every day, he looked out the window,
his inhibitions toppling over like dominos;
he gawked at the blackbirds, all the same:
he could not tell a friend from a foe.

he never thought he’d go so far -
as to slay ‘the raven’ with a crooked crowbar;
his conscience dripped with sins, and rose -
a thorny heap of fallacies, charred.

he blamed the world for all he was;
convinced in his soul that he had a good cause:
it wasn’t enough to redeem his faux pas, so -
he bore the tag of an ill-fated outlaw.

of all the names, by which he was called,
who knew - one day - he’d cease to show up?
a child dead of his innocence, who
never learned how to -
as they say -

‘grow up!’

a sense of desertion
combined with
a sense of purpose
is a lethal combination;
false, or true.

a gust of wind sweeping through
an abandoned campfire,
in the right direction
(𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦)
will take down the
entire forest.

i never believed i could fly...
yet, the other day,
i found myself 30,000 ft in the air -
yet again -
having a hard time believing
the captain’s reassuring words.

i was stopped thrice by security;
there was so much metal on me,
you could taste it in the air around me.
i could swear the metal detector had
picked up on my insecurity -
as it swiftly brushed against a drop of
sweat at my temple.
the ‘beeps’ might as well’ve been
swear words,
censored.

having already had two hits of the ‘good stuff’
before leaving for the port,
to say i was paranoid would be an understatement.  
‘what if the machine picks up
traces of substance off my sweat?!!’
yep - i did think so.
‘twas bad.

already late for boarding,
i managed to find myself at the gate,
and into the aircraft,
at the indifferent pace of the final announcement.
the air hostess peddled a magazine my way:
i accepted it -  
read it;
then closed it;
it had no substance.

i could feel the turbulence getting louder;
in my head, that is;
there was a pressure difference,
that didn’t feel any different:
‘twas just something that had to be dealt with;
so i split the difference -
i held my breath,
and it let loose - my dread.

the branded seats featured a slogan
from a recent ad campaign by the airline
celebrating its 18th anniversary -
‘clever…’, i thought -
then turned a sour eye to the window,  
having not written it myself.

i saw the setting sun, past the surging clouds -
flares galloping across their shifting terrain
like little kids on a merry-go-round
chasing each other -
too young to realize
it was never meant to be a race.  
i couldn’t help but chuckle
at that radiant sincerity.

for all intents and purposes,
‘twas was a golden hour;
fifty five minutes,
to be precise.

a ;
a .
a ?
some - – —
an ‘
some ( )
a ,
an _
a few ‘ ’ " "
the rare *
the gaping ...
some [ ]
some { }
some !!!
and a healthy :

there you go,
you can write a poem now.

i’m forcing myself to write this.
i hope it’s worth something…
…
..
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
for God’s sake,
someone shut the ******* dog up!

the piano plays a song, sublime:
i believe it is a hateful crime -
to remind someone of a battle lost
fighting for a love, that was out of time.

dined with companions,
who could not care less.
went along for the ride with half a heart,
i confess -
sung a word of praise, or two -
for it’s like a game of chess;
chose my words carefully,
not trying too hard to impress.

i could not keep their company for long -
would not keep lying still - it was wrong;
gave up their lives, in a moment of truth -
raked my soul, all winterlong.  

kissed goodbye to the daylight, i -
gave it up for a different kind of nightlife;
believed - solitude was an inmate,
with a hidden jackknife;
turns out - solitary confinement
is but an oxymoron of life.