tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62944922011-04-21T21:55:34.443-04:00FIDES QUAERENS INTELLECTUMHugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comBlogger2111100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1136387705969090172006-01-04T10:13:00.000-05:002006-01-04T10:26:54.883-05:00

if you enjoy these posts, and care to read some more, you can find me at www.hugodossantos.com/blogthank you for reading.

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1090593594436541452004-07-23T10:38:00.000-04:002004-07-23T10:45:04.010-04:00

people can fade easily. like sand castles, and clouds, and whispers between strangers on a familiar sidewalk. last night they sang your name on every corner of every street. watching from a distance, it was a religious experience. they all wore white. sang in unison. and the echo rose from the streets and up into the sky, bouncing off the dark blanket above and fading as it fell. i watched and

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1090521537949729662004-07-22T14:38:00.000-04:002004-07-22T20:49:40.566-04:00

i tell you it's time. i tell you this place is a place no more. that the streets don't seem to fade into each other anymore, but rather appear to break and begin again and again. a stop sign, a red light, that's the way the streets speak to each other as the night wind bends the old trees and drags dry leaves out of their slumber and through the cement. it's time to say good-bye. good-bye to

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1090444102904951242004-07-21T16:28:00.000-04:002004-07-22T20:50:58.200-04:00

i saw you from a roof-top.  you're different.  even without hearing your voice and breathing in the taste of your neck, i sense that you're different.  and that you'll never be the same.  because your walk is different.  and because your smile is hidden behind your make-up.  and because your eyes seem heavier, even from a distance such as me standing on a roof-top and you walking on wilson avenue

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1090329246481945142004-07-20T09:13:00.000-04:002004-07-22T20:52:53.853-04:00

the mayor thinks he owns this city. he may think it's his. fool. nothing belongs to a man. nothing. but everything can be taken away or lost from one second to the other. everything that has legs can just up and walk away from our helpless hands grasping at the ever-growing air and space between you and that which is no longer yours. (or was it ever?) that's why i never called you my girl. i

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1090247973692158122004-07-19T10:38:00.000-04:002004-07-22T20:53:42.716-04:00

gloomy like a london heartbreak, my eyes, this morning, can't get past the fog of the ironbound. what is it you want, i wonder... what do you see across these forgotten puddles? them, the ones hanging out on the corner in desperate need of a fix. you. next to a puddle is a corner store, and there i pick up a random pen and wonder if in the madness of all that's lost in this city, it managed to

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1089922209794791582004-07-15T16:09:00.000-04:002004-07-15T16:10:09.793-04:00

i think i know what i want... then i reach for it and in touching it, in holding it, it is no longer what it was because all i knew it as was the thing i could not hold. the magic is gone. i know the secret to the trick. it's all smoke and mirrors; a way of finding motivation in the mundane. but not with you. never with you. because i held you and it was more than a dream, more than i had

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1089815903939168442004-07-14T10:36:00.000-04:002004-07-14T10:38:23.940-04:00

a verdade como a lua nua e tua perante os olhos vestidos do mundo e há muito que em faz sorrir e que me ajuda a sentir que perto de ti tudo se satisfaz com a paz de mais um dia

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1089815796352621782004-07-14T10:35:00.000-04:002004-07-14T10:36:36.353-04:00

i see you hiding behind the broken branches of a faulted tree. peeking out at the people, cars and things that go past you in the dark. the city is silent. you're forgotten between the leaves and branches. like a bird. i'm hiding behind myself and a mask of a different emotion. like a shadow with features undefined, you think i don't care, that all the important things you do don't matter.

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1089641793064566362004-07-12T10:14:00.000-04:002004-07-12T10:16:33.063-04:00

today the rain offers an excuse to sit inside and admire all that gathers outside. from behind the glass i fog up my thoughts, and suddenly it's as if there's a haze coming down on everything. and i shut my eyes, go back to bed. i lost you again. from me to you, the difference grows throughout. comes around again when you say, "hello," but leaves with you. again. or with your memory. your

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1089315368684531702004-07-08T15:35:00.000-04:002004-07-08T15:36:08.683-04:00

love, they closed down the spanish bar where we went for after-hours drinks. boarded up and moved on, and what are we supposed to do? what will happen to the memories we left there?

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1089123645605498392004-07-06T10:20:00.001-04:002004-07-08T15:39:05.436-04:00

the worst part of the good-bye is when i don't get one from you. it's when i suddenly miss you and realize you took off and didn't say a word. it's searching for you all through the room, thoughts, dreams, and coming up empty with my hands nowhere near you. the worst part of the good-bye is looking at you in anticipation of your departure and not saying anything to you. it's a test, to see if

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1089123265854150672004-07-06T10:13:00.000-04:002004-07-06T10:14:25.853-04:00

our story is mapped out on the streets of the city and if only i'd learned to see from the start i could have read into the future and perhaps even beyond. because i am like the park, and speak straight with my silver tongue (even if dressing up every last statement), and aim solely for the destination. and you bend with your whims and wishes, are clouded with everyone flocking to you, and get

