i am going nuts
counting syllables on my
fingers writing this
Mar 23, 2020
Mar 23, 2020 at 7:23 AM UTC
the evil eye rests
as clouds churn and churches sing.
i think of you then.
Jul 26, 2019
Jul 26, 2019 at 6:27 AM UTC
look me in the eye.
tell me that so far,
five weeks,
eight days,
seven hours,
you don’t miss me.
tell me you don’t see me.
tell me you don’t think of me.
whisper to me through the phone.
several thousand miles,
three continents,
thus many seas.
tell me how you feel.
tell me what i don’t know.
yell at me.
kiss me.
burn my tree.
anything at all.
just tell me what we are.
Mar 11, 2019
Mar 11, 2019 at 8:30 AM UTC
my doorway is gold
stained by your lovely voice
say my name again
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 6:42 AM UTC
nineteen eighty-one
her hair is like the sun’s voice
i am blind for her
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 6:39 AM UTC
happiness is the
best medicine.
i take medicine
for happiness.
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 6:14 AM UTC
p o p !
goes the
eyes of
a
goddess
when in
her hand
laid the
mirror.
no such
reflection
she had
looked at,
like a still
before her
—
where is
the pearl
complex-
ion she'd
smooth-
ened out
f o r
herself ?
where is
the eyes
she had
s e e n
herself th
rough for
the past
century ?
"what is
t h i s
malfun-
ction ? "
s h e
asked.
"it is the
i m a g e
of souls,
d e a r
goddess.
it shows
n o n e
but the
t r u t h,"
said the
y o u n g
daedalus.
the dear
goddess
laughed.
a mere
m o r t a l,
pondered
the immo-
rtal, who
d a r e s
tell me
who i am ?
she took an
other look
at her own
i m a g e
—
the too pale
skin and it's
monotonous
effect on her
bland face
—
and then,
she smashed
the imagery
of her own
s l.
o u
Aug 18, 2017
Aug 18, 2017 at 10:54 AM UTC
one.
she tells me words i never
want to recite again. i don't
start sentences.
i become sentences.
two.
the nights pull me in.
it's fulfilling.
they tell me to wipe up the
poison and bury the cloth.
three.
a tree grows from the cloth.
it's leaves are sickeningly green.
something inside me wants
to cuts it down.
four.
i bite into the fruit it bears.
it tastes like warm pie.
it heals my wounds
as i live in fear.
five.
my hours become smiles.
i lumber deeper into the trunk.
fires don't die in there.
six.
i fall for a forest nymph.
she bathes in a river eight
acres away. the river i
bathe in is only an acre away.
seven.
a human is no a match for
a creature woven by nature.
the forest and the river blends.
i cut down the tree while
it's spirit converges.
eight.
my hands are stained with poison.
i flush it down a void. the darkness
replaces what has hitherto been empty.
Aug 18, 2017
Aug 18, 2017 at 7:18 AM UTC
the truth is missing.
a whole town looks
for traces of your
orange red brown hair
after you vanished into
another plane.
the truth is questionable.
you don't know where you are
or how you breathe
or where your flesh and muscle and bones
and wounds have washed away.
was it the other side
or this side?
the truth is stuck.
you push every wall of thin air
and you find that it
is endless.
you shouldn't want to leave.
you can't.
Aug 18, 2017
Aug 18, 2017 at 6:56 AM UTC
a wizard once said
that words in the head
were spoken underwater
like the empty part of a letter.
a man once said
that words in the head
are the words we say,
the attention we pay.
you once said
that words spoken in the head
is a country of their own.
those we say are of an inside town.
so let's forget about the head,
dont think of our problems ahead.
words spoken by the heart
are words spoken to be art.
Aug 18, 2017
Aug 18, 2017 at 6:52 AM UTC