For nature walk,
Visit work of arts,
Write poetry,
To soothe my soul,
And make it listen to the surge of emotions I experience.
9/12/2023

come calls beauty
freely partake
of the freely given.

I came as I,
Always believing in myself.
I got married,
And became We,
We built a home,
Had a boy and girl,
We became us.
Us had a story,
With many chapters
Some with sad and some with happy memories.
16/11/2023

A mouse broke its bones
on my neighbor's floor;
I was called in mercy,
as the angel of slaughter.
My heart was the water
in which it drowned.
Days later, the wound
closed when I met Circe:
my silverish lion's stony
fringe burned away in smolder.
I left her starry thigh,
her eyes like cask strength rye;
They live, we sleep - No,
we're awake, and the night is slow.

you left your blueish dress
twisted by the pool’s edge
like a cold monument
to every single misstep
and my heart is overwhelmed
with visions of a dancing grave

via crucis in the morning
carry me to our palisade
while these tiny arcs of light
leave my eyes, breaking easily
and your voice keeps me awake
i believe that i need this

you were wrong
i am nothing
but one more familiar face
amid the pageantry

yet when
she said my friend looked pretty
&
that I smelled nice
I sagged a little.

later that day
i found a message
request
from a soldier in the usa
holding a puppy & a rose
calling me a beauty

I will say,
but my saying is the same as all other things said:

man can be boiled in a ***
till nothing shows but his bleached white bones;
collect a few and build an effigy
to soothe your soul to sleep.

that counterfeit death
formed as a life of empty digits
will haunt you hollow
and mark your children too;

they will never look
upon bags of bridled bones
as hopes to be carried;
but as hallmarks of a blindness
placed squarely in their sight.

I watch dreamers turn to terror
in acts of unbecoming; laughing  
till’ they come across some caesura
that caps their throttled love
shifting into stone.

In observance I sing with a tongue plucked from centuries back,
as an attestant to melody and motion
for those that forget nature
is always dancing.

A forest is only idle
when we’ve lost our time for rest-
in rhythm it sips joy up again
and sheds it in sweat upon a stage of itself
for nothing more than color
and the song of an insect.

Shackled in ambition,
sweet loves tied through in
sorrowful yesterday’s
searching for warmth as in birth;
a thousand becomings,
a thousand boundary lines.