Liddler Thoughts

Most frustrating of all is the desire to finally stay in love that takes place outside of love. "This time," I imagine, "I will not fall out." But things change. People. The Weather. It all changes. And why feel like this? Shouldn't this feeling be enough to change things? I can't tell.

Why can't I convince you to come upstairs, and why is it so important? Clearly, you are quite evil because you will not sleep with me today. "I hate you," I think. Then, that empty feeling does not go away. Eight in the evening and midnight and I am and four in the morning and I am. 

Life.

Life is.

Life is a series.

Life is a series of lies.

Life is a series of increasingly-believable lies.

Life is a series of increasingly-less-believable lies.

Liddle Thoughts

If I'm going to die I'd like to die watching The Royal Tenenbaums.


Do you still love us?
She thinks about it.

No, thank you.

Well, I just don’t use that word

lightly.

What are you doing?  You’re on my team!

It didn’t seem believable to me.

Four minutes and forty-eight seconds.

We’re all dead.  Burned to a crisp.

You think you could start forgiving me?

Another dent here and another dent there.

My Friend in Death

I'm sick and tired I feel death
sending me flowers and giving me
certificates good for one massage
and getting high in the
living room and skating
back to school on time.

Death, I need your advice.
Father Death,
Let's talk it over over mai-tais.

And then we haven't made love in a long time
and Death has been trying to bed me and
everyone thinks Death is a man or neuter
but Death is a woman in a silk negligee.

quatrain

To count all my deformities
I need to use my toes:
Hammer digit, stammer heart,
Legs that never grow. 

Can't I be like Gatsby?
Seventeen little black books,
Two thousand friends on Facebook,
Four folks at the funeral
who came to take a look,
Asking:
Did they really shoot him in the face?
The mortician removed every trace!
Will there be a new place? 

Honey baby, please
crawl back into time with me.
Deep down between the sheets
we’ll find two years ago
High school bus rides and
placental school lunches that
I miss so much; Mathematics
and Biology and Physics.
I’d give up Diogenes the Cynic,
Focault, Deleuze and Flaubert,
I’d give them up for school bus air.
Plato, Kant, and Nietzsche,
I miss my history teacher.
Gerault, Benavidez, even Pierce,
All music to my ears.
Come back to me.