I clutch a pendant of thorns,
squeezing tighter and bleeding brighter --
I adorn myself with these niceties,
selfless gifts from the generosity of my impulsivity,
timeless fragments of an era,
one that passed me by too soon.

I envisioned these days so often,
fearful of the independence soon to come.
Repression has surpassed to grant this favor
of forgetful remembrance –
or perhaps my memory you’ve stripped as well.

Loneliness stalks even the proudest of prey,
probing the crevices stashed deep away
to betray the very promises endemic to your core.


Now do I savor the silence I once abhorred.


I lie and I listen to the serenity all around,
obscurities of the day whispering from my walls
as an auburn Cardinal serenades from outside.

The moon beckons me near, apologetic murmurs
of her needless façade from the past –
a revered box fan underwhelms the silence
and disperses my diffused Siberian fir,
crips notes of pine and aromatic wintergreen
to soothe the comfort of my nightly routine.


Now do I know myself more than ever before.

A swaying synthetic tub
waltzes in summer’s breeze
fingers interlocked, one step two,
full of rotted leaves wilted petals,
afterthoughts of Spring’s bloom.

An underdeveloped songbird
basks in the Louisville sunlight,
infrequent chirps of language
misunderstood perceived as
barbaric melodies too primal
for basic understanding. The
song of the bird an audible
reflection of the natural world,
an epitomized version of swaying
bluegrass and beckoning bushes,
of turbulent winds and undulating
clouds, of violet skies lost in the
haze of a brackish day, of a setting
sun glancing one last time at
the eyes refusing to gaze back.

White-specked eggs soon to burst
with new life and freshly glazed
eyes; novel music awaits its
composition, written for the ears
no longer around to hear them sung.

A struggling scholar
suffocates under satin
sheets, silver weaves of
wool washing him in
a prudent ponderance,
postulating the possibilities
of potential preconceptions
positioned as pending promises,
tectonic tremors of time’s turbulence.

Muscle memory mimics
my melancholy motivation,
mundane mysteries molding
into lucid dreams of lifeless
discovery, of lamenting decisions
lining days of limited desire.

So I ignore the indulgence of
intimate incidents, the influx of
inhibiting infatuations inhabiting
my independence --

I break the form
and do as I need.

As evolution jumped from eon to eon,
the foundational hunger to remain
surpassed all bounds this great celestial
has ever witnessed in its cosmic disturbance.
How must Mars and Jupiter, these stars in the sky
view the deep blue that flooded the desolate,
a clump of collected debris basking in the ultraviolet,
unable to resist the presence of life, ever-so unwanted
and needless to exist? For our neighbors in the sky,
glancing our way in their soulless façade,
they gossip to their peers about the news over here,
the autumnal shift from emerald to bronze,
willows who wept in the heat of summer days,
dandelions dotting the ridges of a rolling hillside,
at times dipping their toes in the whispering waters
of a backyard creek caressing the moss
atop smooth and shimmering stones.

From nothing you surged as entropy evermore,
and from everything you share your entities,
the very body you call your own, the breath
you maintain in this cyclical palindrome;
as mere extensions of the singularity’s core,
you find yourself in this position of awe,
gazing at the consequences never meant to be seen.






How fortunate we are to find ourselves here
in a sea of tumultuous chaos, conscious and
ever-so present in the discovery of knowledge.
To look to the past through a tubular lens
and remain unknowing of time’s present state,
the physical probabilities of potentials unforeseen
bending the rays of time to juxtapose new and old;
reality remains a pervasive illusion
evading the grasps of human cognition. Our
consciousness supersedes the premise of us all,
but our curiosity quivers in the breath of the
meaningless; how could something so rare
and inconceivable surmount to nothing more
than the imminent emergence of an empty abyss?
We must never misjudge the reign of the cosmos,
lose all hope that nothing awaits --
this I will not believe.  

From nothing I surged as entropy evermore,
and from everything I share my entities,
the very body I call my own, the breath
I maintain in this cyclical palindrome;
as mere extensions of the singularity’s core,
I find myself in this position of awe,
gazing at the consequences never meant to be seen.

Dreams of a life I now live, just now

I've finally begun to settle in
to this little nook in the corner
of a state I know too well.

I've been able to embed my roots
atop the limestone foundation
beneath the rolling hills of this city.

Upon arrival, I was splintered stones,
but through humid summers and empty winters
I've chiseled a new image from the rubble.

I can finally say I am happy again.

Now, upon an unexpected rejection,
one I have yet to fully swallow,
I await another move to a ground unknown.

I try to avoid any resentment
towards the names I thought I knew
while lifeblood trickles down my spine.

You've forced me to move from my family
for the first time ever; this is not what I dreamt,
but this is what you've forced me to do,

and because of that, forever will I resent you.

One pill,
two pill,
three pill, four,
i self-medicate
and contemplate
the love i can't
reciprocate.

One year,
two year,
three year, four,
i survived
and archived
the love i couldn't
revive.

One time,
two time,
three times, four,
i command
and expand
the love i now
demand.