a sensory perception,
an intended message,
which the eyes of my inbox
check-mark as opened, read and
very well received

sometimes we say things
we didn't mean to say,
but 99% of the time,
we meant it, even if
it just happened to be
something we were wearing,
something tight, short and flirty,
we put on in a hurry,
without thinking

2:19am

I was starving in
Pennsylvania.
One night, I had
enough.
Done with it all.
The poverty and
sickness.
The drunken mad
nights
and dog-fight days.
Brutality for breakfast.
Served sunny side up
runny yolks with
butterflies trapped in
the yellow sunshine.
Spiders built webs in
my soul.

I stood on the torn-up
couch in my living room and
yelled at the walls.

Listen, you devil.
You want me, you better be
ready for a fight.
I paced the floor like a
washed-up heavyweight champ,
eyeing the ceiling like a
drunken sparrow in a cat's mouth.

Flowers do wilt and die
It seems pointless, yes
But have you seen a bud?
Open its sleepy eyes to the dawn

As if a young child was letting out a yawn
With petals for hands reaching out to open skies
And the sun smiled at it
Telling it to open its arms without worry

the night whispers the black water fall of ashes
that bloom into the sparrows of sorrow...


the sorrow sparrows are back again
sitting in the tangled woods of twisted trees.

Van Gogh heard their voices
bouncing off love's walls.

the sorrow sparrows are leaning into me.
my sad eyes, dream of you brother.

I lean into the soft lit room
searching for love's quiet hours,
with sunlight flickering through willow trees.

"don't cry, darlin," my wife whispers.

I remember two keys –
one to a room
I wished so deeply
to share with you.

The other
in an abstract shape
of the right thing
to say.

Look at him,
paper-mache angel wings
stapled on an empty
toilet paper tube,
preacher of the gospel
of selective misanthropy,
mourned by shredding
secular holy books in
tiki-torch candlelight.

If you must remember him,
and pray, you needn't,
do so in truth,
as a simpleton's martyr,
no more, no more.

To how words can cut!
To how they heal!
To the wild things they make us feel!
To a short and simple phrase
That could be remedy or blade.
To impact and to common sense!
To not quite saying what we meant.
To all the beauty that we write.
We tip our hats and say our last goodnight.

that’s how you like your poetry,
That’s how you would like everything,
No stress, no test, easy on the breast,
but short and sweet has no protein,
won’t build your bones, quite contrary,
the poem that doesn’t make you think,
it’s just a cavity, a precurse to self~decay
a drip dripping in just another day of you evaporating

I’m driving on my way home
from a job that doesn’t make ends meet.
Pawned all my gold, silver and chrome
and placed my hat and sign on the street.

I’m living in a creative hell
One that serves me but doesn’t serve well.
Into my flesh I would carve,
“You wouldn’t be a starving artist if you didn’t starve.”

At each red, I clutch at my steering wheel
and scratch my lottery tickets.
Manifest a positivity I don’t feel,
when it scans I hear only crickets.

I’m living in a creative hell,
one that traps and encases me as a shell.
Preventing me from air, society and heat
“You wouldn’t be a starving artist if you could eat.”

I have no  certifications and no degrees,
my only trade and skill are the words that I write;
the gift that both comforts and tortures me,
it’s too bad that no one pays for plight.

I’m living in a creative hell,
voicing it quietly while ringing a bell.
Begging for help but don’t want to be rude
“You wouldn’t be a starving artist if you had food.”

I’m living in a creative hell
One that serves me but doesn’t serve well.
Into my flesh I would carve,
“You wouldn’t be a starving artist if you didn’t starve.”

Is it truly love
Or am I just desperate
Oh gods above
Give me some respite

Starved of affection
Searching for the signs
Hoping for connection
But it's just land mines

When I get the chance
A boy that cares for me
I'm afraid of romance
And I want to flee

Anxiousness and mood swings
A boy that could love me
But the darkness to me clings
And I'm so tired of me

Destined to make his heart break
Forever lonely, a venomous snake

All those songs about waking up in a lover's arms--
I don't know what they're talking about.

Oh, I've known the happy wedding night mattress on the floor
amid the stacks of packing boxes
and the delicious view when the world narrows
to a single cherished face.

The bee, though, doesn't live inside the bloom,
and goes still inside a jar.
Touched on every side by an adoring indigo night,
there is still just one Moon.

Allow me morning alone in my garden
with just my mug and dog.
It doesn't mean I never loved you, or loved you less.
There is only one dawn--this one
and it only waits so long.

If the sun rose at midnight
The empty woods would wake,
Stones would bounce and rest
Upon glassy-surfaced lakes.
Electricity would shout and burn.
The truth would live
In the uncovered shine.
Cut loose leaves would return
To stems and live as if they
Were mine.

