09-19-97
1.Damn, I haven't seriously updated my page in a long-ass time.
2.This is due to a number of factors, none of which are really yr business per se. But here's a new poem.
3.Fake Kisses
he opened a journal,
secure in lipstick fading.
when it's lost, it drifts through fabric
to cultivate shivers on pale flesh,
the color of empty paper,
the grain so coarse that imperfection is the rule.
stuck with cheap tape he found
lost among grade-school toys,
unaware of the difference.
he'd never been taught
how to create art with
trailing streams of color,
the hidden NEED,
not understanding, even himself,
where the sound comes from.
but pan could hardly make stronger music.
the returns are falsified; the sales clerk
has LIED
and the polls don't captivate him anymore.
now he watches the results,
just detached enough.
as if he were reading prophecy
subtle, broken, and outdated.