Witchcraft and wine
it comes so naturally,
and now that you’re mine
I’m going to actually
try my best not to lose it.
If there’s a bomb then I will defuse it.
If there’s an offer I’ll just refuse it.
If there’s a card to play I’m going to use it.
Because you’ve got me under

Your blanket of stars and mysteries,
connecting our scars and histories.
In parked cars both sighing mystically
and back to the park where I was to shy to try anything.

Sorcery and scotch
you put me in a trance.
If you took it down a notch,
I just might stand a chance
that I’m not going to lose my head,
even with my cheeks burning red
getting brighter as you quietly said
“I’ll meet you tonight in our bed.”
Depriving me of slumber

With your healing touch and cosmic skin,
I’m within your clutch and freely giving in.
It’s too much and you have yet to begin,
removing my crutch and cleansing me of each sin.

I was warned of street magicians
and cautioned with tales of gateway drugs.
To not take my eyes off no matter the conditions,
because that’s when they tend to pull rugs.
“If you fall for one,
you’ll fall for them all.”
But this time I’m done,
I think it’s last call.

With your witchcraft and wine,
you make it look so divine.

I've been aware
for many a year,
but cut off by him,
for crimes he accuses
for crimes undisclosed,
his silence is wider than
the great oceans,
with no means of passage.
till one day a word,
his brother uses a word
that makes no pretense,
that shocks, stuns, and
force!admits me to a reality,
I, knew but couldn't admit

schizophrenic.

here I am sundered speechless;
as a new form of sadness now
internally prevails, and I am
even more quiet than usual,
contemplative, they call it,
but
I recognize sad/mad in every one
of its manifold disguises, and wonder
just how much, own ingenious genes,
the paucityof my impoverished down~
bringing brought, bought, caught,
contributed to this loss, this onus,
this cross that has no answer to the
                                   *only question that matters,
                                     how much,
                                     am I the guilty party
                                                           ­              the disaster father

a storm in stilettos.
her eyes once burned as brightly
as the neon signs above
shuttered stores.

night is standing in front of Walmart
selling dead flowers.
there are 2 young children with her.
the children are her sister's kids.

(the children are an asset
when you're trying to sell dead roses.)

night has a soul with no address
somewhere in the concrete prison.

she lives with the echo
of every fool
cradling their broken promises
cupped like the wilted roses
held in her hands.

she dances with shadows
and the night bends through her.

the silent witness to the center unraveling.

Turn around and spread lies about me, whisper poison into the ears of others. But mark my words—if I ever hear that you were the one weaving that venom, I will not hesitate. I will snap your neck without a second thought.

Do not mistake my patience for weakness. I watch in silence while shadows twist around you, collecting your deceit like a web of smoke. Each word you speak in my absence will be accounted for.

Every lie you spin becomes a thread, and I am the loom. One by one, I unravel them, tracing each falsehood back to its source. And you, the creator of your own destruction, will find yourself at the center.

Do you think I cannot see the serpent coiled beneath your tongue? Do you imagine I will allow your whispers to slither unseen through the minds of those I care for? Fool. Every hiss is noted. Every secret twist of your lips is remembered.

The night is long, and I have walked its darkness alone before. I have listened to shadows and conversed with silence. And in that darkness, I learned one truth: lies have weight. And their weight will crush you.

You may think yourself clever, spinning tales behind my back, painting me in colors you wish to see. But the canvas is mine, and I will erase every stroke of your deceit with a precision so cold it will make the marrow in your bones ache.

I am not a storm you can weather. I am the breaking of the earth beneath your feet, the crack in the world that swallows those who dare betray me. Step lightly, or you will find yourself swallowed whole.

Do you hear the quiet before the storm? That silence is me, watching, waiting, counting your sins. Every whisper, every murmur, every sly grin you cast at another is a mark on your fate.

Do you believe lies can protect you? That venom will shield you? No. Lies are knives, and I am the hand that will turn them inward, into the heart that thought itself untouchable.

I have walked among ghosts, and I have danced with shadows darker than your imagination. I know the language of fear, and it speaks to me of those who betray, of those who spread poison in their cowardice.

And you, who think yourself safe behind smiles and half-truths, will soon taste the cold steel of reckoning. Your lies will not linger; they will come back, sharper, faster, unrelenting.

Do not test me. Do not think my restraint will last forever. Patience is a luxury I give, not a gift. The moment your treachery crosses my path, it ends. And I promise you—its end will be merciless.

The world does not see the lengths I can go to when wronged. But the shadows know. They whisper of the vengeance I cradle, hidden, silent, inevitable. Do not tempt them to reveal it.

Every smile you wear while speaking ill of me is a mask I will shatter. Every friendly word you utter in my absence is a lie I will expose. You cannot hide behind faces; I see deeper than skin and bone.

Consider your actions. The lies you speak are sparks. I am the fire that will consume the bridge you thought you built. One word, one whisper, and you will fall into the inferno you created.

I am not cruel without cause. I am not wrathful without reason. But betray me, and you will know a darkness you never believed existed. You will understand the weight of the shadows I command.

I am patient, but patience is a thin veil. Beneath it, a storm brews—silent, watching, waiting. And when it breaks, it will not stop until every deceit is shattered, until every falsehood is laid bare.

Do you hear the echo of your lies in the halls of your mind? That is me, reminding you, warning you, showing you the path you cannot escape. Continue, and that echo will become your chains.

And when I finally confront you, it will not be with pleading or debate. It will be with the finality of inevitability, the snap of truth against the lies you hold. Your neck, your pride, your delusions—they will all break under the weight of what you have done.

So turn, spread your poison, whisper your deceit. But know this: I am waiting. Watching. And the moment I hear that you have dared to speak falsely of me, I will not pause, I will not hesitate—I will end it. And it will be swift, it will be absolute, it will be final.

Little green caterpillars
weave raincoats of straw.
They hang silent on pomegranate branches,
they struggle,
they split,
they flutter,
powdered wings trembling into thin air
yet the flight ends
as all wings must.

I row across a lake of ice,
oh little broken boat of mine.
My oars shatter like jade,
each stroke breaking,
breaking against what will never yield.
Snowy mountain peaks shine,
but their cold remains unbroken,
a beauty I cannot reach or touch.

Rain droplets fall,
urging the thirsty soil awake.
Flowers burst in their thousands,
a majestic riot of color
no sooner here,
already fading.
Even bamboo shoots that break the wall
are only reaching
toward another silence.

The afternoon sun presses its furnace,
warm rays against my back,
a fleeting heat,
a drowsy lie.
Storms pass the eaves,
dark clouds bent and bitter,
the smell of renewal lingering in the breeze,
raging against the same north wind
that has never lost a battle.

And I see it, all in this moment:

Life quickens,
life blossoms,
life flames,
only to fall back
into stillness.
All of it beautiful,
all of it vain,
in a single, fleeting moment
those little green Caterpillars in Pomegranate Ashes

Hatred with violence
And the fear within.
Freedom from distress,
Tranquility lingering.

Only fairness,
A state of harmony.
Presence of justice -
A true symphony.

Peace is not a treaty.
It's the truth.