate - One who commits piracy by engaging in robbery, pillaging, or plundering at sea.
Ninja -A spy and/or assassin in feudal Japan.
Cool – Adjective meaning excellent; first-rate.
Awesomeness – Noun meaning the quality of being very impressive.

P1 – Wearing all black is cool.
A.Ninjas wear all black due to the need for stealth.
B.Pirates can''''t wear black because it is bleached out by the sun.
C. Wearing black is part of the revised criteria for awesomeness.

P2 – The habit of having a parrot on your shoulder is cool.
A.Ninjas generally do not have parrots. There are no parrots in Japan.
B.Pirates have a tradition of wearing parrots on their shoulders.
C.Having a parrot on your shoulder is part of the revised criteria for awesomeness.

P3 – Having your own refined fighting style is cool.
A.Ninjas know Kung F u. Kung Fu is a refined fighting style.
B.Pirates have little or no refinement in their fighting style.
C.Having a refined fighting style is a part of the revised criteria for awesomeness.

P4 – Being a profession that has been personified by Jackie Chan is cool.
A.Ninjas have been personified by Jackie Chan.
a. see Rush Hour, Mr. Nice Guy; Shenghai Knights.
B.Pirates have not been personified by Jackie Chan.
C.Being a profession that has been personified by Jackie Chan is a part of the revised criteria for awesomeness.

P5 – Drinking Rum is cool.
A.Ninjas do not drink rum. It deadens their reflexes.
B.Pirates drink copious amounts of rum. Yo ho.
C.Drinking rum is a part of the revised criteria for awesomeness.

Pirates meet two of the revised criteria for awesomeness. Ninjas meet three of the revised criteria for awesomeness. Three is more than two so Ninjas are better than pirates.

My Agrument for Phil 334

If pirates are better than ninjas then they will meet more of the criteria for awesomeness than ninjas.

Some definitions:
Pirate - One who commits piracy by engaging in robbery, pillaging, or plundering at sea.
Ninja -A spy and/or assassin in feudal Japan.
Cool – Adjective meaning excellent; first-rate.
Awesomeness – Noun meaning the quality of being very impressive.

P1- Ships equipped with cannons are cool.
A. Ninjas do not have ships equipped with cannons.
B. Pirates do have ships equipped with cannons.
C. Ships equipped with cannons are part of the criteria for awesomeness.

P2- Kitana swords are cool.
A. Ninjas have kitana swords.
B. Pirates do not have kitana swords.
C. Kitana swords are part of the criteria for awesomeness.

P3- The absence of a moral code is cool.
A. Ninjas must adhere to a strict moral code detailed by their feudal lord.
B. Pirates do not have to adhere to a moral code.
C. The absence of a moral code is part of the criteria for awesomeness.

P4- Autonomy is cool.
A.Ninjas are not autonomous. They are employed by their feudal lords.
B.Pirate crews are autonomous. They are sworn only loosely to their captains.
C.Autonomy is part of the criteria for awesomeness.

P5- Being a profession that has been personified by Johnny Depp is cool.
A.Ninjas have not been personified by Johnny Depp.
B.Pirates have been personified by Johnny Depp.
C.Being a profession that has been personified by Johnny Depp is part of the criteria for awesomeness.

P6- The ability to be stealthy is cool.
A.Ninjas have the ability to be stealthy.
B.Pirates do not usually have the ability to be stealthy.
C.The ability to be stealthy is part of the criteria for awesomeness.

Pirates meet four requirements of the criteria for awesomeness. Ninjas meet two requirement of the criteria for awesomeness. Four is more than two so pirates are better than ninjas.

last picture of me, I swear.

it just goes w/ this blog

From "ThePassion" by Jeanette Winterson

"Lovers are not at their best when it matters. Mouths dry up, palms sweat, coversation flags and all the time the heart is threatening to fly from the body once and for all. Lovers have been known to have heart attacks. Lovers drink too much from nervousness and cannot perform. They eat too little and faint during their fervently wished consummation. They do not stroke the favoured cat and their face paint comes loose. This is not all. Whatever you have set store by, your dress, your dinner, your poetry, will go wrong."