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1088776423050126242004-07-02T09:53:00.000-04:002004-07-08T15:41:08.650-04:00

i find that i am missing you less often now. a whole hour might go by before i even think of thinking of you. you're fading slowly like a shadow in the twilight. becoming a whisper. i am losing you to the ways of the days. but still, when i do think to think of you, the shadow is ever-more pronounced. as hard as it is to see it, i am more aware of it. i miss you less often, but the times i

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1088519712360025772004-06-29T10:34:00.000-04:002004-06-29T10:35:12.360-04:00

i hid my poems beneath the curls of your hair. i laid my smile between the layers of your skin and found your touch to be a welcome blanket coming over me. and i took your jeans off for you, wanting to catch you as you are and not as the rest of the world gets to see you. resting my face on the inside of your thigh, then turning you over and kissing their back, teasing you with suggestions

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1088453535781078392004-06-28T16:09:00.000-04:002004-06-28T16:12:15.780-04:00

sometimes at the bus stop, sitting on the steps of the old photo studio, i wonder how many of the dogs who pissed on the hydrant did so thinking it was someone's leg. i don't know why i think this, why i wonder this exact thought instead of thinking about the delay in the traffic lights on ferry. but i do. and i have the feeling that if i thought of it someone else must have done so as well.

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1088430632848556302004-06-28T09:50:00.000-04:002004-06-28T09:50:32.850-04:00

at first i thought it might be the morning dew and lingering fog. but when it lifted and i still could not find my way, i grew afraid. at every turn another stone blocking my path, and i recognized the names of the streets, but not enough so that i'd find my way. suddenly, i was left to my own devices in the middle of the city that has so often been my sole crutch. i want to know it again. i

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1088181625402404012004-06-25T12:39:00.000-04:002004-06-25T12:40:25.403-04:00

in the days my hand found its way up the inside of your thigh, your skirt was an idle witness watching and admiring as my touch migrated up the warmth of your leg. warmer. warmer. and your mouth to mine, the gravity of desire. and there, in the passenger seat of my car, you took me as best you could - always careful to dispel fact from fiction - and understood me better, at times, than even i

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1088178748124587442004-06-25T11:51:00.000-04:002004-06-30T12:37:35.056-04:00

Há já muito tempo que não me perco na música dos teus dedos, o silêncio dos segredos que nem a nós mesmos contamos. Mas ao ver o teu sorríso chegando perto de mim (que nem o nascer do sol) pasmo, e canto aquela cantiga bem antiga para nós. O fado que volta a acender o lume nas esquinas dos teus olhos. As lágrimas do teu sorriso são salgadas, e revelam a tristeza que tentas esconder com olhos

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1088003394176137162004-06-23T11:09:00.000-04:002004-06-23T11:10:50.843-04:00

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1087929449751253382004-06-22T14:37:00.000-04:002004-06-22T14:37:29.753-04:00

amid the dark stares of a dark room, i sit at the bar spilling notions of quotients into a glass of ice and destiny. and strangers may look, i don't really bother to look. it's dead and silent here, like the end of a cave. it'll do for now. if i could give back my drinks i'd hold you near again. we'd set out for all the plans we once had. we'd do it again as if everything can be brand new

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1087912475301719242004-06-22T09:53:00.000-04:002004-06-22T09:54:35.300-04:00

not so long ago, learning your curves and curbs was a new frontier, a science of pleasure to perfect in the hopes of being your latest and last lover. jubilation when you randomly called me in the middle of the day to tell me that you couldn't wait until night to see me because you'd bought a new lip-gloss and wanted to make certain i liked it. "come taste it on my lips," you said, and went on

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1087504516579277112004-06-17T16:34:00.000-04:002004-06-17T16:35:16.580-04:00

you knew an old way of saying goodbye and that sufficed for the time being what it was. i don't recall much of those other streets, but if by another name they roam i guess i'll have to try and understand. "make an effort like you do for the things you love so much." you said that with disdain, to cut and hurt. to infect the way i was so that i may become another way but i could not. could

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1087481620332495272004-06-17T10:13:00.000-04:002004-06-17T10:13:40.333-04:00

there are things bigger than love, like hope and destiny. this i know. but there are none as sweet. none as ripe as it for the tasting of the soul. there are things bigger than love, yes, but none as sweet as tasting your skin. i think of my father, and of the things he did in coming here. all he left behind. the little he found here. it was hope that drove him. it was destiny. i

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1087391198458792252004-06-16T09:06:00.000-04:002004-06-16T09:06:38.456-04:00

time is slow, but oh, so very fleeting. in its slow ticking it constantly adds up to more. numbers are more than infinite. the names and dates are recycled. but you and i, love, are so very different now. like the clocks, we are passing by. like the hands of the minutes and hours, the seconds come along and remind me of you. every second is another memory. another infinite added upon

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1087307786207404352004-06-15T09:55:00.000-04:002004-06-15T09:56:26.206-04:00

the streets and avenues are draped in darkness, there isn't enough light to show me the way. and while i've memorized any and all possible ways, paths and shortcuts, i no longer know how to get close to you. when we meet, it is always you coming to me. so you come to see me, and your smile makes me forget everything i've ever wanted to remember. i'm a child again. i need to be told it's all

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1087172397705507642004-06-13T20:19:00.000-04:002004-06-13T20:19:57.706-04:00

for all the loud non-sense, and despite everyone who thinks they can make their point by shouting louder than all those in the right, i can only hear a faint echo of your voice whispering me to sleep. a serenade coming back through memory. only, i'm not in the mood to sleep. and even if i were, i doubt i'd be able to do so over all the shouting in this place.

