The problem of meaning

I’ve been too busy to write let alone post.

I am sorry; here’s a poem:


I see her face in every darkened, every passing,

Silhouette with long hair

She dances

ever slightly in my mind

Like no one dares

and it might

be the whiskey talking

but I could swear oh i could swear

she is like no one ever

she is far beyond compare


And even though I’m a hor-

rible person even though I lie

with many women

Even though it’s very true

I fall in love with every girl with braided hair who looks my way

Even though I’m dumb

But she is different; she never

Leaves my mind

She is omni-

present all the time; she is not the same


It is her that I think of when I scream

another girl’s name

And I could swear oh I could swear

That in the Hall of angels and saints and perfect beings she is right there

and I might be drunk but I’d never

Mistake love for thin air


I have never

been so infatuated

never have I succumbed to helplessness

I have never let a girl see me to my knees

But she is not the same

I would not dare

to even think to declare

my love for anyone

But I do not care

It might be scary

But I think….


I really like her



every power has its fault

and every alley

every street to my heart is filled with bumps

and her eyes

though ever glowing sometimes fade

and her nose

sometimes feels too large for her face

and her breasts

though somewhat perky sometimes sag

and in her hair

is more disorder than there’s flair


When near her I feel lonesome

When with her I’m alone

Her actions seem lethargic, her sentences withdrawn

she has no outward sparkle that contests with what I love

and that and every other fault’s evident when she smiles

because I’d know that soon enough her heart would become mine

and so in every aspect faults become present

she ceases to be

the girl of whom I dream

and like my other conquests she gains that cursed label



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