the beginning will change, the middle will be thrown out, and the ending doesn't exist.

sounds like a great start to a poem! written on index cards in pencil, because i got sick of every notebook and piece of paper and pen that i own.

you believed
that wealth should
be measured
in syllables
that love should
be spelled independent
of music
but hearts are not
like me,
and if you think
they're deaf then
i will have no problem
naming you a fool,
so throw rocks at my window.
i may be
too fearful
to answer.
but be reassured
that i keep it closed.
i'm waiting for
the pebbles to
develop percussion
and i don't mean to ask so much
i promise,
i will be as dedicated
as the tides
and far warmer.
just assure me
you are made of
reality.
i want an apparition
of more than just
fictionalizations.
this is a love poem
for the man
i hope to meet
but am planning on bypassing
while i'm too distracted
by my
fence building.
the letters are small
and i am outlining
this hope
in pencil:
permanent is something
i haven't yet been given
the chance
to learn.