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1086977372871608872004-06-11T14:08:00.000-04:002004-06-11T14:09:32.870-04:00

should i see you before i run into you again, i don't know whether i'll use the conversation i was saving for when i was to see you again or whether i'll just go with the moment. i'm very confident with the scripts i concoct in anticipation of seeing you again, but they're written for the purpose of seeing you again and not for running into you. they might not fit the moment. they may prove

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1086875795019117322004-06-10T09:56:00.000-04:002004-06-10T09:56:35.020-04:00

if i stay up late enough, i can look out my window in the twilight forgotten by both day and night, those forgotten hours, and watch as the trees go walking branch in branch. i feel alive in their vivacity. it gives me hope that there is much i don't see. because of it i can imagine that maybe the river enjoys skipping stones off the ripples of the avenue, and the cars open and shut their

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1086787826958089562004-06-09T09:30:00.000-04:002004-06-09T09:30:26.956-04:00

what's a word? a creation born out of meaning. i see a rock, i want to tell the world about it, i name it 'rock,' but someone else has already named it 'stone.' the word is a symbol, a stand-in, for when i wish to recall the rock but don't have one with me. i say it's name, shut my eyes, and there it is. rock. stone. different name, but the picture is the same. this is all well enough,

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1086703771460276792004-06-08T10:07:00.000-04:002004-06-08T10:09:31.460-04:00

when i see orchids, and roses, and tulips, rise up out of the cement, i understand all my longing and the nature of my love for you. because nothing is completely a product of its environment, because we all start somewhere, i found beauty when all around me was the numb nothing of a town that fell asleep too early. and the roads and bridges are empty, and it seems as if the passaic, too, is

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1086562709031365402004-06-06T18:56:00.000-04:002004-06-06T18:58:29.033-04:00

sometimes, being shackled to something can be quite liberating. sometimes, in fact, it can be liberty itself. this is especially true when what you're shackled to is something small, something you can take with you. this way, it can always remind you, at an instant's notice, of just how good it can be. in those moments you realize, that it is actually that which you thought you were shackled

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1086562549177480152004-06-06T18:55:00.000-04:002004-06-06T18:55:49.176-04:00

this bed is empty without you, but emptier still because once we filled it together. had you never shared it with me, your former side, spot, whatever, wouldn't be so alone, it wouldn't even be yours. it'd just be the side of the bed with no one on it, rather than being the side of the bed with no you on it. this bed was just big enough for us, small enough to give me an excuse to lay my

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1086357856705627102004-06-04T09:59:00.000-04:002004-06-04T10:04:16.706-04:00

our love was of a different sort. we always had the things no one else knew possible to have, the way we bent things to have them. and so, i always saw you in black and white. the rest of the world was full-color, but you, and everything about you, came to me in black and white. i knew your colors. don't know how, but i knew them. knew the tone of your flesh, the different tints

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1086356062082415702004-06-04T09:33:00.000-04:002004-06-04T09:34:22.083-04:00

when you smile like that, it's like the secret lives of objects come out. everything has a name. everything claims a home. but it doesn't matter. despite all the magical details, i only see your smile. you bend the rays of light and unweave the snow out of the mountains. in this town, the birds, cars, cement and fire hydrants vanish. everything goes away. vanishes without a second's

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1086274354099278062004-06-03T10:52:00.000-04:002004-06-03T10:52:34.100-04:00

in moments when i get the urge to hold you and can't find you, i fear that by learning to deal with the pain i'll lose my ability to love. it's happened in the past. never to this degree, but it's happened like this. i've learned to deal with the longing. with the lack of. and while i became stronger for it, i did so at the cost of the attachment i felt. i learned how to cope by building a

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1086271318241982022004-06-03T10:01:00.000-04:002004-06-03T10:01:58.240-04:00

it's colder than is usual for this time of year. the days want to be warm and the nights want to be cold and i, i don't want to be anything at all. leave me be in the shadow of the morning when the sun is not yet intent on burning me to a crisp. find me bare in the weak light of the rock bigger than all the stars. it's all a matter of perception. how many of those stars could swallow the

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1086201531003616332004-06-02T14:38:00.000-04:002004-06-02T14:38:51.003-04:00

i thought love was a hyperbole, until i met you and realized that words could do you no justice. even what i write here isn't for you, or even for love, it's for me. for me to remember i lived once. for me to remember the opium of your saliva and the dust of gold you leave behind to trail you like my puppy eyes. i thought love was a hyperbole until i saw in you its personification and how the