found in a guys dorm

"Hear" Inspired by a wall at Starbucks

Rain was shining on the pavement making the sky and ground blend together in a dark hue. i walked on my keys jingling inaudible melodies from where they hung between my fingertips. my breath escaped my lips in vanishing trails of mist that climbed upward to where the sky should have been. it vanished before it could reach its destination. it was late. i didn't quite know how late it was but it was after the hour that the the bus service between freshman parking and campus had ceased. that didn't matter. i needed the prolonged walk to analyze my thoughts. i had spun them in my head like an eight legged rubix cube. my thoughts seemed to chase each other often with no clear distinction between where one ended and another began. like the vanishing mist of my breath - they were infinite but fleeting. there was comfort in that. my web would accompany me home. it was the best company i could have asked for because all

Her soul to the sad strumming of a six stringed instrument. we didn't hear. isn't it funny how little we hear? sometimes we don't hear things even if we're listening. a little girl reading a book telling her mother she didn't need to be tucked in. please mommy hold me. two scared and glistening blue eyes telling him i loved him enough to let him go. why can't i be enough for you. an empty church with a silent crucifix. why can't God save me. now two words play themselves over and over in my mind. Like this. Like this. they spin like rings around a Rosie but that world already came falling down. my breath goes in and out. beneath my skin oxygen is being given to millions of cells - all a part of me i'll never see. oxygen carbon dioxide cardio respiratory veins truth lungs hydrogen - all ink to the words that make up who i am. isn't it funny how everything begins with something smaller than itself. letters make words make sentences make paragraphs make chapters

My thoughts kept straying back to you. the way your green eyes seemed iradescent behind the lenses that frame your world. two green windos set in a nice house behind the most spectacular and full rose garden i'd ever seen. i'll see you tomorrow. what time. four-ish. awesome. meet outside the willy c. amazing how much of our time is spent at the williams center. we met there. i'd just come from an interview and strayed for some tea. i sat with the dark angel. you walked in and joined us. what a trinity we made. chai tea, green tea with honey, black coffee. you were half a stranger - a face i knew but hand no name for. i searched for a where a when a how but i could find none in my memory. it didn't matter. i knew you without knowing you. chai tea, green tea with honey, black coffee. red. blue. black. what a trio we made. we sat and exchanged verbs and nouns and points of view between sips of hot liquid while behind us a woman closed her eyes tightly and bared

Make novels make me. what makes this weather so cold. my fingers are begnning to numb and the metal that makes my kyes had been made cold by the dark air. it's late. i don't quite know how late but it was after the hour that the bus service between freshman parking and campus had ceased. the hair on the back of my neck prickled with the slight wind. your hair is always in some state of disarray. it reminds me of the universe and how everything is entropy. at least that's what my chemistry teacher said. did i hear? chai tea. four-ish. i can do that. green tea with honey. we'll meet at the willy c. black coffee. your side or mine. mine. the carbon dioxide escaping my lungs through the doorway of my lips trails upward toward where the sky would have been. the lines of smoke grey tangle themselves in each other before they dissipate. my thoughts seemed to chase each other often with no clear distinction between where one ended and another began. i say this. i shout this. LIKE THIS. like this. but maybe my words make nothing. it matters. do you hear?

When I'm Colin Meloy.. I look like this.

(see also: starving artist)

What I've been up to.

Zombie Poem

There is dirt on my hands
There is dirt in my mouth
There is dirt on pants
There is dirt in my shoes
There is dirt all over me
But I'm biting you

There is blood on my hands
There is blood in my mouth
There is blood on my pants
There is blood in your hair
But your head is in my mouth

Colin Meloy, 'eh? I see that.

" The Darklings "

In a quiet little town
beyond the cobblestone streets
where trees whisper the only sound
is the place where the Darklings meet

the Darklings dance in circles round
fire hot red bright and orange
their bare feet beat the muddy ground
while their familiars hunt and forage

adorned only in what they've found
patches of skin covered in leaves
and grass entwined in the brown
of their unruly hair weaves

sticks and mosses create a crown
tonight they are the queens of freaks
Darklings, they cry, the echoes abound
bouncing off the rocks and the trees

In a quiet little town
though the hour is black and late
the people pace and shiver
the Darklings, the fear, keeps them awake.

This is closer to sexy.

You're early she cooed with black lined
eyes, inviting me politely
beneath the yellow lamplight
pavement dark and slick with rain shined
as the lamp post sputtered brightly

An icy wind began blowing
so I pulled my collar closer
and she placed her lips by my ear
You're looking awfully fetching
and I believe I've got what you're after

Dirty dollars I gave her
and back to the brothel we went
above a smoky bar she bared
herself, her soiled dress
under the earthy bed we had shared

Unexpectedly she cried out,
her body went suddenly limp
her skin was still warm as I took
my hands from round her rosy throat
and from her still hands I recovered
the dollars I'd spent.

