quasi_sean

we fucked in love for days
when days were smaller
and the morning after
shined simplicity
on our already
frozen smiles

you held the wine
in one slender hand
and poured fuel
to our fire

when the sheets curled
to the ceiling
lost example
of true romance
in the storybook
could never capture
what i feel for you now

and when the music stops
the...
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teh lovely poem written hunched over a bar.....

unbalanced
oblivion
& the opening
of the world
to despair

I saw
twelve deliveries
of disaster
roaming
the majestic hall
of disguise

I cannot accept
the poetry as
promise
w/out time to
indulge fantasies
of nothing

the pagoda
is a collection
of memories
that
reflect
a disease
smile
melancholy girl
& the memories are--

oh, the lonely...
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no perfect world to be imagined thru out the time i spent admiring the walls of the afterglow in minutes i will become something better while the earth moves on past me i would be content to sit in the coffin breathing laughter among the willing and the lost w/out a blanket to hold on to i smoke ten cigarettes together and think of poems...
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it's a cold motel in December...

there were good times littered thru out this life--times that glowed and i floated thru my days euphoric and everything beneath the galaxy was possible no distortions allowed only hope that was pure and virginal and defined a child's dreams. there we sat together, cudding near tombstones or swimming careless in the river--

and the mountains.
they lurk w/smiles....
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search my matchbooks when i'm gone or discover these on postcards from the shore.

01
you stuttered in your steps
make twisted like my sun
has become
in this summer
will plague me forever

02
perhaps there are reasons for insanity shockwaves that fuck me and smile in frozen prose. here are the stars, my dear... do what you will.

03
if you leave me...
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can you see me thru those foggy eyes to tell me you love me and wake me up when it's all over and the last bit of beer is gone from our mouths and w/cotton laughter we speak of how great it could be when we were together and no matter of the plans of the summer i'll speak thru a hazy wine glass in...
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the moon calls you an appetite that is insatiable and you're calling me from a phone booth, disguised, taped off for the utmost privacy the door has closed and the injuries are buried for forever---

the phone rang and what picked it up was a hand connected to nothing.

"Hello?"

"It's about that time for answers."

So I went off to the desert, acid wet-dreams...
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Lonely teardrops for all your sad, unloved issues
that given the chance I could forsee them becoming
a great song that will be translated into fifty-hundred
languages.

you need to realize that majical computers will never take the spirit from the lovely weooden typewriters of the past...... . . SSSSSLOOO BOYS...OH the years behind us.

and what to do with those disrepectful apathetic--

BRATS!ASSHOLES!CHEAPBUMMINGOFFTHEIR FAMILIES...
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he hopes you understand. it's 6 o' clock in the morning where he's calling your name out to the sun that still hides behind the downtown buildings.

open his eyes (slow) peel back the smiles and metaphors that are leaving these burns on his arms as he holds a shaky hand over the paper--trying to write the letter--this poem to her who once loved him...
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the moon was four hrs. from standing when i sat on the driveway w/her and she begged me not to go but the Catholic scream came from nowhere and suddenly I found myself trapped in brick walls screaming to the sun that snuck in thru transparent curtains while i watched the mentally challenged sling their shit at the hospital guards and played Nintendo like he...
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