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1086183563554466922004-06-02T09:38:00.000-04:002004-06-02T13:29:25.716-04:00

even the quieter parts of this city have asked for you. where are you, my love? i don't know if you recall, but here, as they rush to work, people resemble headless chickens running around. they don't know why they do it. they just do. kind of like my hands with you. never knowing why. just content to do so. alive in doing so. rushing up and down you like being late for work. except

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1086098412883483662004-06-01T09:59:00.000-04:002004-06-01T10:00:12.883-04:00

i don't know what i'm doing anymore. i don't know how i feel. i can't read myself. don't understand. it's beyond me. it's all beyond me. some days i can't get enough of you. i pray to whom ever is listening that i'll see you. i search for you. search these streets for you. walk and drive and it's like everything is in mute. everything is moving at half-speed. i walk past old women

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1086054539624102142004-05-31T21:46:00.000-04:002004-05-31T21:48:59.626-04:00

the days are the hardest to get through. the nights are easy, because i'm usually dreaming of you. and the time i don't spend dreaming of you, i don't remember. it's a black hole. i don't care for it. the nights go by quickly, for the most part. and i think of you with my eyes shut, pictures of you come and go. and if those awake want to call it a dream, so be it. labels are just that.

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1085782770466094022004-05-28T18:17:00.000-04:002004-05-28T18:20:00.473-04:00

when you speak, everything else goes mute. and i see your face, your smile, all of you coming to me in pieces like in those hollywood movies we watched together. romantic comedies revealing that there are others out there who share our not-so comical existence. yes. i remember that conversation we had. didn't mean to reverb, here. just can't help myself. this is what i think of when

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1085687471855955072004-05-27T15:50:00.000-04:002004-05-27T15:51:11.856-04:00

last time i saw you, you came up to me to give me a hug and held me for some time. you held me there as i held you, and as my hands rested on the small of your back i remembered just how small your waist really is. it's like the middle of an eight. you're like a number. a number that held me in place like a newfound memory. rediscovered in essence and meaning. and because you seemed to be

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1085686012562032782004-05-27T15:25:00.000-04:002004-05-27T15:26:52.563-04:00

when my father first brought us here, the house wasn't a home. not at first. but it grew on us. all of us. and the reason for that partly fell on the trees that lined the block on both sides of my street. they blocked it so much so that even during the brightest, warmest summer day, the rays of light found it difficult to reach certain parts of the street. but without me realizing so, the

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1085682678950209852004-05-27T14:30:00.000-04:002004-05-27T14:31:18.950-04:00

silently, now, they all go back to their holes. and they're whole. i see it. at least on the outside. the interior, no one knows. no one ever cut one down the middle. no one ever put a knife to one just to watch for blood, as if itching with curiosity. not one. not one. silently, now, i'm left silently alone. it's the darkening of the forest. the ascent of the moon and stars. we

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1085666244886613162004-05-27T09:56:00.000-04:002004-05-27T10:00:47.736-04:00

technology can get you everything in the blink of an eye. everything except happiness, and that's always been everything to me. and happiness was you, for a few days and nights. a few dates on the calendar that bled into each other without rhyme or reason. the lines separating the days on paper wouldn't lead you to think that they're as porous as they actually are. there is no announcement

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1085583148992137382004-05-26T10:52:00.000-04:002004-05-26T12:05:58.356-04:00

silence. all around me. i don't want to leave this room, today. i'll nap by that corner. wake up and draw over here, next to the closet. i don't even want to go near the bed right now. i want to draw. sketch the world as it is and then sketch it as it should be. i'll place the sun where i please and if someone sees the sketch at a later date and offers, "why is the sun sitting next to

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1085579724687347882004-05-26T09:54:00.000-04:002004-05-26T09:55:24.686-04:00

at night when i'm falling asleep, i reach my arm across where you should be. i feel the emptiness that is there. even before finding rest for the night i begin dreaming of holding you in the fortress of that room. i think of how my tongue searched you. you raised your hand and pointed at the ceiling as if reaching for something, or perhaps just to prove that there was nothing else there

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1085492737607288862004-05-25T09:45:00.000-04:002004-05-25T09:45:37.606-04:00

an old man at the end of his trail usually has something to say for history's role. but not always. not always. and i wonder, if ever i do make it to a century, whether i'll remember anything at all. and should i remember a few incidents, whether i'll remember the words that go along with the pictures in my mind. will these streets remember my name like i have memorized theirs?

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-108541077872005242004-05-24T10:56:00.000-04:002004-05-27T16:00:51.843-04:00

my lips to your body like summer rain to the ground. a touch on your elbow so slight and faint with indecision, it gets lost in all the noise of the unnecessary. these hands will bend to you. this body will mold it's stone-carved meaning to your soft hills and valleys, rest alongside you. and i will find reasons to come for you through the long shadows of our unlit room and with the wind of

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1085404511873343892004-05-24T09:14:00.000-04:002004-05-24T09:15:11.873-04:00

after we ended i said unto me that i'd never allow myself to hurt like that again. and so i shut myself in and allowed no one entrance. i made it so that i couldn't love. i made it so that i couldn't be loved. with you gone, there was no point.

