beet stained hands

it's all a mystery to me

sometimes there are things you don't want to be true but they just are

sometimes you have to stick around too long to find that out

sometimes you shake your head and wonder why people go to the trouble of lying when there's not even a pot of gold at the end of their proverbial rainbow

sometimes you wonder why desire and ego are always stronger than knowing deep in your gut

an everything revealed to be so much of a nothing it doesn't even seem worth saying goodbye

"You told me about nowhere well it sounds like someplace I'd like to go..."

listen

that was some moon...
my hands, my eyes are dry
so tired
too tired to try and figure any of it out

black spring

not mine

we both collect scraps of mad genius and save it for later

one day...

do you know i do this too?
you must

i said what i said about signs but then this morning a man with a wolf backpack
(who has ever heard of such a thing?) in a suit went tap dancing down the street
til he disappeared under the bridge and vanished from my sight

clearly he was trained
and out of his mind
(or lost inside it)

joy in glimmers and wishes and memories
spun

grey

thinking so much tonight about how we say nothing because otherwise we'd have to say everything

he says they're only interested because i represent danger and escape
i guess the one who figures out i'm the opposite, wins
(or loses...depending on the ring on his finger)
we all felt it tonight...
"sadness lives in the bones of our hands"

fight the urge to make him the only one in the room

forget,
return,
disappear,
wait

care enough not to care

it wasn't such a bad day after all
one never knows
i hold my tongue and maybe the tides shift in my favour

should i be insulted that one of the others thinks i should hook up with fat, ugly, old men?
smart and sensitive isn't enough
can he rip an apple in half with his bare hands?

plagued by visions of the son i will never have
expensive wine masks this sadness
i am able to laugh today

if he ever knew me at all he'd know that was my way of saying goodbye

if I could start again...

after several years of close observation, i have come to recognize the following pattern regarding the characteristics of all men who become interested in me:
- substance abuse issues
- mentally ill
- still in love with the woman who broke his heart, even if he doesn't have one
- has already had his kids and/or is determined not to have any (more)

i almost asked you last night
what i should have done instead...

i can see the train wreck coming again
a million miles away

i have to stop reading the signs because people call me crazy when i do
especially when they're the ones who put them out

i'm feeling the need to apologize to all kinds of people who have done me wrong

hypocrite
words have meaning
except when i don't want them to

it's better when there are no mirrors
i really do prefer to be alone...
except when it gets lonely