what's broken
will break again

again and again

because it's only
held together
by a kind of
pretend--

something stupid
like hope
or a notion of
fairness

this world is not fair

the broken keep
breaking

and all the faith
and all the glue
and all the want
can't make anything
more
out of a pile
of pieces

so pieces you stay

and who wants that?

.

So someone
wrote
poems,
painted on turtle
shells,
danced with abandon--

such small
things
become the
monuments
to our lives.

Things
true and
forgettable.

Window shopping holding
hands.
A matinee.
Sex in the afternoon
before
night school.

And the light,

summer sun through
the blinds.
Stars on the wall.
Touch and love
and
wonder.

All in you.

Touching you,
loving you,

the love,
the time,
the day,
and so much wonder.


All the golden light.


.

late,
Christmas lights
in rain
outside your house.
going home
alone.

all of you.
all of the yous.

facets.

you showing me
how much
there is in you
to see.

and me
just wanting to
get lost
exploring
this universe
here
smiling at me
tonight.

The best is to
jump,
with just a
hope
that you'll be
caught.

Being on the brink
of love.

I have to set aside the poetry for now so that I can blog about RSS feeds for the learning 2.2 program I'm taking part in (which is why I created this blog in the first place).
It goes without saying, I suppose, but, man, there's a lot out there on the web. I've been browsing through the top 1000 sites on bloglines to find some interesting things to subscribe to. It's a nice thing to be able to stay on top of so much information so easily, but I'm always assailed by this suffocating feeling of information overload--I need head space to have my own thoughts and to create my own works.
You can view my public subscriptions on bloglines with this: http://www.bloglines.com/public/brandon25@cox.net