pat's furry roommates

For Everyone

[Bella],
  I stole your pencil
  because it had your name on it,
  and because I love you.

Hearts flutter and come to an end,
  like bookends,
  like butterflies

Hearts are decorated felines,
  they pounce, they play,
  they sniff for curiousity,
  they glow in their beautiful eyes, like gemstones, when illuminated,
  they tumble and fall and roll,
  their paws are soft and
  their whole bodies long to be touched,
  to utter a purr when gripped and danced upon.

They dance, oh darling, O love! they
  float like petals and strings
     in warm summer breeze.
Warm, like a blanket,
like sleeping quarters laid with concern,
  with history and with empathy.

Hearts stare with interest
gaze thoughtfully like dreamers,
  studying,
  listening with concern, with history, with
  sweet empathy for dreamers.

Don't fear why they glisten
 sing and tenderly lay to rest

(sweetly, singing into the night that is soft)

7am scrabz

I told John: (outside, hours ago now)
That if you make a mark, everyone can see it.
Make an impact, though,
and it blends right in.

I then proceeded to stay up all night. Once I
had taken my fill,
eyes weary and head like a drum
in the (a) premature stage(s) of repair

I took to my glass of water in a hurry
and swallowed Antarctica.

Everything looks brighter now,
under the strange wheel of sleep deprivation.
Dead Bugs wait for my slumbered ears, ha!

I went on a trip;
for some days I was gone.
It hurt to be there, to be where I was at.
It hurt to rip myself away from
soft skin, crippled conversation
and sincere tears wiped with dirty rags.
When I returned:
Home was lonely and the floor boards
needed to be unstuck.
They cracked like joints
under the heavy weight of my heart.
in my absence, the
Alarm clock in my bedroom
must have cried each day.
It screamed for me yet I was not present
to push the right buttons
that would put it at peace.
After hours of crying, I think,
alarm clocks probably give up.

in some short, sweet moments from now
I will be in comfy sleep.
I've always like the word comfy.
(Michael once asked me if I was comfy
When we had sleepovers years ago,
those years long past now...
I remember sleeping under his desk,
Saying, "Yes, and I like that word.")
"Always" is just what you make of it.

pohm scratched minutes ago

A Definition - Call me This (Please)

Whitney Houston and Steve Perry are dead to me
They were never alive to me.
I have no physical features that can be distinguished;
when I am a vibrating box;
I am a penetrating gulf coast
A sweating zebra
A trembling cock,
juxtaposed awkwardly upon a
pin-up board that is
your field of vision.

Clear your head,
I beg,
So that I may find heartbeat.

Scratch your eyes out,
Please,
I do not need them.

I am not a microphone cable,
I am not a cluster of tones,
I am not a thread to hang upon
(your neck cracked and eyes empty),
I am not a song that you heard
when you were a child.

They all tremble for me, vibrate for me,
vibrate inside, outside, in the air,
smaller than I can visualize, they vibrate.
They drive me to your heart -
and they will drive me to extinction.

I was ignored at age 11,
when the hall smelled like green peppers,
disgusting, green peppers,
like some janitor who I didn't give a shit about
at the time had left a trail of WaWa condiments
all over the vinyl tiles.
I cried at my desk with my juice box
and my yogurt,
I couldn't eat my fucking yogurt.

11 years old - completely absorbed
in my own imminent death -
yes, death ached that day;
and the dying of others,
stunk like green peppers.

I was sick for a week.

I was sad at age 13 -
one baby blue and white spackled wall day,
Reading Fleming pepper hallways consumed me,
this time, fear gripped my prepubescent testicles.
I threw up what food I had eaten that day.

My fingers write this because I am a machine.
It all amounts to nothing except that clear,
trembling, elusive vibration;
not trembling like the aforementioned cock,
or chord or box,
trembling like appreciation and passion.

Finally: I'm acculturation of chords
and the culmination of vibration,
where I swallow smoke and saliva.