ignorance is bliss.

Would I have been
better off
if I had not known
how wrecked I am without you?

Would it have been better
to stay on my
straight and steady course?

Can I move forward
despite this sinking,
sinking feeling?

You, the anchor
that pulls me
to deeper waters.

un-bend-ing.

You favor crooked pathways,
while I prefer the straightest course.

But can I reel you in,
or will I have to bend my footsteps to meet yours?

imparfait.

I have recently come to the conclusion
that I love imperfection.

I revel in filth,
in grime,
in the dregs of life
at the bottom of my tarnished cup,
in the Destroyed,
and the remnants of
beauty.

And despite all this,
I thrive on the ability of
the Good to bleed through
all of this.
And soak it
in some sort of meaning.

And that may have something to do
with the way I feel about you.

So, in my quest
to be more rational
about everything,
I've discovered that
verbal communication
is not my strong point.
The written word,
on the other hand,
may be
my best friend.
Complemented by intense contemplation
and the breakdown of
life
into its smallest components.

And time.

Oh, yes, lots of that.

poem.

Immortality
in black and white.
Serifed or sans.
The reduction of
all-that-I-am
to this collection of
disembodied words.
Can all-that-I-feel
be expressed
in a string of letters?
Or is this simply another
lame attempt at
leaving a mark?
A stain
that will be smudged out
by the next passerby...

breach.

A schism between mind and heart and body.
Refractory.
Irreclaimable.
Electric.
Oblivious, you are,
but you hold the reins.
You pull the lever
that rends me in pieces.

You tear me to shreds.

hesh.

"Love is blind,"
they say.
And I know that the body is only a vessel
containing truths greater than itself.

So why
am I so hung up
on exteriors?