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1085404385751660102004-05-24T09:09:00.000-04:002004-05-24T09:13:05.750-04:00

this world we live in, what you love can get you killed. we go to war for hate, but we won't fight for love. and i wonder, if not love, what else is there to die for? truth and justice? i don't believe this world has ever seen much of either. dreams and hopes? if they're not real, will our deaths bring them into being? no. the ironbound was once better than that. better than the world.

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1085147702336482312004-05-21T09:54:00.001-04:002004-05-21T09:55:02.336-04:00

just for the record, and despite anything else i may say or do, i want you to know that no one has touched your cup. so if you want to stay the night, there'll be some coffee waiting for you in the pot and your cup in the cupboard above the sink. and for a toothbrush, you can always use mine.

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1085147677933824222004-05-21T09:54:00.000-04:002004-05-21T09:54:37.933-04:00

i was thinking of your jeans last night. the ones with the hole just above the right knee. the ones that hugged you better than even i, despite all my lust and desire, managed to do sometimes. i was thinking of them and of how if i watched them walk through the door i'd still recognize them. even if you weren't wearing them, if it was just the jeans out for a night alone, i'd remember them

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1085063668229595412004-05-20T10:34:00.000-04:002004-05-20T10:34:28.230-04:00

love, i'm losing faith in love and i fear soon i will have to call you "like." or "ideal." or "notion." because that's what i'm beginning to believe in. the circumstance brings me there, but it's all a game of "what can i get for my value and if i can get more than i'm worth i'm gonna hold fast to it." and i don't like that. i don't like the fact that the game of love is like that. i'm

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1085059899381803202004-05-20T09:30:00.000-04:002004-05-20T09:31:39.380-04:00

the main character and his mistress are at a ball when they are approached by a younger man, a stranger, who asks, "do you have a date." the protagonist answers, "she has a date every night." when we watched that movie you burried your face in my chest. as if it's something i might have said. and i would've. that's exactly how i would have answered him if he'd approached us.

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1084974272524339902004-05-19T09:42:00.000-04:002004-05-20T09:49:04.466-04:00

dream. dream and never open your eyes. shut out the world. the world that changes colors. like in autumn. spring. like your eyes. your hair, in the summer. you, chameleon of the seasons, pretty in all your shades and i, fumbling my way through these fragments of thoughts. i'm barely awake now. i'll try breaking into your dreams as i drift off to sleep. but you can always find me

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1084890625223247662004-05-18T10:24:00.000-04:002004-05-18T10:30:25.223-04:00

three widows weep where once only one understood. and i, my love, i see only your face in their tears. only your eyes in their eyes. yesterday you came up to my car as i waited at the light and kissed my cheek. smiled radiant and waited for a response. and i, like so many times before, could offer only a smile in return. i wanted to take you right there. fetch you away to a place far

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1084549115451500562004-05-14T11:38:00.000-04:002004-05-14T11:38:35.450-04:00

the weather is dark and warm like the inside of an oven. at this point, the threat of rain isn't a threat so much as a hopeful possibility, even if the rain gets lost amid the sweat on my brow. i don't think i love you anymore today than i did yesterday. i don't miss you anymore than yesterday, either. i miss you and blow kisses that i hope make it to you but it feels like i'm just kissing

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1084457731520034692004-05-13T10:14:00.000-04:002004-05-13T10:15:31.520-04:00

while you helped heal pigeons and things i watched and that's how i came to want you. watching you, taking mental pictures. stealing pieces of you when you weren't aware. then, one evening as the sun set and cast a fog of blinding orange light over everything, you were gone. as quickly as the flash of my eyes giving you enough light, you vanished. went. now writing me letters that are

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1084372429391088152004-05-12T10:30:00.000-04:002004-05-12T10:33:49.390-04:00

you'd want me to stay, you once wrote in a letter, if only it didn't take so much to be with me. i chuckled. i do so even now as i'm writing this. you'd want me to be with you, you continued, if only i could love you as i love the grass on the park, and the corners of the buildings and even the sidewalk on my street. and yes, i have memorized the wrinkles time bestowed upon the sidewalk on my

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1084287416307860312004-05-11T10:55:00.000-04:002004-05-11T10:56:56.330-04:00

it's time to see who really loves me. i published a second collection of poetry entitled "the deepest depths of shallow ponds." it is now for sale at the unbelievable low rate of $7.95. anyone who would like a copy email me at hugo@hugodossantos.com and i will gladly ship you a copy. like i said, it's $7.95 (plus $1 shipping). also, for those of you who are watching your wallets more

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1084206712471231572004-05-10T12:26:00.000-04:002004-05-10T12:31:52.470-04:00

it's just the inadequacy of it all. the silence after the initial "hello," or "hey you." those words always come easy. they're greetings, proper manners of being society branded into me. i can't forget. like the first time you removed your shirt for me. for us. for the moment. i always say them, these words i recall without trying to do so. i say them even without meaning to do so. but

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1084199214088241072004-05-10T10:26:00.000-04:002004-05-10T10:26:54.086-04:00

some words are so hard to say. like "stay." or, "i'm sorry." some words were once hard to say, so we used them for everything from bread to television shows. pimped out the meaning. yes, i love the autumn evenings, but not like i loved you. i can say the word now, but what good is it if i can't get the feeling back? some words are impossible to say. like, "i'm afraid of losing you."

