Foreveranonymous... if you're out there... this one's for you.

HTTP://Shakespeare

Seventeenth century coy shyness can

make a new millenium tragedy.

Anonymous admirers’ messages

are carried by digital cable, downloaded

into unsuspecting hearts,

wondering if lips could do

what hands do.

Your light petal eyes spied

my words, pining for a

short-haired Rosalind. So

you called my phrases honey

and asked for a taste in verse.

And when I answer

with new lines, you escape

like Ophelia into drowned silences,

citing an Ariel ephemerality –

“moving soon”

and a pacifist defense

“don’t want to hurt you.”

Let me trace the lines of your

face with my softest gazes,

because I can learn

to pray with just my eyes.

Keyboards make distance

when Jersey winters could be warm.

We’re both tragic heroes.

Like Lear, I am blinded –

This time, I shant betray Cordelia.

But don’t let digital verses

that hang soft

promises be betrayed

just so you might be named

Lady Macbeth,

murderer of my heart.

2/11/05

Meet me.

New poem... for an anonymous admirer... who e-mailed me a poem s/he wrote... I sent this back...

Whisper Fire Sweetness

Eyes wander when you

don’t hold the leashes tight.

When did yours drift over to me?

You sampled me, nameless,

as I was spotlight blinded.

Words were flying so I

couldn’t catch the sparks

hiding in your eyes.

You can’t start a fire like that.

Let

the gasoline

touch

the match.

Show me open-eyed dreaming.

I am open-hearted and fiending.

Show me the petal’s color,

your screaming words,

your heart squalling.

Whisper me all

the names you’ve earned.

I’ll show you my

pale colors melting.

Lips are not

real sweetness,

but they let me

explain

everything

without saying

one

single

word.

2/10/05

Heartbroken. Here's my fuck you. Hope you like it. :)

Voicemail

Your pretty name
saved forever on distant
harddrives speaks to me
when you don’t feel like
answering.

Don’t give up. You’ll get through
eventually.

But I can’t keep blowing
breath into a corpse – dead lines
that whisper over
wire but never
find their way to your ear.
All your poetry
is saved for yourself and him.

This is all surface, and
speaks volumes about tension.
Confess. I was a pretty distraction,
a fast burning firework,
and I’d leave my lips
after the beep,
but you’d never kiss them
or call back.
2/7/05