In which I make 4 tries

Tomorrow the Dali Lama is going to be in town. So I am going to see him speak two days in a row. And then on Sunday, I'm going to go see Shoshana. I don't know that I should call it a date but I'd like to. Ah well. And I'm in and out of self-loathing. I'm just off like that.

I'm going to try for poetry tonight. It's been a while since I've worked on poetry or short story and I need to get back into the habit. That's where I'm strongest. So be patient. Whatever I post tonight will be a first draft. I'll even be open to suggestions for how to improve, ok?

Try 1
A cold snap of
frozen fingers with
the intention of attracting
some attention.
She is invisible
and it would be
more shocking then not
if someone really did look
and say anything but
"oh."

Try 2
Today, I found
my old worn out heart.
Your name
was still printed on it
and even thought I tried
I could not wash it out.
I hate you for
doing that to me.

Try 3
There was a yellow rock
careless on the ground
which a small girl kicked
and sent it flying into a bush
where it lay
waiting
because it knew
that there was something
waiting for it.

Try 4
We: are not more
then the sum of our parts.
We: protest and say
"Oh but I am, I am."
We: pretend not to know
that we are impossible.
We: fill our minds with
no thought and all fraud.
We: call the fake things real
and the real things fake.
We: cannot deny that
we are hopeless and that
we: are untimely killed
because we are no more
and much more
then we are.

Quote of the Day
A poet is an unhappy being whose heart is torn by secret sufferings, but whose lips are so strangely formed that when the sighs and the cries escape them, they sound like beautiful music... and then people crowd about the poet and say to him: "Sing for us soon again;" that is as much as to say, "May new sufferings torment your soul." ~Soren Kierkegaard