i don't know if i can but i'm trying i really am i swear that i'm trying

but i still don't really know

the night was crisp and clear and everything and i mean every little thing looked straight out of a movie

and i wish that i could have shown you exactly how the light looked as it silhouetted those trees

and i wish that i could properly describe how thick the dark was

and if i could tell you properly how the air was pregnant with the smell of jasmine i would

and if i could really describe how alive i felt and how real i felt for just one second i wish, god i'd kill to be able to tell you properly

because i often don't really feel very real

and when i see i see in longhand

and when i think i think in free-verse

and its unfortunate because sometimes i fear that i seem simple

but i'm actually making terrifyingly important calculations that may or may not have to do with the rotation of the earth, may or may not have to do with a secret midget propelling cannon the government is working on and may or may not save each and every one of your lives someday

one day i'm going to change the world

being static is being dead

i'm wondering what this silence means

i wish i could make a concotion in a blender with only natural ingredients to make my head be a-ok

lets go have a picnic beneath and angry statue of pierre trudeau

his frowning face can watch us as we eat grilled cheeses he really has no interest in

i'm on fire in a metaphorical metaphysical way

the monotony is beginning to take its toll

i think that one day i'm going to take a pocket of the night and open it up and wrap it around myself. fold myself into it into a nice neat something

and see where the fold in the night takes me

i

am

going

to

change

the

world

i want to make a nostalgic reference to some year when i wasn't born

possibly a year when i wasn't even a glimmer in someones eye

like, 1978. i want to be nostalgic about a time when i didn't exist

i heard birds chirping at 4 am again last night

i want to go to the museum and have a playdate with the dinosaurs

i'd bring peanut butter and jelly but i'm allergic

maybe i'll make grilled cheese

this post feels terribly uninspired

i want to lie down in the middle of my street in the middle of the night and pretend that i'm the only person within a one hundred mile radius

one day i want to sleep in the middle of an art museum and maybe soak up all of the creativity and magic and maybe at some point really late in the night the people in the paintings could come out and play or maybe they'd invite me inside and i could be a part of the art because i think thats all i want to be really i think i just want to be a part of the art

be its limb

or appendage

agent

i don't know

wow do i ever not know

and i think not knowing is probably an okay way to be

but then again

maybe its not

as i previously stated

i

don't

know

i want to run somewhere far

somewhere really really really far

away

just get far far away from everything and run and run and run and run

and maybe write a story about it someday

i want desperately to be prolific. to mean something. i want to leave a mark or something. i don't want to be pastel. i don't want to be easily forgotten

when i die i want people to wonder how the hell that would be possible

because i always seemed to be so utterly immortal

this is the part where common sense is supposed to kick in

sub popular beat poetry kick from 92-95

we could have been big-time
we could have been neon burning celebrity bright as anything

i would very much like an affirmation of normalcy

i think i want to die anonymous, away from everyone i know

because maybe just maybe that could spare them some sadness

summer nights are the only thing we'll ever want to know

let go let go let go

it'll be better for everyone once this is all said and done and the dust has settled

i don't want to be what i was before

overreact to this

betray something for once in your star spangled life

kick drum snared me from the get-go

this pen sucks

i often often fear i will die alone

contradict yourself once a day, its good for your illiococcal sphincter

i wrote her a song but she wasn't deserving of it and it took me so many years to figure that out.

it was in the middle of the afternoon and i had probably skipped art history yet again and i don't know why she was there and it didn't mean a thing to any party involved.

one time i'd like to follow up

follow-spotlight to the moon where your eyes shine eternal

i could be a poet if they let me

i like to hide my feelings from others because i don't want.....

because it scares me to no end to really let someone know me

this song reminds me of you as do most songs and you're getting inside of me and i hope thats okay

new order has a new record coming out

rock and roll

electronica pop recordings made to please you, me and your great uncle fred

this pen really does blow

we all used to dream about this place together

utopian super society where each and every street name is a cleverly made beatles reference.

on occasion we would listen to that velvet underground record with nico on it

we'd have trees. massive, enormous firs and poplars and spruces and maples

we would have our own tree and nobody would know it was ours but us.

we'd make smart aleck comments and get praise for it as per usual

the grass would be green and thick and some days we'd take off all our clothes and roll down hills and laugh at things only funny to us because we'd unwittingly become perfect

waterfountains with pineapple soda

in our big bay windows we'd hang pollocks and renoirs and degas and van goghs and dalis because we already know what outside looks like

the word utopia was created by thomas more to name his idea of a perfect society

it is the title of the book

we'd be perfect, we'd be perfect all of us

silhouetted sadness can creep through the blinds sometimes

can i examine your heart?