Falling into Sunrises

December 16, 2010

You make me want to write bad poetry.
Roses are red, violets are blue
Instead of tying up angels.
Glossy oil over marble Michelangelos.
Or even jazz that sings from horns.
Normally it's sex. Or death. Or those interconnections.
You make me want to dumb everything down,
You vacuous gelatin mind.

You make me feel less abnormal.
By the way,
I think I hate you for that.
There's something to be said for anti-insanity presences.

I want you to listen to my lip syncing, listen hard. Close your eyes,
Damn'it:

Sunrise's burn the waking eyes,
there's painful last breath as you die.
Clouds will touch you,
and although you won't feel,
You know by the tip of your tongue,
They do.
Earth may fold me in an embrace,
but not now, not now.
Today,
I feel your breath on my neck.
Stronger and warmer.
Ready for me to retrace.