poetry is symptomatic of a life riddled with life. i can't really doubt myself, but you--

[lucky me
can't you see
i'm in love?]

i really thought you were
really somethin
else when you told
me that you liked frank sinatra.

how many guys
this day, this time
would ever say such a thing...mean such a thing...

and then you sang
"you're nobody 'til somebody loves you"

and that's when i knew
what you'd never know

that's when i knew
you were lying--
that it'd never be that easy

moon beams can only reach so far into
the woods.