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1083953412292853352004-05-07T14:09:00.000-04:002004-05-07T14:14:40.610-04:00

should i go to the planetarium to see you? why did they name it after the planets and not the stars? no one goes there to see the planets. everyone goes to look at the stars. especially now that there are none in the sky. especially now that you don't return my calls.

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1083937334576149612004-05-07T09:41:00.000-04:002004-05-07T09:46:42.200-04:00

remember how we used to do it, you and i? i'd recite you poems and then you'd scratch my back and sing me to sleep. humming with the window open. do you remember that? so why, my siren, does the ground now sway under me like waves as if i'm lost at sea? do even the rugs and carpets know that i can't find my north star in all this fog? do my steps announce it so that even the ground finds

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1083893403691774732004-05-06T21:28:00.000-04:002004-05-06T21:39:32.013-04:00

for a day that began so promising, so uplifting in spirit, for me at least, it took a wrong turn somewhere. ended up elsewhere. lost. confused. who knows where. you see, every song on the radio is the exact same. the voices are identical. they don't have anything new to say. so i turn off the radio. silence. it lasts a while. long enough for your picture to come back to me. i shut

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1083852299714468382004-05-06T10:04:00.000-04:002004-05-06T10:30:27.280-04:00

don't kiss me today, i don't have patience for the poetry of your lips. that's what i would say to you had morning greeted me with you in my bed. that's what i would say. for what's a kiss worth? what's a kiss worth? certainly not the shadow cast over my day as i'm consumed with the taste of a morning-glazed kiss. certainly not my insecurities. not my misplaced sense of belief, for what is

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1083764648469710442004-05-05T09:38:00.000-04:002004-05-05T09:48:47.060-04:00

it must be the same thing the barefoot children wonder; how am i ever going to get there on these bald tires? distance is relative, i know. i've told you this before and echoed it throughout these pages. but still, it cuts me just as deep. your smile from afar is a blade to my veins, stops my blood cold, and i can't heal. i pause before a photograph of us, just as frozen as those past

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1083679628437452342004-05-04T10:06:00.000-04:002004-05-04T10:11:03.903-04:00

you came to see me yesterday. snuck up on me asking, "what are you reading?" i looked up from the paperback and found you between me and the sun. blinding me. you sat down and slapped my thigh like an old friend. said, "i'm tired of this city." still looking at you i responded, "what can she be, being what she is? this city...." but you didn't let me finish. started going off about all

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1083607292586124732004-05-03T14:01:00.000-04:002004-05-03T14:05:43.700-04:00

i know you still remember the sounds of me. i know because even in the bars crowded with people who don't matter you turn around when i open the door. you hear me through the music, people and space; all that doesn't matter but is there just the same. you see, everything is a metaphor. you remembering me means the song of my voice still plays in your head.

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1083590201779659742004-05-03T09:16:00.000-04:002004-05-03T09:20:56.030-04:00

i don't believe i've ever told you about the time when the earth was very young and just newly courted by the sun, and the ironbound was not yet bound but just a clump of trees that rose like statues of nature and streams that flowed like in tales of old. before they made market street, before they made the newspaper and the supermarkets, only a few things were as they are now. this was very

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1083433961760855582004-05-01T13:52:00.000-04:002004-05-01T13:57:01.233-04:00

these days the streets are lost. souls bitten by hurt and disappointment walk aimlessly like zombies. the ironbound is just a place where i fell in love with you. it's not why i fell for you. just a location, an address, a chance to do so. unassumingly. unannounced. we napped together and i, after waiting for you to fall asleep, took your hand and tried desperately to memorize your

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1083334740968113012004-04-30T10:18:00.000-04:002004-04-30T10:23:19.356-04:00

went to see how they trapped time in a bottle on south orange ave. went to the other side of town to see how the other half lives. walked around. saw lots. saw little. it doesn't matter. people are always surprised at how i lose my breath at the smallest of details, but it is only they who can do that to me. all the really big things knock me out, and i'm not sure that isn't how it

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1083249044010528742004-04-29T10:30:00.000-04:002004-04-29T10:35:00.983-04:00

i didn't want to write this today. not today. all days but today. i woke up in the morning and put on a smile. i picked the nice one i'd been saving for this very day. just for today. and i rinsed off the dust. and i put on a new shirt. and i headed for the door absolutely certain that i would find something worth this smile. that beyond the door the street would spring forth something

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1083164961889177602004-04-28T11:09:00.000-04:002004-04-28T11:13:37.733-04:00

it's never like you want it to be. it's never even close to how you thought it was. just crazy. insane. no rhyme or reason or reason to rhyme. they just do it to sound like something is being said. but no. nothing is ever said. it's never about anything. it's about nothing, really, and that seems to be everything i see. the disappointment stops short of a tear, even when it tears up

