there is forgiveness in the mornings,
before the daylight breaks,
before the shadows - grays and blues -
are lightly kissed awake.

there is forgiveness in the mornings,
within my heart and mind,
which still so gently clasp at sleep,
my thoughts still undefined.

there is forgiveness in the mornings,
when all is still and right,
for those of us who'd found no peace,
and had pleaded with the night.

Strikes
Divine greetings
To a world under
Sunder
Good morning
Underworld

We meet again
In the rain

As fond of it
I am
Seldom Earthed
Upon dry plains

Fullness
Action beckons cause

Rumble reverberate
A birth
In a soggy tundra concerto

A beauty lies in the time
Between the lightning
and the
Thunder

That we
are even here,
in this strange
existence, is
incredible enough

but of our peculiarities,

consider love...


You see,
I'll wager
love needs more...

and,
despite knowledge
to the contrary,

when our time comes,

when all
that I have shunned
and scorned, comes
home to haunt...

I will convince

myself, some part
of us endures,

that we go on,

reformed...

Roll right to zero, give your tanks a stir

Fixed star to fixed star, running counter clockwise to stability

Beckoned and bewildered: first move, second chance

This incandescent satellite, so large and bright in the window

Like pieces of refracted light, infinite bulbs turning on

Empyrean, enveloped in moonshine, rendering them fit to recognize God

And should destiny be lunar luminosity and agile reason (or a seller of love)

I'll take to orbit and go for burn, peering through a mental kaleidoscope

To see the altered anima of my thoughts free from the pull of gravity

I first sought the companionship of words
to dream love into shapes I could touch.
The world had become distorted and distant; writing resurrected a need to feel, to chip away at callouses, embrace my soft again. Poetry felt forbidden, decadent, enticing- a trove of pleasurable pain.  Words wrapped around rhythmic  lines framing stories where my wanderlust could journey: beyond the broken fence of normalcy, past the lamppost, to utter obscurity.  

Now, I sleep beneath the exposure of stars, writing the dark, unsettled histories within, territories where only my fingers can navigate their distance. Out in this unknown, I forget my name. I am the faceless gravedigger of my soul, scavenger of lost relics, beachcomber in love with the sea's unbridled fury.