sketch 7

a powerless design,

everyone sees themselves

in every you-turned phrase.

she spilled her flirt table-length:

"girls dream of being poems"

i

keep telling these

twelve point confessionals

that poems

dream of girls to emulate.

in the better parts of

empty beds, words are tired

of becoming failed promises

so they hold out for abstraction,

to be the amalgam of hair

colors and perfumes. . .

an influence over low tides only,

no longer a slave to heart-string

gravity

poems are as fickle as their

authors,

and

hold grudges, too--

deadpan meditations on solitude,

rhetorical

rehearsals stonewall silence,

to toss their turns into the

knotted bellies of sleeplessness:

a

girl

with

many

names,

none of which

containing or

implying you.

night sountrack:

kings of leon aha shake heartbreak; jeff buckley sketches for my sweetheart the drunk; jesse malin messed up here tonight; rolling stones exile on main street; nick cave and the bad seeds let love in