iHedge

of all the universe of things there is to want, I want a better thing to compare my tiny want to than the universe.

in a little while we'll find our pieces white walls splattered with our voies, spirits moving. we might forge forward; or not. we can. body believing wings; we believe in God. stellar constellations are dots we must connect to. we might love the cold wind. we might cry. spirit,  soul,  body: three's  company.

my bony mind my rattling blood my fluctuating skin I'm empty out. I 'm smooth away I'm tenderizing tin

Imma floral faced child grey goosed smoking style lace necked wheelchair wild midnight grazing wal-mart aisles crack at whippin' smile-smiling.

As a child I wrote proficiently, coated with a little rhyme here (more like a spitball than paper-mâché), an underhand synonym there, and lo! it was poetry! but i twisted adolescent trained my spine to snap to att ention with each stripped emotion Am I now an adult? or still just a child? Alliteration comes easy, and often when riled I fling a few verbs and an adjective through This copper colander I've clambered into. writing's a let loose, a waving of worry a grasper of image when the real chest (so hoary!) escapes me. rhyme 'r no rhyme, though these metric feet cripple, I'll hobble - screw merit

a foaming mouth a raging soul spastic teeth chewing at my stomach phlegm and synonyms ripping through my clenched mouth I'll make this personal, I'll make a pile of steam and raw meat pre-rolled in grey matter hand-carved, half-digested holy mother of God, I hate poetry.

Corners opened, a shift of decor and look at all this air.   My hands find handprints   to align into   on these walls. It's late. It's late and my brain marshmallows out of my ears, into a downy coverlet of grey and white.   Opening up the   cardboard forms of my thoughts, - here I go - oh dreams,   fall lushly tonight:   I'm half-lidded and loving.

I imagine two lives, as lines, (you and I - we always did love intertwining). I see a blended future, a blur of roses and vines and treehouses holding our soft and whispered secrets. I wish we had met in vintage dress, a world war ahead and a decade of cold and dust at end.

You bulge of muscle, blunt as steel and triple my size - tenderness coming down from your mouth is enough to make me fall and quake. Cup your hands around my face tonight in sleep, hunk. swallowed in creaking leathered arms gently touched, for fear of crushes

can't wait to dip a brush in water, cappilary action causing color to seep and soak my stretched one hundred and forty pound paper into loose beauty. black bones of trees creepy in the night a thousand drug addicts lurking, needles pinning themselves to branches above my head. I breathe and they dissipate, filtering through the tribal-dancing trees into reality.