Real isn’t an adjective
he hates poems //
well //
i do too
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Poetry
Promises extended
The smoke sticks all over and lingers. //
I’m suddenly afraid of man and his promise, //
for it smells like a cigarette.
Grandma
lie when you’re tired, //
lie when you’re brave, //
such a great shame, //
such easy handles.
This is not a secret
I call it a mercy— my buried pretense, my unspoken lie, but a guilty conscience is a gunshot wound— it never really heals. It’s not a secret if the truth would break her, so I let the bullet lodge inside my ribs, rusting– latent, lethal, it waits. It’s not a secret. I wrap her in
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Thirst drinking saltwater
It begins with the word, of the mouth that shaped it, the breath that cups it, and the body that makes it I was a pile of flesh that refreshes itself every 10 years goes on living, building a dam, for the rain that beats my body all night on the parts that hurt, that
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Oraphim
The sun bursts from displacement – Entropy begins. Allow it. Rings of rings of of rings of of rings of of eyes ablaze; interlocking. Thousands of pupils on an ever-spinning carousel, blessed with voluntary cataracts that hit only when they look into my own; (what is about to happen is of no in
Do you hear that?
Our words reverberate,But I can’t remember what was said.Four years passed us by –Now as I walk past the same buildings,See the spots where we lingered,The trees are growing older, but the food trucks are the same. I hear a faint whisper,Like music in my ears.When we talked of nothing,It still meant something –Something that
Homeward bound (a Glosa)
The familiar voice that bids mego to an unknown mountainpierces my heart but stays the knifein a trembling hand.The deed’s undone,yet the unspeakable lingers —Excerpt of Estrangement, James L. Crenshaw And from on high, I feel it.A pitch that rends my eardrumsChafes me raw, until the silence renders me whole again,No longer overflowing, as I
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Under trees
solitude among giantshow it feelsto know that i inhale their exhalationsand that they do the samethat as we both respiratewe are conspiringconnecting anthropic and organic crest it’s a strange homea mystical divideroots to canopyseparating landscapes ofurban and ruralthe planes of my mindfinally at rest every moment under trees,every breath,preciousalthough infinitesimal.smaller still to these creaturesrooted to