The Way My Pen Fell

We don't talk as much as we should
most days.
So when the breeze blows
I mistake it for your voice.
You were real once
and you used to glow,
but now I can never find you
lost somewhere below.
So I turn to what I know:
a happy hypothetical in verse or rhyme.
I only write half
of every thought on my mind
because the rest is hard to translate
and I'm at a loss for time.
But my muse is hiding
under a smoke screen
and a dirty mask
so my limerick
turns blasphemous fast.
This isn't the story
I intended to tell;
this is just the way my pen fell.

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Expect a few new poems in relatively quick succession. I can't promise that, but I've had lines building up in my head for days and I can't mesh any of them together, so they'll all wind up being separate works.

This one is about people who disintegrate.



[For Jess...I have a new one: 'disintegrAAAaaaaatioooon.']







"In the days when you were hopelessly poor, I just liked you more." The Smiths Half A Person

"So you think it out on paper, hypothetical and safer." Kevin Devine This Box Is Empty

"You know you're walking around with a mask on, and you desperately want to take it off and you can't because everybody else thinks it's your face." Dr. W. H. R. Rivers via Pat Barker Regeneration, page 242.

"When you set the table, when you chose the scale, did you write a riddle that you knew they would fail? Did you make them tremble so they would tell the tale? Did you push us when we fell?" David Bazan When We Fell