12.24.2003 :::
 
Christmas Eve

Do you remember the times when we were so young,
The looks on our faces before we dived right in.
So bold, and ignorant, but it sure was fun. Right?
Yes it was, and I don't remember where it went.

You can't buy the past in stores, or wait in long lines.
Just remember old boy, that's what Gran said, but I can't
Or don't. Either way it's not really Christmas anymore.
Not in that pure, traditional sense that I miss so much.

Right now it's a burden, my wife, well I don't have one.
And my mother wishes me away til I do. It's Christmastime.
I want a baby boy, so I can see his eyes, opening, ripping.
To feel that prescence of presents. The joy we lose.



::: posted by Matthew at 10:55 PM

12.14.2003 :::
 
Sunday Night Before Finals

I wish I was an annual, or at least an inauguration,
But I'm a non-existant, a never was. Not even your
Lesson learned in pain. Rather your soap box,
Standed on, to tell people you don't know my name.

I'm sure you don't tell them of me, as your friend.
Because you've said before you don't know what
It is we are, no matter how many I love you's.

My stomach hurts, because you just hung up. And
I know it doesn't make sense. But I'm not cold
Outside. And my studying hours are consumed,
Because I really do spend time thinking of you.

I've so many more letters than you, and it's because
I love you more, I say. But that makes no sense.
Burning letters is my favorite past time. I kid.
I will cut my hair, because it's in my eyes when I
Try to look at you. That isn't funny, but it is.

And I don't like these guys you see, because I know
They don't see you, like I have on all the springtime
Winter mornings. And nothing could be perfect anymore.
Because you're not here, and I've not even met you
In my dreams, where you should most likely be.

::: posted by Matthew at 6:07 PM

12.10.2003 :::
 
Josée's Penguin (Take 1)

I bought Josée a Penguin
From the record centre,
Down the block.
It doesn't fly, or say hi.
It's not real, it's like me.
Stuffed with cotton and words.
His name is Leopard. Because
He's not like me, a quick one.

She just said goodbye, to
Call her mum down the road.
At least that's what I'm told.
Her penguin, his name is Leopold.
More dignified. He's prettier than me.

Josée doesn't like monkies. They
Throw, what shouldn't be thrown.
They're like me, they don't belong.
Not in the cold weather up there.
I'm not a penguin. And I don't
Fly. I'm a prince, or a messy haired
Degenerate. Maybe that should be
Hyphened.

I bought Josée a Penguin. His
Name is General Ham. Why I cannot
Tell. He's an eccentric type, who
Plays the guitar. Not like me. He's
Neat, and cute, not like me.
He can't fly and he likes fish.
Not like me. I know she wants a penguin.
She told me in the victory dinner.

Maybe I'll buy her a girl Penguin.
She can fall in love with the General.
Her name will be PennyGwen. And
She'll waddle all the way to Canada.
But she'll be warm until she hits the snow.

I will send her a Penguin,
Because a Penguin's what I'm not.

::: posted by Matthew at 1:29 PM

12.05.2003 :::
 
Josée’s Hand

I just wanted to be in your poem,
Wherever that guides me to.
In your bed, or in your home,
Whatever the poem says to do.

And I’d be some famous sailor,
Or a mythic figure of ancient Rome.
I’d be the hunchback’s ugly jailor,
All just to be in your hand’s poem.

I would be your Mary Magdalene,
Following you from land to land.
Trailing ink flowing from your pen,
To be a word by lovely Josée’s hand.

Most of all I want to have her heart,
For she has mine without expire.
To be in her mind, would be a start,
Great to be her sleek hand’s desire.


::: posted by Matthew at 11:36 AM

12.02.2003 :::
 
Men Age (Josephine and I)

He apologized for dropping his halo down the sewer well.
The angel lost his wings for sudden vanity and greed.
Perfection exceeds the grasps of all those in need.
The goddess, impure she is, with forces of dark compel.

Best and worst, the opposites exist, can we be both?
She says nothing's changed, that in us, gone is purgatory.
Angels don't make mistakes, not humans, but blasphemy.
The gods all play destiny without tearing fabric cloth.

This wasn't meant to happen, Josephine and I remain.
After turmoil, gods created, separates absurd and insane.
We are multiple, Josephine fell into my traps of spiders.
We hid in devestation, cataclysms, quakes and forest fires.

(unfinished)

::: posted by Matthew at 9:53 PM

12.01.2003 :::
 
Men Age

A weekend soliloquy where you were mine and mine alone.
I knew it wouldn't matter in the end, my sister's friend.
I, that's not me, I don't do these things, but you offered,
To take my mind off things, to become my midnight story.

You're not who I want you to be, but the drinks race along.
Forgetting all the romance, I practiced in the evening rain.
It's awkward at first, like the first time, because you're new.
Is this a sin, when the day began so terribly against you?

Everyone, even the children, you try to make amends, also
You find the time to say, we'll see the same old starts, go's
It'll be February, and I think I've just made you up in haste.
But I can't, won't want that to be true, though I won't think.

I'm not in love, and you can't break my heart, you're relief.
From a grungy adolescent teenage funnybone wedding.
I know it's not love, cause I thought of her, the mystery.
The uncertain confusion, who I only know a supposed name.

She never gave in this easy, and I told her I never did, lies.
I never wanted this, the choice to ruin a lifetime of love and
More, because you were foreign, well as foreign as could be.
Thanks a lot, it helped, and maybe I'll see you on the road.

::: posted by Matthew at 9:33 PM