mr. spock strikes out again

you know i was
fascinated by your
science at the mercy of
your math your
dizzying display of
decimals of pi but
you lost me at three point
there’s no proof
you can calculate to
keep me here (you wrote me
love letters or at least
i think that’s what they were
your code was
indecipherable and
i never saw you cry)

Welcome to Wisconsin!

this love is not
explosive it’s erosive it’s
sinking slowly like that
cabin in the dells leaning
every day a little more
toward those magnetic hills i never
made up my mind whether you
were the hills and i was the house
or vice versa i guess really we were
both reluctant tourists

(at the house on the rock we
saw six thousand
santa figurines we
rode the carousel we
walked into the infinity room and
i could see into forever
but you could only
feel it swaying in the wind)

under

we
danced next
to each other like
nothing had
ever happened

goodbye

my favorite
teenage midwestern
hero it was
fun while it
lasted

Those same old Washington Street blues

Did we ever occupy the same
Plane of existence you were in
One dimension I was in
Another well more like you were in
Two dimensions when I needed
Three when I needed some
Body not some
Pale flat imitation I haven’t even
Heard you speak in months and
I admit I miss our midnight
Conversations lines
Extending from your soul to mine
Bright light wires shining through
Our skins in the silver
Streetlight seemed
Un-dissolvable now they seem
Impossible how
Could we have ever sat so close
What made me tell you all my
Deepest darkest I don’t know
It must have been the weather or
Something I imagined in your eyes

sorry

about the unplanned/unannounced hiatus. We now return to your (semi)regularly scheduled blogging!

palm reader

Give me your hand
She said
And I will tell you your future
But
Not the bad parts

Meteoropsychology

All my attempts
To explain your behavior
Are more futile than
Apocalypse
Meteorology I could
Try to make sense
Of the things you do I could
Try to predict them but

You’re as inevitable
As the end of the world

1999

Hey girl
I heard you were a real
Apocalyptic mess
These days
Always throwing
End of the world tantrums
And making
Rapture love like it’s
December 2012 baby we’d better
Stock up on toilet paper
It’s the currency of the future
Or else Twinkies
Like in that zombie movie
With all the rules
But you
Only have one rule and that’s
To drink till Armageddon
Doesn’t sound so bad
(If I told you I loved you
You’d just laugh
And say it doesn’t matter)