An Open Letter

Dear Krista,

I hope that as our relationship continues and grows, we can eventually rock this hard.




Much Love
Yours,
Tony

sleeping lessons

bleary eyed and zoned,
bloodshot bound on the uneven paint on the ceiling,
she is chewing her nails until blood trickles down into her palm;
what does the reflection reveal?

perhaps answers to pensive and tentative questions

things likes,
why is she still awake?
why are her eyes red?

things that insinuate tears, pain,
after all, pools of blood never equate to pretty portraits.

the night time air settles as the molecules of the gloaming mix
and mingle
with the dust settling in her arms,
her hair completely still tickles the small of her back.

it's been down for so long, blonde,
somehow able to keep a shine despite the midnight light;

nervous,
her nightly duet slow dance charm with sleep is delayed tonight,
perhaps by the snow falling outside the window.

she needs sleeping lessons,
before she can dance. so sleep pretty pretty girl,
wash your hands and sleep.

Breathe In

Good mourning, wispy
dancers floating in my

cold winter morning breath.

Have an adventure with the clouds and the birds,
all flown south.

Hello Darling, My Sorrow's Finest Spring Season Around the Corner of Winter

hollow oak
desperate malfunctioning branches
cloak the gray winter clouds.
not really

the winter air hangs a dead still in lieu of the leaves.
that's fine, the sooner the snow coats
the dirt floor the better.

it'll be like a blanket,
knit from the condensation of angels and gods.

supervisors of this natural phenomena,
i see a wicked gray cloud,
letting a warm beam of light lay shadows

where above them dance the dead oak
in the breeze.

The Life And The World To Come

Satin is dead, or so they say;

although they say god is dead too,
Nietzsche, or so they say.

Milton says we were saved,
when adam and eve went into hell,
simply by sampling a fruit.

They buried themselves behind naked flesh,
in mountains of guilt,
scared their knees praying for rain
in the longest and driest of droughts;

their son struck the first blood,
and it was of his own blood.
One brother lay dead, melting into the cracks
of a mighty chasm,
the other was murdered.

The first guilt birthed,
From this great folly of that treacherous snake,
came an opportunity for man to prove Nietzsche wrong;

and we live now to find forgiveness,
which is reason alone.

In the life in the world to come.

You Are a Nervous Child, Paragraph

Hello, daffodil moon hanging lowly in the sky. Don't bump your chin on the table moma say elbows too you are a nervous child feet can't touch the floor and they aint stop shakin; paragraph is short three to five sentence statement of a similar train of thought playing on the floor with cabosse and engine, steam before; how can anyone acomplish these sentences in a suit and tie wed them to an idea a paragraph I can be afraid if I want.

W(ring her neck)riter is scared of I(f she cries)nstead of brave in the face of a paragraph better then theirs.

She's a Mighty Pretty Snowflake You Don't See

There are explosions
Behind my eyelids:

I can feel a winter breeze,
Descend through the canopy of pines
On the evergreen trees. They shake
The smells of Egypt and Russia,
The desers and the tundras of this world

All ride alongside each microscopic
Snowflake;

I cannot see them tonight,
But it is early for snow.
I wish to see the specks of ice,

Too warm for snow, a murky soup of mud in place.

My eyes are closed,
Watery eyed, I smile thinking about the snowy prospect
Of January.