You keep folding yourself in. Like origami, you turn into various art sculptures. You change so you'll remain hidden and unseen but I'm an observer. I see how with every fold, I make a mental note of it.

How spectacular; you fold to hide but to me you're an art exhibition. The more you try to stay low-key, the more awestruck I get. So how, my dear, do you think you're uninteresting, unloved, unentertaining when your very being is a field I'm studying? You're art.

-m.b

Fail me now
Oh, these little things
I'm sticking on
Gravitate, I will
Slow, sinking feeling
I could be so much better
Make it mean
Abating heaven, sing
Welcome home
Heart stained sleeves
So unentertaining
The way love goes
Scared shitless moments
All of life is falling
Back to the day I met her

you were always
the little paradoxical mind ****
the thought shock jockey
mercenary mind for hire
falling asleep bored in someone's old dharma battle
waking honest and unaffected
recompassioned
as loud raucous sweet flesh
speaking in a deep earthy voice
provoked
turning poesy into hard poetry
..you're at another full scale riot now
somewhere else
with someone else
not here
...wherever you are
too much of being the deliberate dripping scandal
to be unentertaining
and passing unnoticed
you never think to edit sober..think of others
so the inexplicable mess expositionally expands unchecked
now includes moi
so as you say.. love someone exactly
for their inconsistencies
not in spite of them
lesson learned....love is messy
not much puzzling crazy wisdom in that
you told me this
after you exhausted
all my beleaguered thinking
into one craven honest desire
as you and your fabulous mind
walked out my door
that morning
blowing off the hinges
...leaving behind a pile of splinters