Archive for the 'ovillejo' Category


Won’t Be Long

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I hurt.  I can't help but show it.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He knows it.
⠀⠀⠀⠀He's so sad.  I tell him don't be.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀It won't be
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀that tragic.  It won't be wrong,
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀won't belong
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀to what we've had.  Be strong,
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I tell him, don't think of it as going dead, not
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀when we've still so much future ahead, yet
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀he knows it won't be long.
                                   [posted for Sara as of date written]


                            I'm through. My word. Will it go on?
                        Not gone…
                     I'm out. My dream. Will it touch anyone?
                            Not done…
              I'm blank. My kiss. Will it die unknown?
                                Not alone…
       I'm lost. Change? Good or bad, overblown.
           Do tell them, love, what all I've written down
           if but to keep some scrap of me around —
                                       not gone, not done, not alone.


Work Word & Friend

                     "Be true to your work, your word, and your friend."
                                   — Henry David Thoreau
              Looking for a duty you can easily shirk?
       Try messing with my work.
           Want a promise you can laugh at as absurd?
              Try mocking my word.
        Need commitment as deserted as a dead end?
                     Try taking on my friend.
     These three I'd give life all over again to defend.
       Its truth's in what it's for, not what it's against,
       not by what's died dead, but through what's commenced:
                            my work, my word, my friend.

Dread Aubade

                        Neighborhood's stirring. Meaning soon we wake.
                  it easy. When it comes time to, I'll help pack.
            in bed, you. Come let's turn our dream back on.
      will turn it off behind us after you're gone
         leaving me a day dropping in as unanticipated
            as being forgotten. God, of all you've created,
                                 take back dawn!


On Getting Out

                        Half of me tries to scream, the other half
                  at myself. What would I care about
            there, the noise of a mindless crowd
      enough to silence mine in a colorless cloud?
         So I should get out? relax? break a smile?
            I can do even better than that! Watch, I'll
                                          laugh out loud.


Before I Forget

                        Dried dirt. No cash. Twenty one more
                  the turn. Black ice. Conditions why
            run dark. Thrown free. Run straight yet
      to look the right direction. Wet
         to my skin. Twenty more and then
            I break sharp left. Let me know when,
                                          before I forget.


For Your Poetry, Love

                        It doesn't need clean meter or clear rhyme.
                  not that into form. I'm in it more 
            how your voice makes your language fit
      into the edge of a moment I'll not quit.
         You speak, and I can't wait til we undress.
            It may not be poetry to you, but hell yes,
                                          I'm for it!

formal attire

short of breath

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  • all of it in good hands, as will be my child - thank you ○ 5 years ago
  • all of it now handed over so I can conserve remaining strength for my final creation ○ 5 years ago
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