old poems... 18.7.08 |
"Old" being relative term.
Rime of the Mariner.
fuck these words,
it's not enough.
i sit and write
for about because of
you. you selfish sailor,
gloating in your glories:
whisper me words
of your sorrow
and paint a picture
wide and deceptive
as a false island--
a bastion of hope
in this doldrum of a life--
on the horizon
to show me your
sordid poetry.
leave me to my thoughts;
don't lie.
your deceit and siren song i
can't deny
so i drown in your painting
as you
o Valiant Sailor,
o Rescuer,
o Atlas! o Poet!
you watch the water
engulf.
and when the bubbles stop
you add another name
to your collection of victories,
to your trophies and conquests.
untitled.
I wish to you I could whisper
my infinite longings
my torrential desire
and have it pour forth
so that all you knew
and all i saw
burned with my love.
it stings the eyes
with its lacrimal passion
and the tears
ruin it all.