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.

I can see you
But only in my imagination are you complete

Moisture, madness mixy make
Tendrils find and *****
Into being; stones you’ll break
Minerals be your hope

Energy do take from me
And always be my child
In this new plane, which bares my name
You’ll never be defiled

Now reach, expand all through this land
Embrace all on your way
Do not propitiate my dear
Go living as you may

A single pixel point of light
In warm and dank, rich dark
I tread with disposition mild
And countenance so stark

Enveloped in effluvium
The senses grow too dull
Emotions try but do in vain
This darkness always culls

So be this place; so be its pow'rs
Its pangs touch me not much
Be it friend or be it foe
So am I in its clutch

The water here is dense and deep
The same as when he came
That young and dulcet miller boy
Who sought to drown his pain

Still we offer an array
Of anguish to be kept
By this old bächlein full of warmth
Embracing all our heft

Gathered in a single point,
the mind seeks to expunge
what it has never been taught
to hold

an ostentatious show is employed,
but free will is an illusion here

perhaps I will wait