My current trend in writing is to treat it like bits of code. Debugging as time goes on (fixing spelling/grammarish issues).

Most of these poems will rest the way they are written, but given time and interest many will see a patches or 2 before it is over.

9.16.2005

bucket of water

we exit the morning
like it was wetness
palms against flesh
sliding
drops dwell
after the shower is over
the fan is left to wind the Wind
for an hour
as we melt between the coffee
fumes and head lines of
news about what is newer
and what might have passed
in the night

it hurts like a
weakness in the scull
hair line fracture that
runs along the scalp
where only things like
lice and dandruff have been before
even rain drops stay away unless
drenched, or bald
or weak

we exist it seems
as luggage to be hauled around
as most of dinner
from last night just sits
and sloshes around
flesh or tupperware

or we ignite this night
light a fire under wraps
that boils water
till it hurts
or leaves a mark
and the shower is over
the fan still runs
but who cares
let it

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