Curled, a cradle, cusping
silky supple soft,
aloft rustling skin
prickling static afterthought.
Nose in, mouth out,
internal furnace burning hot,
bitter winter giving way
to flame that’d dim for naught.
Feb 11, 2021
Feb 11, 2021 at 1:29 AM UTC
Now I lay me down to sleep, mind naught but unwound thread,
the nearly risen sun prepared to rear its ugly head.
No mowing, honks, or rooster’s crow, but sounding in their stead:
my racing thoughts, your steady breath, all time suspended here in bed.
Dec 20, 2020
Dec 20, 2020 at 3:53 AM UTC
Thread counted in linen robes,
his thatch of hair an areole.
Armored tight against the world,
with metered calm and stoicism.
Freckles, scars, lashed eyelids.
Both hard and soft,
all that he is.
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 5:05 AM UTC
Hazy street lamp light,
illuminating nocturnal spirits or otherwise
the ghost of a fire burning low,
all green tinder and ember,
its tender lain down
for the night.
Nov 30, 2020
Nov 30, 2020 at 11:10 PM UTC
Self-effacing, holy,
a graven image flourishing
in pleasure, or pain.
The hierarchy of mind
oscillating wildly behind
smoke screen, or curtain.
Uncertain mirth blanketing
kinetic barren earth
like ash, or rain.
Nov 21, 2020
Nov 21, 2020 at 12:14 AM UTC
Like a monster
wearing my own skin,
I question yet again
whether the cries I upend
are signs of intelligence or
the incoherent utterances
of an imposter begging
to be let in.
Nov 14, 2020
Nov 14, 2020 at 1:09 AM UTC
My diadem, a sovereign crown,
does on your gentle fist lie down
Amidst your fingered palm, affixed,
the beating of a holy sound.
Though betwixt a dormant grip
my heart fears not a fatal slip:
the pacifism of our tenderness
a guard against that wilderness.
Oct 25, 2020
Oct 25, 2020 at 8:36 PM UTC
Midnight train barreling past
what once was oak and magnolia,
now a smattering of stumps, resigned,
drumming the regular (fog)horn
into the haze of passing time:
"I am coming.
I am going.
I will not stop."
I watch and wonder how I too
was so quick to yell "Timber!"
and fall onto the tracks.
Apr 8, 2020
Apr 8, 2020 at 2:23 AM UTC
The sirens
are screaming.
The dogs are singing too.
While worlds outside are fleeing reality,
totality of being reduced to our five rooms and me and you,
we re-honeymoon.
Mar 30, 2020
Mar 30, 2020 at 11:06 PM UTC
I'm handling an unprecedented change
– in modern times, anyways –
with much more elegance
(or at least competence)
than I would have guessed.
I'm much too stressed to properly introspect,
but I'm occasionally caught questioning if this is the greatest story of my time –
if I should really be hiding out
(crying and nursing a Modelo and lime)
or out finding what our story is
and documenting it for those who come after this – if anything comes after this.
We're all just a bunch of kids
standing on the beach
with the waves crashing on us,
all ******* undertow:
sea salt and ocean spray.
Child's play drowned
under the realization
that nature is so ******* big
and that we are so miniscule
in retrospect:
how can humanity,
practiced at circumventing empathy,
come together to weather this calamity?
Is this just an illness
or a symptom of a sickness
that's been waiting to arrest our
brutish tresspassing
since we stole our first trembling breaths
and didn't give them back?
Mar 21, 2020
Mar 21, 2020 at 11:58 AM UTC