Poem or facebook status

Dear Callabash
 I've been flirting with
Productivity
 For years
  Should I accept
   She isn't into me
    Or will we someday tell our kids
     About my funny
      Stalking

extraction and edit from 7/2011

In the beginning

The first man stood in the heavens.

On the bones of his ancestors

Lucifer fell 

angels hurled mountains of cheese

A giant leap

The rind of the moon makes pungent stock.

The necklace of the moon wins suitors.

The gown of the moon frustrates fathers.

The howl of the moon is the wild call.

The moon sees the one I love.

There's a rabbit in it, and a man, and a spider.

the celestial choir

 and the whirling dust and the planetary punctuation,

 is loved, 

has been loved, 

will be loved

in the disparation.

Edit of 6/10/12

No I                           No I(.)Am not(.)these words
not am                               Am not(.)dying.                                
dying and                              Am (not) dying.           these words dying.
these words                                          dying these words.
are always hers                                                           these words are (always)
longing ex                                                                   these words are (hers).
tolling
idolatry
as without                             As (always) without her.     (with, as without) her, these words are.
her these words
and cells                 these words are cells. are these words cells? prisons (or) blood. prisons (for blood)
send the signal                 these words are cells for blood
blood flow                          these words flow?
winter                                                             (fall?)
does not sum
the whole of
silence
to come                              No I / am not / to come /
                                             (fall of a sparrow)



"I am not dying.
These words are cells.
Winter does not sum the whole of silence."

Where else I'd write a poem

I'm instead inspired to stillness

A feeling of immobility

A sure knowledge of

Wanting

To wait

A poor swimmer - edit

pressed to you
 naked
we are as near
 as though we lay
on the far shores
 of a river.