Robert Colpitts

Note to self:  imbalance is fun too.  It is the fountain of youth!

Simply added
Comes to nothing
If of you
Destroys completely
And if I add
Zero change
I am nothing
Become nothing
Lose nothing

You have to add one
and one
and one
then we can
build castles
and eat diamonds

she talks
and talks
all the time
she talks
same story
omg I have something to say
guess what happened
it was so fucked up
notebooks were out
omg
and she
omg
and he
omg
complain
complain
all day long
phone in hand
all day long
mouth flapping
all day
all night
jabber
omg
did you hear
she was so
he was so
omg
i love her
the jabber
when she enters
is hilarious
poor sucker
on the other end though
gotta pity him

Lo, another sonnet.
Chase it, when I posted this, it seems to be not working. 
Have fun finding it!

Hello!  I came here, yes here, to tell you, yes you, the online lovers of my life, the community that does not cause strife, the joyful, the happy, the lawless, the snappy, all the brothers and sisters and dancers and…oh yes, yes, yes!  You you you you you!

I did yoga, something I have not done very often of late, due to unforeseen reactions to vegetative states that prolonged anti-ecstasy, and no fierce love was to be found in its pages, but that is all besides the point, the point being that I was doing some yoga, facing kind of SOUTH, but not true south, maybe south-east, and there is a window there, nonetheless, and in case you didn’t know, it is raining in New York, and I saw the rain through the window.

BUT!  And this is an interruption in the logical flow that has heretofore been your experience, in constrast with the rain were the three bamboo plants that stand guard at the window, large, green, and domineering in whatever way a plant can domineer, and the water, through the glass pots you can see, was getting, low, low, lowwwwwwwwwwww.  I thought of said plants, “These plants must be thinking, one of them, ‘Your time will come son, just don’t look at the rain, our time will come soon enough,’ you get it, he is like the father, and the son crying, but having no water, no tears, and the mother filing for divorce in the clay pot in my bedroom.  The high plant court society is in session as I write.

Then the strangest thing happens.  I see the plants getting water, and I realize I have not been watered.  I fill up a cup with water and I water myself.

Hark!  I have to urinate.  More water!  Naturally I must shower, though the hour is late, and you may be saying, what is that lazy sir up to at this late hour just taking a shower, but you can see I’ve been thinking about water, and your interruption has caused me to relegate my major point to a post script.  DON’T LOOK!

This is the summary of my main point here:  Yoga, see rain, must water plants, see watered plants, must water self, water self, must water self and roommate later, that being done, I am writing about water because what a good idea, while I sit, must urinate, can do that in the shower. 

The end!

PS.  If you didn’t get it, the shower is water though I never explicitly said it.  And don’t fucking criticize me because you urinate in the shower, even though I don’t because I just don’t.

Is that
Which is
And not
Is not
Too true
I say
Too true

Exploom
Lagoon
My eye
On you
Is that
Which is
Untrue

Believe
Achieve
Deceive
All true

My eye
My lie
My sigh
Is true

My love
Is true
You know
For true
Is now
Untrue
That’s true

Oh my God
Another angry lady
You won’t talk
When you are angry
Angry lady
You don’t need to be angry
Just speak your mind
Then you won’t be angry

Who were you?
Were you brash, angry, and abrupt?
Were you full of confidence, daring, and joy?
Did you forget, sir, did you forget,
Who you were, at the start,
Who you were, then,
Who you were, long ago?
Who were you, sir,
Before now,
When you, emaciated, weak, and sick,
Gave up all that pretense,
For the sake of love?
You were right,
That is who you were;
And then you sold your spine
For sand.

One thought crosses my mind
In a sky of a million stars:
Should there be
Amongst those few
An honest one?
Or does gravity
Truly take hold
Of everyone?

Please, to never,
ever,
yes, ever, forget;
the hurt,
it lasts,
and is reborn,
every
other
second.

The night, so silent, walks with me;
The summer, its partner, flirts closely in the wings;
The memory of a warm night, with two friends side by side;
Our game, of chairs, of dancing, our bodies, forever young;
Porches with talking; beer with smoke; hearts’ stories told;
All of us, in love; the temperance, just right;
This night, so small, so nothing, so short–a reminder of a past, long gone, all spent;
The quiet of the fan, the coolness of the breeze, the lovers by the river, the bridge pointing west;
Tomorrow, my friends, nostalgia meets my life; it wonders who who I’ll beg back, who I’ll kiss, what error I’ll right;
The answer to my sadness, the response to my groan, likes waiting, like a nightmare, in the silence of the moon.

I hopped up on a table, on to these juniper 3s
They said, you freaky feller, where’d you get that hat
Somewhere left, I said to them, and where you’d get those curves I followed up
Of course, they asked, just what d’ya mean, we wondered that too but backwards
Juniper 3s, they casually mentioned, have 2s and 4s, waiting, just waiting, to slime under us
I waited, that’s right, for years of pause, and they laid down and slept like babies
I stole their curves, and now they are Comeonoverhere 7s and no one likes it that way
But me, with my nice knew curvy butt

A breeze
So happy
An embrace

Good bye

Years later
What’s there

Emptiness

Like a black dove on a dead rose

when you are a balloon
do you feel the air
pressing from within
stretching your skin taught
or is it so slow
that
——–POP!———

Dear Nose,

Please shut up.

Love,

Robert

PS.  Thanks!