Plain American Language

I cut a sliver/of WC William's finger
and placed it inside/my philosophy...

Thursday, June 23, 2011

(no title) (i think this is unfinished, and could be added on to) (inspired by Arda Collins "Over No Hills")

And in the deepest
sense, I am looking
for companionship, which for days
and, perhaps, all of March til May,
I had rationalized or
imagined as the recollected
amalgamations of the hands of
two old lovers--
I'm a bit of a cat-burglar in that sense
and freely admit
this at a coffee shop next to
an opened computer
finished latter and two strips of paper
curling around and over themselves--
I read through
so many of my old college papers
looking for something scholarly--
thinking of language and love,
now and then
thinking of the inconceivable
facebook status (wintry,
porcupine-esque, desired, fulfilled,
scared, rounded out,
proud and reasonable, pencil-
thin, as a mollusk
climbing on thin blades of
grass, looking at pretty
girls) but punctuated--
I think I should not eat my words
anymore, I think
I should be putty on the wall:
don't you use it to hang
things, to maneuver and tear
into use for the pleasure
of making your
house a home?

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