03.26.03 . 8:15 a.m.
169: Look out for my Love

"There's a lot to learn for wasting time. There's a heart that burns, there's an open mind."

-Neil Young

This morning...despite my bones shifting and squeaking from lack of affection from my skin..despite the inability to open my eyes fully..despite the tiny pain in the center of my belly from hunger...despite poems drenched in memory...i feel good.


"Silver wings of morning, shining in the grey day."

The weather is gorgeous these days. Last night was cold, and when i say cold, i simply mean light jacket weather. This morning, it's much of the same. i still havent taken my jacket off. i dont feel as lost as i did a few days ago.

maybe its the idea that things are always and forever changing. three weeks ago, i might have been torn over things, or torn up over things...but these days, i forgot what that was all about in the first place.

now, theres just fingerprints on my skull from pulling my hair out. but my hands are resting at my sides or on my hips, and my hair is just fine.

i feel a need to clean my teeth, since i can bring myself to smile.


"Now, I see love there on the empty side of my bed."

Though my insides glow and feel like neon lights, i still find it difficult to wake up in the morning. I find it hard to peel my body off of the sheets, and even harder to turn the Hot & Cold nozzles in the shower.

its my lack of sleep. my lack of dreaming that makes my body ache at 6am.

if i could just rest assured and easy, things wouldnt be so hard when the alarm sounded off.


"I had a plan that was built on thinking to long."

Im analytical. Ive told two people that in the last two days, and the more I hear myself say it, the more and more evident it becomes.

"but this makes us who we are...you, in your neurosis..thats you..."

i begin to disect things until very little remains. i read poems outloud to the walls in the apartment, and i kick my heels backwards and call out names to the ceiling when i read.

the more i read, the less they mean to me.


it kills what is real in this life.


"This room with a view, and so much of you, it's so far from here."

my telephone screams in the middle of the night, and when the ringer isnt off, i pick up the phone, and in a hushed whisper, i ask how you are.

you're always tired and you're always on the verge of falling asleep.

you sound the most beautiful when your voice is quiet.

i can hear the fluctuations of your speech, and feel a little bit closer to where you are sleeping and it warms my body in a cold, cold bed.


"Falling like a silent paper, holding on to what may be. And I only hear the rain."

I've learned to let go. its the truest form of love that i've ever known.


"Turning now, I see no reason, the voice of love so out of season, I need you now, but you can't see me now."


back . forth