poetry. and it's not a response poem, ok?

storm clouds and street weather,
i gather up my heavyness
and i make my bad
weather rain clouds in my
own room, i
grow them up and
i sail them out, out
my window, someone is
watching, someone is eating
someone is seeing my
secret nights and the eyes
in the windows and the
streets and the streetlight and
the trees, that's how i know
you're there.

because this is the thing:
i am young and i am
inexperienced but you know,
somethings come
when you are burning down cities.
and you and your affection,
i tripped over it when
i was burning down rome and playing
my fiddle. and how you rhapsodize about
what you must expect, what
we must look forward too


sometimes, sometimes
i think you know
nothing at all.



life, my series of instructional videos
and self-help sing alongs
and grey-faced mentors, life
has outwitted each one and
so when you try, i
have to laugh and point out
there is no

absolute experience.






i've never experienced your love
but i know what to look for.