Colorless Green Ideas

I think, we share something. A sense of nothingness I think we both understand the courage of light in dark and the transformation of man The guild that flies between the stars Must be from they whose heart beats thousands of years There is no other way than to cut out your own and replace it And we would find our way to them like a man slowly gone mad Ocean in his blood Red the sky above The vast spaceship travelling through the dark I think we share something An ability to transform opium An ability to mete punishment The way of the guild I think we understand the helplessness of life the hopelessness of flesh And we both will trade the part of us which will not die. For a part that lives on. A part that carries us to a new home

In her phone. I ring up as her massage therapist. I like being a woman there. I like girl talk. I like asking how is her husband? Just between us girls.

I am so fucked up. That is the poem. Seriously. I'm totally wasted. God it feels so good. What's my name again? Seriously. I can't even say my fucking name. So you're heading out to Colorado. Warehouses, huh? Fuck you man. Pass it. I'm so completely fucked up. I love it.

This is you this is me Here we are

Your eyes are soft in the dark Your hair a bright dirty blonde Your skin glows in the light Your breasts round I hold you in the dark and you say it feels right. But your husband is away. And we were so blind. Together. I walked across the camera line a black jacket against a black fence against time And we finally put it all into place You've got yours. I've got mine. I lost myself. So long ago. And I have so much road to travel along When I let go of the wheel Do angels fly over My self driving car I stop. And get high from a pipe in the shape of Venus of Willendorf

For Alie Looking through infinite possiblities as above so below above and beyond outside the lines of reason push the envelope watch you bury me Let me stretch my arms deep through redwood loam your roots pierce my bones Watch you grow tall majestic strong the California wind blowing through your arms Let the raging sea crash forever against Sur breaking past Steamer Lane double overhead biting my lip again when I see your picture Let your fingers trace my scars Let me lose some fucking weight And get my ollie back above two feet again Feel the rhythm Feel the night Feel the black widow Bathe in the fountain of my painted death spiral Airbrush you on jet Fly so high The sky turns black Against the white of your skin We go into a dive A free fall frame Time enough for me. But the real turn on might be. You.

A Florida CEO The emperor of Versailles Who makes his money off customers mostly because he lies Writes a note with the paycheck Let's read the asshat 2004 "So where am I going with all this? It's quite simple. If any new taxes are levied on me, or my company, as our current President plans, I will have no choice but to reduce the size of this company. Rather than grow this company I will be forced to cut back. This means fewer jobs, less benefits and certainly less opportunity for everyone. So, when you make your decision to vote, ask yourself, which candidate understands the economics of business ownership and who doesn't? Whose policies will endanger your job? Answer those questions and you should know who might be the one capable of protecting and saving your job. While the media wants to tell you to believe the "1 percenters" are bad, I'm telling you they are not. They create most of the ...

Your nipple. my teeth. I cannot look at your tattoos. I want to. I turn away, like an autistic child. You taste like peaches. I can pour the cream. You snapped at your husband. Never give me mapquest. Only google maps. It was cold. My heart hurt from the moment I woke in your arms. Morning coffee. A feeling of love for everyone around me. One so powerful it swept over me. I wanted to sit in a corner. So I could not see anything but a weatherworn table and your face. The same face that now speaks every so faintly of age. The face that still calls to me of beauty. And the happy family. That isn't so happy. The view through the rear window. Unfriending. We spoke of voice talent and telephone systems Anxiety pulling down. You were so beautiful. So tall. So graceful. Lithe. You have had so many women. They do whatever you want. I didn't. The traffic stretched over a hill across a bridge. Around an island. Back to shore. I stared...

We fly out as far as we can before our water runs out We test ourselves What do we do with the drunken sailor Get that mother dude naked. Pull him behind the boat for bait. I don't understand what I feel I don't understand what is real. You can do anything you want to a drunken sailor And you should

It hurt to be there for a third of the time it took to drive there. Twenty three hours of driving. Six short hours until dawn. We drove into each others arms but in the cold of a playground we saw our lives unfold away from each other I saw the look in your eye Soft Beautiful. Sad. Loving. When the children were playing on the swing. When you and I spoke of religion. And then it was gone. Replaced. By the kind of thing we both learned in the street. A way to keep the hurt from killing. A way to find our way home. Your husband. Didn't get the map right. And for a split second, you seemed sharp. Always use google maps. Don't use mapquest. I think. Yahoo. My heart ached and hurt from the moment of sunrise. The sex. Not really us. Yet. A sort of stolen encounter. That asked more questions. Than it answered. So I close my eyes. And I see a place where a confused man tries to remember the name. Of a Bar. On Harvard Square. The weird t...