Friday, October 10, 2008


where does my smoke go when I exhale
and why do you always know what will
make me smile? The grievance I have
with my Grandfather is inside of me.
Unreality then harshness. Brutal.
My honesty cuts through. Abstract.
Relief of senses and intimacy.
We have an immature relationship.
Just telling you about me,
I am tearing myself apart. You
should be asking me. It's all
in my mind. I am mad. What is
your real name and why do I know
you so well? Don't you want to
know? Why won't you let me tell
you? Just look at me and ask.
Always caught between myself.
Which should I be right now?
Eyes change dark to flourescent
every day. Every day, Every day.
Singularity, clarity, few.
You know there is no influencer
now? I threw it in the trash.
Folded in two. Like midnight
they came and went. Illuminated
and space. Onto your ciggarrettes.
Lost at darkness, not. Better
able to see with the eyes open.
Your floating, peeping in, I like.
Would love to see you more. You
looked small today, shocked. I
could kiss you. Would kiss you.
Want to. None better time than
in spirit. But not again, this
mix of real. Which one is it?
Romanced by something I can't
understand. Now that interference
is immaterial. Shouting, louder.
Me, on me, myself, who now?
Getting there. Paint a picture.


William Michaelian said...

And what a glorious picture it is.

Rachel said...

gracias! Once it is dry, I'll take a better picture of it.

William Keckler said...

You have this ability to speak to the natural in its own strange language.

I wonder if you know, like Kyger?

She's another rarity like that.

This is beautifully (t)ruthful writing.