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1083161883898125952004-04-28T10:17:00.000-04:002004-04-28T10:22:19.610-04:00

i want to steal some of the water's shine and turn it into a mirror so you can put on your make-up. i got a sickness that won't let go. i found something and it went away, like smoke. you're never sure where it went. it joins in with the air. the air joins in with it. it all goes away and you're left with a scent, but no trail. i got a sickness in my heart. i'm fasting on ideals, i'm

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1083075581328820452004-04-27T10:19:00.000-04:002004-04-27T10:33:26.793-04:00

sometimes the sea resembles the night sky. i pick pearls out of the waves, pull the clouds safely ashore, and in the cold i find myself chiefly chapped and cosmically concerned. even the simmering sand is a cement cemetery. rain drops flop around on the dunes like fish out of breath. coming back home i have a notion of your lotion but there's an ocean of potions between us. why is

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1083073768275409242004-04-27T09:48:00.000-04:002004-04-27T09:53:42.263-04:00

the difference between the feelings at the moment and looking at the instants in hindsight is the proximity and/or distance to/from the subject. how many times have i said, "i wished i acted differently there," when back then i couldn't have possibly been but how i was. we become invested. we fear the future. we can't place any of it in context. because we're there. we're only there. and i

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1082989970684846742004-04-26T10:28:00.000-04:002004-04-26T14:41:48.153-04:00

there are thugs in the streets. they walk the same steps we walked hand in hand (careful to avoid the cracks on the sidewalks). but we walked searching the moon and stars and they walk searching souls to rip out of the chest of those who are still clinging to one. these thugs run and bend the concrete, they scream and shatter the glass. the thugs look in the veil of night for that which

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1082989682396245592004-04-26T10:27:00.000-04:002004-04-26T10:32:15.170-04:00

a minha lingua trabalhada despe-se perante de ti. sem vergonha. sem medo. é o que é. mas tu, vês o que lês.

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1082937272587874742004-04-25T19:54:00.000-04:002004-04-25T19:58:44.950-04:00

i dreamt of you last night, which is weird because i never remember my dreams. never, ever. i remember about two per year, if i'm lucky and this time i was lucky. i was lucky last night because i dreamt of you and you wore that long black coat i love so much, and looked over your sholder to talk to me. it was like the old days. remember those? i was lucky this morning because i dreamt of

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1082733334203243672004-04-23T11:15:00.000-04:002004-04-23T11:19:43.076-04:00

i still smile when i think of how jealous you were of her. you got so worked up i had to grab you by force (often from behind) and rest my face against your face and neck, shut my eyes and whisper to you about how you were the only one i had eyes for. why, you were the only one i had eyes for. my eyes wrapped around your arms and chest and you feigned fighting me to break free. you acted as

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1082726152314900972004-04-23T09:14:00.000-04:002004-04-23T09:20:01.060-04:00

i find it hard to say what it is i truly miss about you. it's not as if i can't find the words, or that they get lost in the saying, i just can't frame it entirely in one snapshot because there are so many things. there are so many things. but mostly, i miss how i felt about you before. before, i didn't look at you as someone i had to fight the world for. before, i looked at you as my

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1082659598232595602004-04-22T14:46:00.000-04:002004-04-23T09:22:32.356-04:00

they preach on in the churches. tell me of seasons, reasons and treasons. they tell me there's a season to die, a season to cry, a season to heal and a season to gather. a purity of soul. all that good stuff. the meek shall inherit -- and i don't have much, but what i have is mine. there's a church on my street that is older than anyone i've met, older than any other house on my block.

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1082648707044233312004-04-22T11:44:00.000-04:002004-04-22T11:49:14.170-04:00

can nothing match a lover's request for a kiss? not even the kiss itself. not even the open-eyed peck, the tongue-draped exchange, the torturing approach, the expecting instants leading up to and just before said kiss. because we know it's on the way. we understand it is due to arrive. but even when it does, nothing is as sweet as knowing how craved it is.

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1082643782857250012004-04-22T10:22:00.000-04:002004-04-22T10:27:10.216-04:00

there were no more places to take you. i'd exhausted all this city has to offer. i'd exhausted all this country, continent, planet has to see. i could show you no more, nothing newer than the endless corners of the dreams i spin from my pillow. so i ran to your house. i ran down streets, sidewalks, taking every shortcut i knew, and arrived at your house to find your windows shut and the

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1082557495046441772004-04-21T10:24:00.000-04:002004-04-21T10:29:00.983-04:00

we sat up late listening to music. this was when we'd argue about stupid stuff, trying desperately to be witty for each other. and you told me form equals force, and so i wrote you sonnets. the best i ever wrote was aboard a train on the way to spain. i saw a mountain ripping through the clouds as if it'd made it to heaven. and i thought it was beautiful. and i thought that if you can

