agesxracer

There are no sides by which to stand.  At one point I was a better person, so I am.  Corwin: where is my suicide note?  I ask from the shaking stick at moon rambling tremors.  Remember that only poetry isn't.  Can someone help me climb out of this?  Crusted flatware on my writing desk.  Tony: I've never been afraid of you, just that you might be right.  Or correct, rather: right from the right.  The next time I see a mirror I'm going to break down.  Every second is precipitous.  Only in the last few days have senile-precocious thoughts sewn my disasters together.  But communication isn't allowed and tragedy does not exist.  However, Madison saw through the farce.  Perhaps if I ever edited anything.  There is nothing worth working towards at this point.  I want to break down and hold someone.  I just want to hold someone or to be held.  Corwin: where is that letter I wrote you?  I love our truck stop memories and you too nameless.  I'm so terribly sad.  Is this the life I chose?  I'm not going to lie: I have nothing to be sad for.  Who followed me to the top rung?  Corwin:  I need those shoes back.   

badoooooooooooooooooooo boop badooooooooooooooooooooooo
bed jumping to follow!
up over on the (CLIK-CLACKE-CLIK)  get the bowl down:
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu
something's snapped!  i remember
CLAKCLAKCLAKCLAKCLAK
what to fix however
the decrescendo the tap which is what i love most
because as words itisimpossible to find a meter
rock-back-and-forth
want to find beneath the keysssss below
the decressssssssssendo
maybe i should sing all the time now i am singing can't you hear the melody?

You fall off a great stuttering cliff with a thousand monkeys watching from the leafy highlands of Ethiopia and only marvel at the beauty you experience in a fall like this—noticing every burling crack and crevice, every startled ibex beneath changing its footing to avoid being smashed by your tumbling body.  Chuckling, you reach for branches after realizing how you actually fell from the cliff side (you slipped in fox dung), but these attempts are in vain as the velocity at which you are falling is much too much to stop a flailing, plummeting human—any branch you actually are able to get a hold of is simply stripped of its waxy leaves.  Noticing the river bed coming up fast beneath you, you sense that your nose and eyes are streaming with snot and tears respectively, not only forced from your face because of the immense speed of descent, but because of the joy in realizing that this is how you will actually die.  You only wish you hadn't abandoned the hunting party in the glut of that phantom zebra.  This wish is borne from a voyeuristic sadism you are sure would be felt in all that could see you plummet into the muddy river.  The hunting party also has the cameras, the computers and the wireless link up, all of which are needed to prove this death to corporate in the morning.  

Check out myspace.com/oxenidaho to listen to the beginnings of our new band, Oxen.  

Once again, that's

myspace.com/oxenidaho

You -
There is nowhere to begin beside an acute reference to my much revisited apology:  I'm sorry.  I'm sorry for forgetting, I'm sorry for remembering things that don't matter, for noticing discrepancies (that I later magnify to redundancies), I'm sorry for the guilt.  I love you.  And it is very wrong of me to pour such irrelevant tendencies upon you; this, you and I, us, we are so much more.  After all the patience you have provided me, your lips dripping with the words of queens, a continued tendency towards the regardless: "I love you."  And I do.  This is no lie.  A one page letter-poem only reveals how blank and two-sided our sometimes black & white love can be - but you understanding these words will multiply their significance by each forceful beat that our hearts share.  You are me.