lyrics about a girl who draws

You wink and say you feel alone but won’t stay. Made a drawing of me, a drawing of us beside a drawing of the day.

You charged night, feeling far from home until you watch heavy on your face peeling.

Sad caresses, but you let me go as far as I can, far as I can fall. We skim along the surface, rocks skipping, lakes and all.

We walked through the tall grass to a drainage ditch behind your house.
Go there to be alone as a kid. In love in this spot—is it all better closer to your house?

a few words about love and nothing

Jonahthinice 

I fell in love with a hurricane, with the sweet warm evening
If nothing because there's nothing
Time and distance blossoms pleasure to cut, cut, cut through you

 

Note: Haiku form

 

Jonahthinice 

love sweet warm evening
time distance blossoms pleasure
to cut, cut through you

 

a poem, sort of, for a morning in winter

Sunshine in the rear-view mirror in your eyes breaks lines on the wave. Scolds coldly you on the rooftop for time though you are only a victim of sunrise and its move to reverse space. Down how many stairs and salt lakes on landings he steps into. Routine trap. Cutting you down and to wish south where one can be reborn.

Nobody talks to you, it's just how people describe you after you shuffle past. Outside with dormant sedans, see stars float like fall’s leaves in the creek.

No more people are knowing about you now. Who lost everything could always return and hug the trees like family.

The list is thousands long. It will follow you all the way. Tell me about breaking your will and what needs to happen, what you belong to.

 

exercise of lost inspiration

The only one here in the dream, I claim no doubt that could sound. So, lucky guy, the world is perfect the way it is—asleep in the bathroom at the gas station I worked inside your writing.

 

What I need best to think of the old days. Ears drip blood on the floor when he is thinking about you. In bed, living and waiting, breathing how I'll miss you.

 

The second person to follow me is the lunatic here signs his problem and goes though we both know we have only to be desirable in real life.

one poem of mine

pure you

Pilgrims' perfect beasts go to disaster
find pureness and love
one thing left only
there to find if we all choose the same thing she'll be gone
could there be so many? did you know you can get one?

a note about the creative class

He steps out of his luxury car, the silver lining. Wears wide-striped shorts, derby, and thin necktie. Walks into the diner, head up in a cloud of blood.

She drinks from a Gatorade bottle of vodka and blueberry-flavored caffeinated water. Litters the streets, watching at the window again in orange kite time.

(posts) a poem, "Love Poem With Toast"

Love Poem With Toast
    —Miller Williams

Some of what we do, we do
to make things happen,
the alarm to wake us up, the coffee to perc,
the car to start.

The rest of what we do, we do
trying to keep something from doing something,
the skin from aging, the hoe from rusting,
the truth from getting out.

With yes and no like the poles of a battery
powering our passage through the days,
we move, as we call it, forward,
wanting to be wanted,
wanting not to lose the rain forest,
wanting the water to boil,
wanting not to have cancer,
wanting to be home by dark,
wanting not to run out of gas,

as each of us wants the other
watching at the end,
as both want not to leave the other alone,
as wanting to love beyond this meat and bone,
we gaze across breakfast and pretend.

 

a poem about making music

Mid-40s, playing guitar

 

Dissonance and distortion hid subtlety
And, subtly, dissonance and distortion hid
I got old, and I believed I would
But did not feel it until it happened
Music roams

  home roams never to mine
Now I have no sound other than
  what the sound is
    of passing time