is it curious that we spare our souls
through poetry,
but remain a closed book to our "family"?

Shrouded in this mystical darkness
The tenderness of fog a good company
The winter silence reinventing its language
The inception of tears suspended
How wonderful to love everything as it is
Like trees love the patience of earth

tortured poet
I sometimes am,
when all thoughts
and motions once clammed,
convulses through me;
vibrations from a soul, man,
within.

when I notice
and lean in,
words spew out;
liberating me
from deep yearning.

brain signals for blood:
a freight of the past revs to life;
generational curses come on board the ride
with their hefty baggage,
and roughneck IDs;

the nervous conductor lets them on -
offers them a ticket, and sighs -
‘this too shall pass.’

Anime fetish
a Hiroshima on Disney
Eyes
I see eyes
with pupils and
and the sclera...
but no trident
and ambiguity of
grey... as there is no
world: nor death
to speak of
whether
blue, brown or green...
but such is the love delta:
triangular... ancient whim
wish and more...
Of Rome... ancient times:
fatherly surrogacy
I welcome you
with bow not bouw
and
the knee...

Cat curl
he unfurls
A black rose
with tiny toes

Each one thorned
and he grows
to a puffball

Sunrise
the alarm goes
Cats day no more
time to curl and snore