There came a time when I realized the river flowed outwards
The west became Sahara and east Bombay.
The golden chops grinned in greed.
My lips were full in windy cold winter,
and you became hoarding supply-less supply.
Dec 12, 2021
Dec 12, 2021 at 7:24 PM UTC
what’s the law of flight
when do we walk on the sky
when does a feather bloom like cupid wing
bow in hand trying to set a good impression
only to face moons alone at night
i thought i shot for me but i guess i shot for them
who will strike me with their arrow
when does a bow become a boomerang
is the ocean really a river
am i only a bridge
May 10, 2021
May 10, 2021 at 7:00 AM UTC
meet me on common ground,
with a feather & tool of shade in hand
while the birds sync in parallel mind.
let the universe whisper
sweet nothings between our skin.
let the brown flesh merge
like water and land.
may our bodies be a field
of poppies as we dream of once again...
Feb 14, 2021
Feb 14, 2021 at 12:28 AM UTC
i feel like a pine tree
jazz dancing in my roots
body of bark
branches of composite
savor
leaves of creation
the wind blows like a hurricane
though im rooted in the ground
my conifer lie in silence awaiting...
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 9:04 PM UTC
it was on a windy day
the book dismembered on cobblestone
pages whipping in the sky
yet the sun shined bright
Nov 11, 2020
Nov 11, 2020 at 3:29 PM UTC
they’re in a place of lost hopes,
silent drums on weekday vacation,
in rooms full to the brim,
oozing tar,
nightmares on sunny days.
palms mismatched like large and small.
we breathe on different intervals,
you have never seen yourself like me.
i don’t like what i see.
Oct 10, 2020
Oct 10, 2020 at 6:23 PM UTC
Old age doesn’t turn a new body into an elder.
Only when you write on mirrors do you learn
your skin aint rough yet.
You made of glass and bone and I can see through tints.
Your flesh is baby soft,
and your mind lacks a room of study,
so when you are gifted new books,
you don’t know where to put them,
you don’t know how to read them,
you burn them.
Your mirror is still glass,
the aluminum silvering is still in a stone,
and the pen is somehow in my hand.
Oct 6, 2020
Oct 6, 2020 at 5:18 PM UTC
warm wind tunnels full of water lilies,
filling my cottage with fumes of nature,
fresh baked goods prepared in my kitchen,
the hum of inaudible voices echo through thick log walls,
silence fills this place as my phone dings in the far corner,
the smell of flowers and warm cookies fills the house,
gripping onto wood and string,
pressing and strumming as the peaceful vibrations fill the house,
I sea the occasional passing car as it shakes the entire house,
distant sirens exit and enter my ears,
I fill at home in this stillness,
another ding comes from my phone in the corner,
I walk into my kitchen and pour a cup of tea,
raw honey,
the table is stacked with board games,
the game system sits in the corner,
another ding,
succulents fill the shelves,
it is peaceful, hear...
Apr 5, 2020
Apr 5, 2020 at 2:21 PM UTC
there are people i thought i was close to,
friends family etc.
Now they act as if I don’t exist,
as if all my memories were a hallucination.
I write them letters with no response
I hesitate to reconnect
because speaking to the seemingly dead,
destroys my peace
Jan 8, 2020
Jan 8, 2020 at 5:12 PM UTC
i’ve placed myself in three shapes...
encased in a body of mud...
wiggling through cracks to see what was...
semi escaping chaos to find another...
...halted in time
Dec 28, 2019
Dec 28, 2019 at 10:05 PM UTC