boy_poet pushpins his toes wiggled nude cool on the too-high stool and He, his name is He to me, He read some poetry. I would say that his lines dangled nervously and i was glad to have the responsibility to appreciate His art. I perused some wrinkled pages of my "work" as He stumbled over shuffling words, but I looked up and saw the sweet waves in his hair, unkempt and endearing. My heart broke for this boy and his waves of indifferent bland strands and his passion too few noticed. A calling inside his voice. A new stranger, A friend I would never know with hair hiding soul drenched eyes he doesn't show. 020801 ... squint He's a slim bare-minimum guy and I feel frivolous next to his nonchalance. His lanky voice barbed goodbyes gravelly greetings his free verse poems long hair squirming toes are what its all about, nothing about him so -short- abrupt like me. I am shrunken I am on a miniature scale, he's enveloped in clouds. He's got the world in his hand while I scamper around his feet, his heights have conquered my quick breath and tiny stature. 020801 ... squint How does a boy get his eyes dressed so provacatively with no makeup painting falsehoods? Where does he get that flicker of a smile, seducing my poetry out? What is going on? is this... awe? 020801 ... Kate I would like to see some of your poetry. You tell me about your starving artist versus Platonic struggle and I like your rationality. Lots of boys write poetry. Like Paul, who has the glory of being the first boy_poet to me. Remember, those words do mean something... 020802 ... lycanthrope poetry? day one- you vacuate the premises day two- you hide in the past day three- you scratch crop circles like a hen day four- you find roots and make soup day five- you modge your podge (when no one is looking) day six- you open your house, strangers become tenous friends. day seven- someone points out it isn't a word. resting in the warm glow of no thanks you find out they expected it of you. no one gives praise with both hands these days and your secrets are common sense on the streets. but you've got more right. more of that hungry exactness? so says one hand out. and what's better than the lust of hateful need? 020803 ... Photobot bap_poet 020804 ... Rockstar he's got loud eyes louder than his mouth and when he looks at you it's scary because he sees more of you than you do and you know that he does this all the time he sees things and no matter what you do he sees it and he writes about it and he makes it beatiful no matter how ugly you are he makes it beautiful. 021007 what's it to you? who go blather from