A secret kept, sweet as this, is a secret most worthy of the gods’ approval

I am a canvas bag expanded to the most outward possible tension:

the second state of matter
bypassing material, converging into an
IV drip of the most innocuous effusion

I love listening to music so much.

I can’t clearly explain the sensation: sweeping waves of emotion cascade through my being. Delicately wiping away any negatively-charged flotsam that had been wading through my consciousness, music pervades.

Lucky are the few who live their life inundated with the languorous luxury of music’s embrace.

What if I just like reading better?
Can one even be a professional reader?

Im so full, pouring from a creative tap
Yet I can barely write, or create a starting draft
My heart is flooding like a pipeline: one poorly designed
Can someone help me make sense of these dreams of mine?
Thinking with all my might but there’s no glimmer, no light
Hard, Im struggling to keep sustaining this fight with my
Self, I keep my mind in decent health but im still
Drowning, under the weight of this creative wealth

A misplaced angel dreams of lush facades,
Marinated in an amber-honey glaze that
pools into the streets, homes and
hearts of its radiant inhabitants

I wish to rip that page
from Dorothy Gale's book,
heel clicking until I am back
in that primal womb of sunshine

where I am able to soak in
the richness of natal nutrients
conceived for my angeleño heart

I am a fly
attracted to your nacreous glow.

                                           Just swat me already.