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1082469858789550022004-04-20T10:03:00.000-04:002004-04-20T10:08:23.623-04:00

we sat at a table just big enough for two people. i'd bought you a big chocolate chip cookie. big cookie. big like your smile. too big to eat. more for show. i doubt anyone eats those things. they're made to sit and look pretty. like your smile, they're not meant to be eaten. our legs crossed each other, touched and rubbed in comfortable intimacy. you read a book, had homework to do,

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1082398435866728082004-04-19T14:13:00.000-04:002004-04-19T14:17:59.420-04:00

your right breast is just like your left breast, but it's not identical. i know, i know, i know, typically they never look the same. one is always bigger than the other. but not with you. they're the same size. same taste. same everything. but they're not the same. they're not identical. your left ear isn't like your right ear at all. i mean, it looks just like it. smells just like

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1082385158019589212004-04-19T10:32:00.000-04:002004-04-19T10:36:41.123-04:00

we'll pack away all the demons within. travel light, a change of clothes, a bag of illusions, and we'll hit the road. they'll see us pulling out of the parking spot in the dead silence of a city that's never slowed down and listened to itself. the windows rolled up. you and me looking out at the sidewalks and shops. all the mute people standing still, looking at us. they have no idea where

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1082127496041247752004-04-16T10:58:00.000-04:002004-04-19T14:31:23.390-04:00

i seek you in the humid caves of time. i seek you on jefferson. jackson. van buren. all the streets i share with you. up. down. forgotten steps of a journey. a mountain in the valley of nothing, a statue of nature. this. the wind swept the fallen leaves, stored them at the corner of the curb. i want you. your frigid tongue makes me shiver, leaves my hair on end.

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1082127280199011462004-04-16T10:54:00.001-04:002004-04-19T14:31:01.466-04:00

procuro-te nas grutas húmidas do tempo. procuro-te na jefferson. jackson. van buren. procuro-te pelas ruas que compartilhamos. cima. baixo. passos de viagem esquecidos. uma montanha no vale do nada, uma estátua da natureza. isto. o vento varreu as folhas caídas no canto da esquina. quero-te. a tua lingua frigida faz-me tremer, deixa-me os cabelos em pé.

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1082124126702705092004-04-16T10:01:00.000-04:002004-04-16T10:06:06.043-04:00

i'm stealing from the mission box.  i'm going through our old albums, searching for new ways to describe you.  i look at the pictures we took at parties.  the ones we took at weddings.  on the street.  at the park.  the more intimate ones i took with that old polaroid camera my grandfather left behind when he died of old age and stubbornness.  i look at 'em all.  because i miss you.  because i

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1082038160484377042004-04-15T10:08:00.000-04:002004-04-15T10:13:18.360-04:00

it rains everyday now. the man in the box told me that the hours are changing and i wonder who changes them. who made that call? who said, "move the clocks up an hour." yeah, the day darkens later than before, but so what? what do i care? it's always cloudy here. i have to watch out for potholes, the water hides the depth. i drive blindly in the dark. i want to drive this car home to

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1081958798636291182004-04-14T12:02:00.000-04:002004-04-14T12:10:35.280-04:00

it's like that movie everyone watched. the song that constantly replays on the radio without the singer's voice ever going out. the crowds will mouth the words without understanding the meaning. it's the way of things. that's just how it goes. no understanding necessary. it's the unspoken, love. all the words that matter die before meeting the oxygen of the day. they evaporate and turn

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1081950051496671312004-04-14T09:40:00.000-04:002004-04-14T09:55:56.576-04:00

years ago, when i was first falling for you, i wrote you a book. long before i ever published one, long before i ever found any type of recognition with the written word, long, long, long ago, so long ago that you, yourself, were just getting to know my skin, i wrote a book about you. i wrote a book for you. i wrote it on a notebook. i wrote it with the best hand-writing i knew how to write,

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1081869961832406722004-04-13T11:25:00.000-04:002004-04-13T11:29:56.903-04:00

without you what good is paradise? i can build a hut by the beach and swim in the open sea. i can sleep on a hammock and run through the fine white sand. stand waist deep in the water and watch the fish swim eights around my legs like cats. what good is paradise without you? what good is any of it? all of it? i need your voice giving color to the sky. i need your tan for a page so that

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1081866973369446762004-04-13T10:33:00.000-04:002004-04-13T10:40:08.293-04:00

we bring our heroes down, love. we bring 'em down, down, down. they fly while we walk. they break down walls and stereotypes, fight demons and injustice. they're the voice of the weak. all the things we're not. and what do we do? we bring 'em down. we bring 'em down. we're not content until they're just like us. we're the enemy. the nemesis. love, we can't admire, only destroy.

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6294492.post-1081795483226323002004-04-12T14:41:00.000-04:002004-04-12T14:48:36.920-04:00

that february 14 i sat with you in that government building waiting for your paperwork. i wasn't working anyway and wanted to hang out with you. i hadn't bought you anything yet. i never thought about that stuff much. i just wanted to sit with you and place my hand on your lap, even if we sat in silence; me lost in my book and you jotting down stuff on your notebook. you would look around

Hugohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090131258920020920noreply@blogger.com