My friends hid their ******* magazines.
I hid my poetry,
my dog-eared philosophy books,
tucked behind jackets and empty lunchboxes.
They shared their pages
smirking,
pointing,
laughing.
I sat beside them,
nodded at the curves I couldn't feel,
while words burned holes in my chest.
We all spoke English.
But I never understood a word.
Not theirs.
Not mine.
What the ******* hell is wrong with me?
"****" and "Hell"
they stuck to my tongue,
became my Favorite prayers,
my rebel hymns,
my answerless questions.
Fifty-five years.
And nothing has changed.
Still hiding poems.
Still faking laughs.
Still wondering:
What the ******* hell is wrong with me?

My cat is very angry with me.

I didn't buy the golden collar, just the silver one.

Stupid me.

I thought it wouldn't notice.

Silly me again.

Never get it right with Royalty.

Peep show...

Love. Lust. Lost.

Love Lust Lost is not a show.

It's an immersive life theatre experience.

Come in.

Don't be a judge.

Support what might confuse you today.
For it may reveal truth tomorrow.

Love and lust are smoke.
Fumes rising from the fire of lost in sins.

But from smoke...

We sometimes see the light.

Wide-open spaces
There is no outside in this circle,
No edge to which ends can rest.
Everything in you
the street, the wine, the noise of shadows
speaks of you.
Do not be ashamed of joy.
Let it bare your heart like a baby in the rain.
Let it tremble for the trembling of a plum,
Or a sigh that escapes your lungs
Like an orphan angel.
Close the eye that sees,
And open the other that waits from beyond the light.
Kneel.
And do not fear breaking.
The cup in your hand
Is nothing but the illusion of fullness.
Let it fall.
Let it spill.
For the hunger you thought was a ****** call,
Was the return of an invitation
From you...to you.
No one emerges from the maze.
We only change the shape of the circle.
Forget what was lost.
Be what is given.
Be water when thirst is forgotten.
Why do you walk
in a cell without walls?
Listen...
There is music that cannot be heard.
A tune formed
from your fall.
So fall.
Fall some more.
For you are destined
to expand.
YES…

My lady

I am not your slave, Nor bound to the wine I sip-But if I must surrender, Let it be to your lips, not the cup.

To My Red Pen
When did you grow so gentle?
You, once sharp with correction
Marking every stumble
A judge in crimson ink
Now you spill like sunlight
Waltzing across the page
Not to scold
But to sing
What the hell changed—and why?
I'm left wounded, wondering
When right began to feel so wrong?

Do not be sad
For fate is inevitable,
What’s destined will find its way.
The pens have dried,
The pages have been folded,
And every matter has already been settled.
So your sorrow changes nothing
It neither hastens nor delays,
Neither adds nor takes away.