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May 2018 · 324
Inqhawq May 2018
There's whole clouds of it, it rains in trickles and monsoons. Rivulets of potential across a hand on VHS, DVD, Blu-ray, streaming now! Roiling in your drying eyes, pouring through the dragnet. The whispering stacks bathe in the flood; their subjects' tributaries building an ever deeper ocean.
Jun 2016 · 519
Inqhawq Jun 2016
Take these strains
Meld them into the new organism
Birth a violent howl across the skies

Anything more alien
Would be an ally
Something holding alone
Against the dead sky

How long?
Howl on

Examine the patterns
Graph them over countless lifetimes
Find the answer to gods and men

Anything more alien
Could fracture the skies
Nothing folding into bone
Making ribs into why

How long?
Howl on

Theres a spark in your lungs turning your words to fire, your dragon's breath in my veins. Ice remains, hardened against the heat, but nothing stops these aches and pains. Retroactive pollination, interactive sublimation, you're going to see me dry.

How long?
Howl on.
Some ******* I spewed over music and bad *****
Jan 2016 · 378
Inqhawq Jan 2016

I don't know
If I want to lose
The ambition
That loneliness creates.

I'm so desperate
To be not alone
That I've begun work,
Real work
On building everything
I want.

But what for?

I want to
Share these wonders
That I make and see;
I want someone
To share something incredible
Right back at me.

I haven't been alone
Like this
For so long,
Not since I was first growing up.

Remember that?

When the first loves
Made it Oh so clear
That you had been
Missing out on
Something great,
Some kind of shared treasure?

You were addicted
To the discovery.

You spun a web
of adventures,
Seeking to capture
A spirit
Of similar wanderlust.

There were a grand
And storied few.

But I always faded
Towards the less ambitious
And wholly, entirely
Too comfortable
Version of myself.

Whose failure was it?

Mine, probably always mine.
I chose so poorly
What to love in them
And what to be in me
And now,
Look at me.
Nothing's left
Except for...


... My ambitious need to build a palace for someone who may never arrive.

When they arrive,
Will I cease
All this work towards
Getting there?
Will I begin
To be lazy
Nov 2015 · 1.1k
Inqhawq Nov 2015
Wear me as a diamond ring
Share me as a failed pairing.

Born of ash,
I am a star filled memory
Around your finger,
you know I'm forever me

The geometry of 'we'
Still troubles me
Is it me and you
Or just you?

Am I just turns for the worse
Thoughts for you to stuff in your purse

I've got to face it,
I see your face in every facet
In your eyes I'm a mirror maze,
I hold you hypnotized and amazed

smoke and mirrors
While I go from
Smoke to mirrors

I'm just a bit of carbon.
Did you know you can have your ashes compressed into a diamond? This is about that, sort of.
Aug 2015 · 1.7k
Wandering Islands.
Inqhawq Aug 2015

Madness passed Misery
and bumped into me.
We travel together now,
Islands lost at sea.

Ahead, Tomorrow rides,
pinned to the sunrise.
Yesterday dogs us,
marking our tides.

Empty atolls pass
on windborne paths.
Now homes to only bones;
more dead outcasts.

The Ocean never laments
or attempts to make sense.
We just wander across it
until living relents.


Lagoon to lagoon,
harboring my tether.
Giving me shelter
from daily storms.

Lost in the masts,
a paper boat.
Taking on water...
as expected.

A lucky hook
snares the soggy craft.
Dried and opened:
a cry for          .

When no reply came,
a folded flotilla
Whitened the water,
a cry now screaming.

This harbor now empties.
My travels resume.


The sea fades to gulls, and then,
a delta rushed with mountainfulls.
I've become a salmon fighting upstream,
an island lost in a riverbed dream.
Too bad I can't add pictures. Made some lovely maritime doodles when I wrote this back when.
Apr 2015 · 2.1k
Cheating death
Inqhawq Apr 2015
Like a bullet in love with the gun.
Breaking silence just to run
Flesh is found
But the embrace of steel was better.

It's so ****** messy.
I should have stayed home.
Love lost, flesh found
Mar 2015 · 1.3k
Withered Willows
Inqhawq Mar 2015
: To the needy willows at the stream... Take the last wisps of life and excitement from me, they are yours, I am but a paper boat, lost in the current; barely afloat. Shy tendril, grasp the manes of dead lions; imaginations' last scions. Tomorrow the light of winter fades slow; left fed to keep dying hearts aglow. It is not the end for those; just indecipherable prose, left for when a mind makes sense.
Mar 2015 · 975
Cardboard Castaway
Inqhawq Mar 2015
For a while now, I've had a thought swimming alongside my awareness, a fin cutting the water as I wait for it to save or **** me. Dolphin or shark? It came near enough for me to make out its shape recently.

**** or save? I know at least that it wasn't a fat guy with a prank fin and a snorkel. It closed on me and I realized what is most painfully missing.

When I am touched, it is simply that.

Dreamlike, my finned pursuer still refused to reveal its whole shape to me, and instead became the emotive image of a hand lovingly reaching for my face.

That small act of love is gone.

It means so much to me, that tenderness, that I ruined the last ship I sailed. I tore every beam apart in my search for what was just a three-legged spider deep in her darkest corner. So I burned down the good ship Treble and used the remains to float away.

I drifted to an atoll and chose a meek *******. It would certainly do, what better place to spend my remaining balance of time?

The breezes whispered and wouldn't stop.

Tides eroded and regrew my ******* until the even rhythm became inherently strange. So steady.

Evenly, unknown, eternity.

When the bottle washed up, I jealously guarded it from the *******. I should not have called the ******* Wilson.

Apparently Wilson controlled the weather.

Several gales and at least one hurricane punished my foolish hide. But the bottles kept coming, encouraged by the raging.

Shortly after, I learned to surf.

Well, I wasn't good at it. And Wilson didn't approve. It only took a little inclementation to sweep me away. If Wilson did control the weather, she must have been exhausted by then.

What a flimsy board.

It was my shield, held wearily up against the hungry ocean. Before my encounter with the amorphous beast, I was just drifting, again, unsure what quixotic urge took me so far.

And then the fin arrived.

**** or save?
The cliche about never knowing what is held until it's gone. It's haunting, harrowing, and honest.
Oct 2012 · 823
Inqhawq Oct 2012
life beats hard in my neck
your pulse creates a duet
when my melody becomes erratic,
will you be pounding my chest?

— The End —