Come, clever man, come closer.
Turn your handsome face towards this treasure.
This is no ripe tomato doomed to rot,
this is an appreciating ruby.
Here, I’ll let you touch it. Feel its warmth, see how powerful the squeezes are, listen to its beat,
a rhythm of masterpiece.
It’s priceless–how can you not want it?
There are other bidders you know, but you look like a keeper,
I like you,
so come back, wait!
Because I don’t want you to miss the opportunity of a lifetime,
I’ll dance push-pull advance-withdraw to make this sell even at my loss, really,
so don’t walk away.
Here, I’ll give it to you cheap.
Don’t turn your handsome face away.
Take it,
you’ll thank me later.

National Geographic Photo of the Day

I need something to hold my head.

It’s separated from my body in an age where necks don’t exist.

Like a broken handle of an old, splintery broom.

Why because you’ve caught me

at the moment the pendulum achieves stillness

at its peak of potential energy

in the moment of suspension before

the swing.

There are no defenses, no reasons for

the punch of time,

so give me

minutes, seconds, moments,

please

and I’ll show you my kinetic energy.

On a frightfully cold February fourteen

there was a cool cat man by the name of Dan

about to meet a mystery girl of high esteem,

and they’re about to have a good time–Vday to the extreme.

Does she like football? Does she love beer?

Does she read Maddox, a feminist, I hear?

As this man, Dan, anxiously waits,

he resorts to poetry to communicate

his excitement, his joy for this happy date.

Hopefully she approves of this cheesiness,

like gourmet pizza on a fancy plate.

They serve those at Murphy’s too

until we turn it topsy turvy whoo hoo!

I’m not clean.

Poison still courses through my body,

anchoring me into this bed.

I’m not innocent.

I have memories of a tongue swirling over my skin,

defenseless with my no’s and stop’s,

skin still bleeding under the surface.

I am not smart.

Superior numbers and pedigree belies naïveté,

for which socalledfriends are useless.

I’m not strong.

The atmosphere has destroyed me

and proved how years of age did nothing to fill me.

Still, I am one-legged and expect to walk like a human,

but perhaps crippled outcasts like me

deserve it.

Swallow me, night

instead of this incessant chewing,

cruel ruminations.

No more spiked tongue, only of night, raking deep

into and across my mind

dragging neuronal connections from one painful thought

to the next suppressed doubt,

all treadmilling on memories of rejection.

I forgive, night, your joylessness,

but what about painlessness? My peace?

Your emptiness is unbalanced, and thus

depraved, perverse.

We roll in twisted forms,

tumbling upon the slopes of

smiling incisors

being chewed,

ruminating,

chewed,

falling

the same fall

of yesterday’s nightmare.

Dear Stupid Fool,

I’ve been watching you for a long time and I’ve seen you dealing with people, problems, and grappling with your own hopes and dreams, and I just can’t take it anymore. Grow up. Listen to your mother and stop believing. Fairy tales are for princesses, and you are not a princess. You are a pathetic penny whose face value is more than its worth. You’re not even a lucky penny. You’re the opposite, so stop pretending, stop hoping, and just grow up. Nobody cares what you want. Why should they? They’ve got their own wants, and you’re not one of them.

Oh, you feel sad? The best thing you can do for yourself when you’re sad is to laugh at yourself. Nobody will comfort you. They’d rather sleep, rather go on a run, rather move to the other side of the world, rather do anything than be with you. You are alone and you will always be alone. Haven’t you laid your innards out for long enough? Has anyone made an offer or displayed any interest? Nope. Collect your belongings off the street and move on. Nobody wants you.

Since you’re so pathetic, let me give you some advice. If you want to be happy, follow my directions step by step. 1) Collect your frilly compassion and optimism. 2) Sit them down in a pile. 3) Ridicule them. Jeer at them. Spit at them until there is no dignity left in these qualities. 4) Leave and never turn back.

Foolish girl, this is the way of the world. Dreaming at the stars won’t change that. Poetry won’t change that. Love won’t change that.

Sincerely,

the other stupid fool

There are these pair of boots.

They’re perfect–sturdy, well-weathered, waterproof.

Perfect for carrying their wearer across the terrains of life.

And how I cherish them, but

they weren’t designed with comfort in mind.

Boots made of steel wool don’t believe in padding

for my bare ankles that offer only pink tenderness,

Even as each step scrapes away more of my ability to stand,

I race my hopes against my self-erosion.

I’ve been waiting to embark for too long–no more waiting

unless it’s for steel wool to turn to silk.

2/1/12: 32 laps on indoor track ~ 2 mi

2/5/12: 3 mi 28:00, 2 XT

2/15/12: 2mi + 1mi + 1mi

2/21/12: 2mi + 1mi 9:15

2/23/12: 8 laps + 12 laps on outdoor track

2/28/12: 2 mi 19:00