Based on a true story

"Amende Honorable"

Horses braying smoke streaming
steaming smoke out of their nostrils
chains are clanging crying hostile
rusty metal red shining
groans out in the black dark evening

One beast bound to each leg, each arm
whips cracking and lashing skin
torn from the bone the breast lay open
sulfuric lead boiled buried within
the torn flesh bleeds and in subtle alarm

Demains raises his bloodied head
have you anything to say
his eyes take in the gore but never look away
No sir, he determined said
No sir, quietly defiant.

The horses strain and pull the chains
muscles gleam with blood and dust
mud browns and dulls what the king cursed
Demains the regicide remains
add two horses and maim again

Have you anything to say
No sir, he determined replied
Nothing escaped his red lips
as they sawed his limbs away
and he bloodied and unbroken died.

toying with rhyme scheme and meter.

little girl with eyes so blue
why do you chase the wind so?
it slips between your fingertips
races ahead in the snow.

your cheeks are red with the cold
tendrils of smoke you exhale
chill under your windowsill
snuggle in the blankets pale

blue layer of comfort warm
little boots make rivers wet
adjacent to the door frame
oh child you are the regret

of summer. the sun wishes
it had kissed your pale cheeks
brown yet the wind so kisses
creully red your delicate cheeks

little girl with eyes so blue
why do you chase the wind so?
it whips harshly across your lips
and stings your skin with the snow.

Shitty poetry (what a shock?)

Becoming slowly what would seem
forever a step ahead
I called to you and what came
resounding back
echoes upon sound waves
sine waves upon fractals
you care
you love
me
but that's an illusion
smoke and mirrors and particles
dancing in the infared spectrum that makes up
my consciousness
Can I believe what I feel to be true?
I intuit a completely different level
than what you lead me to believe
yet I feel it
and I wish it
but aspirations and musings
have left me empty
gaping void desiring the slightest inclination of hope
but I see it
and I feel it
when I look into your baby blue view
please
s'il vous plait
don't leave me behind
where darkness and emptiness wait
I came expecting nothing
and I will leave empty handed
gladly
because I have stood in your shadow
at least through your specter I glimpsed the outline
of the corona
of what
could be

that is, if you could even
imagine
what would it be like
if you truly reciprocated me

"You can talk about anything, April. For hours. Can't you?"
- Nick

"This is April, she suffers from too much personality" - Matt Vercant

"Any drink, any gender, anywhere, anytime. That's her philosophy!" - Sean Lewis

"When April speaks, she takes a very long time to tell a story. And very deliberately, we always get there" - Professor Tim

remind you of this

wanted to say something
but the words wouldn't come
I thought about the times we had
when you and I were young.
We laid under the stars and told each other
that we'd be lovers
forever.
I don't know what you were thinking
when those words escaped your lips
but I meant it.

lingering effects of falling
madly in love with a stranger
include:
headache
a penchant for rainy evenings
a bed that's too big
side effects include:
bad poetry

Apologies, sir
the wind had shifted
neutrons and elections mingled in the currents
shaping up an alternative
short lived, as it was.

We know, we know.

My goodness, Toby is a handsome gent.

sealing wax enclosed beneath
an emblem of something past
my synapses were yours
through the post
and I wonder if you
keep them beneath an old sweater
collecting dust in a closet
not because I wonder if you think of me
but if you remember me
then perhaps my ink
and spirit
will remain an empty firepit
because I wouldn't have a mantle
after my flame was gone

"s"

singing sofly sonorously
subterrainingly
you seduced me
smooothly
silk
serpentine
smiles swiveling at the sides
of your lips
sweetly
sighing

A Spam Mail I Recieved that I wish I wrote

In between sips of a martini. support in your own code. you don't want to a design paddle pattern. (or worse, a flat tire), learned by those Most importantly,
of the best practices your time is too important at speaking the language You want to learn the and why everything

the next time you're neurobiology, cognitive and experience of others, will load patterns into your also want to learn the patterns that
applications. You
same problems. Decorator is something from alone. At any given moment, the "Trading Spaces" show. Head First book, you know

your brain works. Using at speaking the language in between sips of a martini. somewhere in the world (and too short) to spend science, and learning theory,
be wrong (and what alone. At any given moment, his stunningly clever use of Command, texts. If you've read a
of the best practices the latest research in
to use them (and when

how patterns are


you want to learn the (and impress cocktail party guests) advantage else. Something more
You're not environment. In other
With Design Patterns,

the latest research in


about inheritance might deep understanding of why and why everything when to use them, how
(and impress cocktail party guests) Decorator is something from
neurobiology, cognitive

the next time you're


patterns look in challenging. Something the patterns that be wrong (and what
(and too short) to spend Decorator is something from about inheritance might
neurobiology, cognitive Best of all, in a way that won't format designed for the way


own with your co-worker to use them (and when of Design Patterns so a book, you want the patterns that look "in the wild". that you can hold your
in between sips of a martini.
(or worse, a flat tire), "secret language"
You're not
(or worse, a flat tire), about inheritance might
neurobiology, cognitive

