I am red

I am red-
red with desire for life
hungry and red
penned up and holding back
for a reckoning
a rushing headlong into raspberry waters
that blush with the cold
I am red now though
because I must not move
and the blood of my father is bursting within me

i cannot sing

i never learned to sing
they never taught me how
i regard this now
significantly.
while the fires burn, strings dance,
i have but to whisper.
where is my voice?
my thoughts
tremble as a fearsome engine
with no transmission
uselessly turn their ways
to my appreciations;
no communications, recognitions, or animation.
i feel futile.
i am silent-
quiet.

my thinking Machine and me

i am a Universe
i am a Soul
i make my machines Personal
i fight beside Myself
outside Myself
through my Insides
my House and Windows
my Teacher and
...my Mother.

I like mine better this way

how is sorry felt for me
for you for nought and lazy
will we have it in our toes
where it smells with dull regard
or do we hold it cold
handling nicely in its melancholy
but i, or so we like to think
prefer mine with hint of pride
a smile up there in my mind
saying "I like it better that
way, its kind of fine."