Joe Banner

Sunday, January 9, 2011

What's My Problem?

 It starts in the range of caffeine.
Can't put down the coffee;
staying up 'til four thirty;
talking too fast, but moving too slow.

I have freckles and issues;
I can't find a cure.
I'm afraid of the dark,
of being found, or not sure.

I love the snow but hate the weather.
I'm just a morning person who hates to get up.
Always so lost, and never quite here.
I can't manage to find me, and I'm always so stuck.

I find love in a rhythm, peace by a word.
I overreact, over-think, over-turn
but don't understand and can't comprehend.
I've so much time, and so little to spend.

It's like loving an artist but hating the song
tripping and falling and feeling so wrong,
screwing this up when the time was just right,
replaying 'No bother' just to worry the night.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Whoops

 By formal technicality only was it an obligation. ONE text. ONE hundred thousand things I deeply intended to write in a vicinity not far from here (Such a though- to be here)
(I was thinking Denial for the next journal- there's so much promise and rhyming for such a future).
ONE big loss of a dear fine friend. Those for SURELY would only be counted.

By informal metaphors was it hinted into formidable recognition. TWO thoughts to be had. TWO metaphors to lose. There were TWO times I had to rethink, react, reform, reverberate across what's left to be found of existence.
(Twice I found a kiss, certainly where I'd been looking. Don't sound so disappointed, sir. Awkward is a beautiful little adjective; an unappreciated art form.)

((Okay, alright. I'm working on homework. Will be. Dearly soon. No three's to be found. Then I'll write the one that was hiding deeply within the confines of my journaljournal. Not the live kind. The journal kind. Not that anybody bothers to read a hippies journal -.-))