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The stars in the sky, they seem to sear
They are pasted onto a charred black canvas
It's only a matter of time until the glue melts
And what then?-
I think it will rain molten glue
And when it falls,
Who shall it mutilate?
Who shall it blind?
Who shall it bind together?
Why does poetry haunt me?
What does it want from me?
It lurks in the corners of my head.
It hides under the bed.

It whispers in the night so I can’t sleep.
It torments, taunts and creeps.

It used to be so innocent.
But not anymore.

I fear poetry is becoming
something I abhor.
**** you, poetry.
I went away, but it wasn't for play
Certainly, though, it didn't show,
the strenuousness--
head wrapped in gauze and cement at once.
And your bed is your grave
like a mummy entombed.
No sleep is ever enough
because it's too late.
But compared to the rest of the world,
it's your sun-infusing life pod.
As Earth's energy grows
stalks to the sky in nature, emerald green
and in the city, tin men and women wound
with a key
tight to within an inch of their lives
to build pillars of silver and glass,
equal parts plaintive and proud.
The atmosphere and ants proceed
as they would
while I cannot be worshipful, as I should,
to this planet we've been given.
My tributes were never tangible--
whispy as they're twisting to, I fear,
be ephemeral.
So why does a pen or keyboard taps
feel like a moral stand?
They say the Devil's playthings are idle hands
but in reality, my corpse hands
cannot volunteer to any definitive ends.
Though sin of sloth, I'll have to admit.
I hadn't written poetry in too long...
Light lengthens as you spin upon my thoughts
Blinding my darkness as you whirl like a top
As if the sun had settled on you
Scandalously running from the sky
“Doom” The phrase, raving men of the world scream in rants
The same phrase oozed from the sap of plants
And echoed as well from all animal's pitiful pants
For not a single ray stayed to shimmer
There is an island
called Cat-can-du.
And what can I but conclude:
you should heed my advice
and soon take a trip.
The air full of spices,
including catnip!

Cats, cats enchant
with eyes aglow naturally.
But what about cat eyes
that glow magically?
Those orbs are beacons of light
found in the wise, furry faces
of Cat-can-du felines.

As you catapult from one escapade to the next,
these fun-loving critters will lead
you to heights of sight-seeing so grand
with all of their brilliant cat skills.

From volcanic mounts
to far underground,
showing you hidden catacombs,
with eyes as bright
as any high-powered lantern.
Exploring the city's secrets,
side by side seeking out treasures--
it's exactly within their purrview.
To find old and new writings on shadowy walls
recalling hieroglyphics from cat worshiping Egyptians
and stowed-away diamonds, rubies, ancient coins, and scrolls.

A witch's best companion
Black cats have psychic powers,
it's a fact.
But in Cat-can-du exists a breed so rare
that its mythics are mostly all lost.
Perfect telepathy and with crystal clarity, they read
each and every one of your thoughts.

Their fur is so black it is almost blue--
but a very different hue
from the aquamarine waters
lapping at the shore like the cats lap at milk.
Now, it's common knowledge cats don't like water.
But here, oh here, in Cat-can-du
all cats, they swim like otters!

Another kind of magic kitty, has wings
to fly high into the sky, and a mane like a lion,
but in pastels, oh so pretty.
They write songs of daring do like minstrels of old
and will certainly create some of their best
about the adventures you'll share with them!
Now, do you know the name of a creature like that?
Here's a hint:
What if I were to say, it's also a cat with a horn
smack on its forehead?
It's a unicat!

These supernatural furballs
on this island do dwell.
I hope you'll find a way
to get there someday.
But until then, the next best thing
is perhaps just to picture yourself there,
to let your imagination set sail!
Drunk. That tilt-o-whirl
feeling to like; remember
childhood and spinning
around in circles to get dizzy.

Myopia. All’s fuzzy around
the edges, but softened
reality isn’t any prettier.
Not impressed.

Indelible stamp, maybe, on your mind,
if not on mine. Hateful bonding.
Moldy melted bones where there's nothing sharp
to cut through. Inarticulate shame.
Inauthentically uninhibited. Laughing and waiting.

Blanket smoke, the breath of someone else's life.
Daytime: fools apart,
with no excuse, so...
Nighttime: fools together.
A fish or a bird pretending
to be each other can feel ******.
What of those who won't fly or swim?
How does your garden grow?

With don'ts and can'ts,
and dying plants,
And feelings you should not know.

Does it grow too fast,
But never last,
And promise to stay but always go

Have the weeds crept in,
Or have they always been ,
In the places they should not go

Tell me how does your garden grow ?

With can'ts and why's,  
And annoying flys,
And water that does not flow

Tell me why should my garden grow ?

I feed it right ,
Pull weeds from sight,
And all dispite an endless feeling of woe.

Tell me will my garden ever grow?
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