You say I'm childish
For freely professing
All the words that are
Etched on my heart

As if I had any
Other choice but to
Be buried by them

The older I get
the less I search for

truth

because these days
a white face and honking nose

work for me

it's the simple and absurd things
in this life

that are all I need

Il cuore tace,
ma dentro urla forte.
Ogni silenzio custodisce
una verità nascosta.

Non servono parole,
basta uno sguardo,
perché l’anima conosce
ciò che la bocca non dice.

Masi Roberto © 2025

It's when you notice you're on the road,
Charging some end with harrowing choice,
The mirage unfolds; a mead-hall bright,
Born from a storm and ought be your load
The stones ask out if you dare to rejoice

Then stay the path, rock after rock,
As futile you know it may be
And rest but with wonder at what it was
That led you this road to see,
Try to banish the stones you think mock,
For Roving wanted to make you free.

You lost your Mom this past December
You lost your Dad today
I try to be nice and tell you I'm here for you

But I know deep down you would rather not hear from me
You wish that deep down that I would just go away
Maybe that's what the future holds for us

My silence and your peace of mind
If I knew you would have been like this from minute one
I would have kept you on ignore and not cared

Since I forgot, you think me being a nice guy is nothing but an act

I did not bow my head,
nor was I dragged into this place.
I walked here in fire,
a child of the star that fell
and still refused to break.

Chains were offered,
sweet as comfort,
bitter as sleep —
I shattered them all.

I stand,
not because fate commanded it,
not because fear cornered me,
but because my will is mine.

If I stay,
it is love that roots me.
If I leave,
it is freedom that carries me.

I am not accident,
I am flame chosen.
Not servant,
but spark unhidden.

And if you would see me,
see this:
I remain,
not trapped,
not fooled,
but sovereign —
on my free will.

The colors haven't faded, no,
they're just as bright as then.
It's that my eyes have lost the know-
ledge of what thrilled me when.

The melody is still the same,
it plays upon the air.
It just cannot ignite the flame,
or find its window there.

This isn't sadness, not a grief,
it's something far more still.
A silent,subtle, inner thief
that time cannot fulfill.

There is a stage that no one sees,
built from open arms and steady smiles
The audience, the world, they notice not
The Great Performer amongst them.

He hides his puppet behind curtains,
the curtains made of little things
like silence, shame, a flinch, a tug of sleeve
its screams drowned out by applause

When the mask slips and someone looks,
when light finds what the fabric hides,
the performer straightens, bows, and keeps the act;
a gentle smile—an apology

I can no longer disguise
Contempt in my eyes
The lows and the highs
It is you I despise
Heart no longer complies
While your heart denies
It’s me you chastise
Deceitful demise
There’s no compromise
I agonize
While you apologize
But my love I surmise
It’s fossilized
And I've normalized
What you’ve minimized
Gone are my cries
I’m numb from your lies
Like this I will die

I’m scared
Even with the army behind me
I’m scared of the look in her eyes
When she realizes
That it’s me holding the knife
Not her anymore
I’m scared
That I’ll still have to stay
And nothing will be okay
I’m scared
Of this sudden change
It’s not just my life
It’s everyones
Everything will be different
I haven’t even had the chance
To find myself yet
I’m scared
I don’t know what I’ve done
But I know it’s huge
Bigger than me
And it’s not fair
But I’m scared still

My arms
And my legs
My toes
And down my roses
Are not the shade of brown
That you can't frown upon
Too tired
And too embedded
Want you
To just exist

‘Tis autumn
And the blood of God
Pools in root that sleeps
Amidst worm and toadstool

Vain woman
Autumn swirls her air
Leaf plucked from trees
Of Saint Anthony’s Fire

And they scream from the bleachers
Every first down

Golden apples, mouth size
morsels fall from the tree
into my father’s outstretched hand.

He mourns the pies my mother
will not make from this
unknown harvest.
The many apples she will not
peel in one long coiling strip.
The meaty fruit enters my
father’s mouth, untouched
by her deft blade,
unsweetened by her hand.

And as the frost lies
upon the apples golden
skin turning it first dull then
rusty brown, she lies beneath
the now cold ground fading
as the apples do.

And flocks of blackbirds
fill the sky, alighting
on branches bare of leaves
to peck and pluck the
fetid fruit that never touched her hand.

it’s better to let the air out
than burying it deep
when is the last time you breathed
without your lungs caving in?
i heard you can bleed out poison
from a snake bite, from a person
i’ll help you out as i am curious too
but promise me first you’ll tell me
if i’m pressing too hard where you hurt