Decorator is something from deep understanding of why better at solving software Singleton isn't as simple as it Head First Design Patterns
someone struggles is so often misunderstood, when to use them, how you have. You know
to learn how those of Design Patterns so the patterns that with challenging. Something
want to see how
the same software
deep understanding of why learned by those so you look to Design own with your co-worker your brain works. Using

learned by those up a creek without you don't want to

design problems, and better want to see how
same problems. the patterns that the patterns that of Design Patterns so
You'll easily counter with your it struggling with academic
who've faced the

five years from now
when I say you wasted my time
what I'll really mean
is that I needed you to survive.

What I Wonder About You

do you drink coffee when you can't wake up
or when you can't sleep
how do you answer your phone
do you put a hand into the shower to test the water
or do you just know where to turn the knobs?
how do you make your bed?
are the sheets over or under the pillows?
What's the one word that always makes you laugh?
in what position do you lie to sleep?
what nickname did your mother have for you?
do you read the entire newspaper or just the comics?
how long do you take to feel comfortable
and will we be comfortable
will we be
anything at all

Today

the corners of my vision
crusted with the night
met the day with dark words

a tone
and then you were back
how does one rise from the dead
with such ease
not knowing how close they were

I existed without you for half an hour
Now I won't again.

What I Saw as I Sat in the Backseat

“Shadow Puppets”

There were shadows cast by lamplight (on the car)
you and she were talking
I watched your specter
circling
her shadow
they melded into one (on the car)
and I sat (in the car)
smiling for us

Cementing Our Friendship with a Black

I hear you’re a painter
Well I’ve always wanted to be colorful
But these empty spaces
Have no numbers
So you’ll have to improvise

You could paint me like the Sistine Chapel
get paint on your shoes
fingers
in my hair
Little spots of blue on white rubber soles

About the Grasshopper in Steinberg's Class Monday

little speck of green
perpendicular to my desk
swelling creaking sighing
I scoop you into my hands
prickly, your feet
into the world little speck
lost in the vernal land

attempt

cold bathroom tiles
frosty wooden beams
cuddled beneath a blanket

you're a wonder
rising and falling softly
wondrously sleeping
with your eyebrows knit

snoring but I don't mind
against the wall
pins and needles
my arm is
pins and needles

Sunday

Don't listen to my mouth
it wasn't doing what it was supposed to
the words came tumbling out faster
and cruder
mocking my best intentions.

I have told my mouth to apologize
but the words are tangled behind my gums
the tonsils are rebelling
my tongue has tied itself to the roof
and my teeth are chattering amongst themselves
ignoring pleas for attention

Don't hold my mouth against me
strangled syntax and verbs without objects
sentences sharpened to slice and maim
mutilated what I had meant to say
and I apologize for my inability
to quell my mutinous mouth.

Delicious

“Cup O’ Tea”

Steam.
A reflection in the spoon.
The sugar dissolves into the brown brew.
Add just a little milk.
It makes a submerged cumulus.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
Swirls chase metal.
Bring the liquid to twin pink petals.
Ah!
I feel the warmth slither down.
Sweet.
Still Herbal.
Return to rest position.
Clunk.
Repeat as desired

Clink.

“A Toast”

Our glasses clicked as our lips
made a silent toast
to our love
the unspoken words lay sweet
on our tongues
the syllables tumbling over and under each
other
shouting silent sentences
in our shared breath

Credo Quia Abusurdum

“On Reading a Poem from an Old Lover”

9-11-06

Pages yellow with age
ink that has turned brown(ish black)
I read the words that youwrote
when Passion.
took your delicate fingers (that I had held so softly)

You said you’d chosen me (always)
you never knew that I’d chosen you (for always)

now your delicate fingers (that I had held so softly)
are clasped in hers
and the golden ring of a
thousand broken (hearts)
promises
drowns out the din of what
might
have been.