Literary Exercise #29: To be Continued...

I begin more unfinished poems than I end finished ones. If my polished pieces are trophies on the shelf, my unwieldy warbles are like dust accruing. Dust or dust bunnies, because if you sweep them up, they don't easily detach from the broom. You have to pull them free by hand. No use trying to organizes dust bunnies. They have a great homogeneity to them--even in their difference.

If you stack a bunch of half-written blurbs together, and you stand on top, can you reach higher than before?

This post's continuity is also unfinished, but it's farther than it was before.

Literary Exercise #28: Babe, Lovely

Babe, Lovely:

Babe,
I'm a new man,
when we hang together,
I'm new and young.

Gone are
old fears,
when I would only tell you,
half of what
I meant,
and only half
the time,
when the risk was manageable,
come alive.

You were so confident,
but also scared,
you wanted someone that
would do more than care,
you wanted them to continue,
with no signs of halting.

You didn't know it,
but what I couldn't tell you,
when I only answered questions
with half my heart,
was that you were scared
you'd be left alone,
and I was alone already,
hoping to get out.

Babe, you wake me up,
you make me want to
turn, and flee,
back to normal life.
(you're what I've never
figured out)

I didn't plan on
life
being so sweet,
so soon,
and kind.

Literary Exercise #27: Babe, Wildy

Babe, Wildly:

Listen baby,
there's two things to be said,
either you're from heaven
or I'm from hell,
either way,
I dread it.

(I've been dreaming of you
for years,
I get no sleep)

You want to know
why I'm afraid,
of you,
of being freed by you?

You want to know
I'm scared,
of how damn much
I want you?
(and as scared
you don't)

You want to know this drought,
these coarse grains,
sunken heart
and flat veins,
from hiding out
in ditches,
from keeping under rocks
and from the sun?

By heaven and hallowed Father,
I had it said,
we'll be one,
but made it bigger,
the moment,
than would allow.
(for wouldn't the hallowed and heavenly
have me not hold us to them?)

And anyway I've crossed
those moments,
where I've crossed myself;
kicking up clouds of dust,
caught up in thoughts of rain.

But you make me
want to run,
you make me want to
dance baby,
to crawl out
and train my legs,
sway my hips,
and since you make me,
do you know you do?

Sometimes, I wonder,
what do I gain,
by this,
by being sad and silent,
what can be had?

This poem,
this desert.

So I'll just face it,
the inexplicable,
because of you --
stride into the night,
toughen,
eat glass and gravel,
square off,
stretch muscle,
so my gut can get knocked in,
(you fancy an evening drive)
fast-approaching lights,
dazzling mist, dampened,
obliterated organs,
this.