A Poetry Poem

I wish I could express

In speech as I do in writing

How much I feel about you,

How heavily I care,

How deeply you affect me,

And everything that means.

Mind to mind,

Or empathy to recognition,

In terms of verbal exchange

Is apt to be uncomfortable.

You can read my poems

And feel me more fully

Than you ever could’ve felt me

Face-to-face.

Extrordinary circumstances

Might expose our true emotions,

But the mundanity of self-consciousness

Prevents a simple telling.

I can try,

And occasionally do well,

But I’ve little hope of equaling

The context of the written word.

I love you.

Story Tellers

Watching words will read you,

Willingly or not. As it were,

We’re read as readers.

Eyes watching eyes see

Watching ourselves on T.V.

A subversive narrative is only

Narrative not yet subverted.

All writing is fiction as

All perceptions are hollow.

Naked words reveal nothing.

 

One thought fills immensity,

Well, it may as well,

As immeasurably limited is the Id,

The psyche soundly snug

In conceptual bliss.

Emptiness laughs to see

Loneliness subverted by such

Rationalized madness and

Imaginative beliefs.

Nature clings to anything,

Latching onto whatever’s present,

Precarious as it might be,

Only hoping to survive.

People pretend their whole lives,

Acting, dressing, watching, and telling.

At ease with their lies,

If at least it makes a good story.