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ten·dril (těn'drəl) n. - a twisting, threadlike structure by which a twining plant grasps an object or a plant for support. i read your palm without ever seeing your hand... and i'll tell you the half of it. the rest will have to wait and see ...if you ask me. you insist there is no reason to but still your mind stays glued on the ended possibilities you were too scared to believe. i'll start by telling you the tale we never got around to... just playing sally down your alley you took it too seriously and withdrew a test was the "deep-see" fishing you passed then failed recess now this line was never to be crossed but you must have turned and tossed into early maturity to fill another need you've still refused to fill, indeed. see, secrecy was everything, and this game important to material captivity. ...at least that's what i see when you saw jeopardy. this line is your line of retreat... instead of on to your beach martinis it branches off, a tree of endless complications, no vacations, and the end of perfect, perfect things, but i cannot say more as to the chance of change as that is still your call and the record shows, you'll likely proceed to haltingly follow along. and if you stretch your hand wide enough to cover the view of all the world but the plot you answer to then you can see the line you toe the line you don't see below. the line you can't get beyond. the line you will hang yourself on. now that the chance has gone. ~'~ jan. 28, 2008. |
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you will arrive here someday looking for a clue or two a hint that i might miss you and suppose i do... what then? are you finally aware or still scared of your own shadow? so timorous, you turned a tease into a terror and a reason to never think of things outside your designated limitations. you needed. you need. else you would not be here looking for me and hoping, somehow, you are somewhat less intrigued somewhat less bereaved of the what ifs and what isses and the misreads... a blind man could see you not move a breath and dive into the depths of the coldest sea in your soul when i touch you your voice hiding hope of something unhoped for not in the plan the cyclone to pick you up from your perfect plot and mow down your picket fence and loose the horses. "...you can believe whatever you want to." and i do ... indeed. i see doors people need unlocked and i have a mighty ring of keys. ~’~ march 24, 2008 |
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i find it amusing how many times a day i still think about you but unsadly, and i don't 'pine' for you or wish for if-not-fors. instead, i think of those thoughts as tiny blowdarts for your bygone heart. all of a sudden you are melancholy and wondering... and i have just poured a 7-Up as a toppered-truck goes by the window in your shade a belly full of jellies and i am wearing my baby blue shirt. the radio is full of work songs...toolbelts turn me on, and you put the hammer down on any notion that you might even recall my scent of vanilla, earth, and herb...and act like you never heard me sing and that i never made you question everything while i laugh at an empty glass and make you my prose-Jody ...immortalizing nothing. may 25, 2008 |
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you never had to act to prove me wrong or right. i know about fantasies... my mouth was the very fuck-it-all, music to your desperate soul. my arms were the apathetic limbs of freedom without obligation. between my legs was sweet, pure rebellion. you never had to act on it to be with me. that wasn't the point. but you missed it ... entirely. i am everything you thought...too right to be real too unreal to be true so bad...so good for you. so, too bad. too bad for me, and you, and us and we and all the things we never had to be --- defined like that. i'm. just. guessing. here. but... fear is larger than longing and desire is less functional than dotted lines. and my admiration at your self-denial is tempered with disappointment that i might have actually been so very wrong. ...but i still believe that i can believe anything i want. ~'~ |