In holy hollow, head reacts-
bodies, bathed in black, attract.
Shredded shrapnel scraps attack-
muscles move, skin contracts.
Hand advances, arm retracts-
concrete coma cracks.
Sigh in silence; stolen, strained...
In darkness, nicotine nerves still remain;
in subtle movements, we shift blame.
Unbridled, no refrain.
Consciousness in conflict, I cave-
but wariness stays, gained and saved.
In morning's mourning, mind a mess-
condemned in quiet, I get dressed.
To bedroom door, reason regressed,
from stitch of pain so firmly pressed.
Not a single moment's rest.
Temptation's torment, just a test;
in contrast, crime I couldn't confess-
though none to give, I've something less...

One thousand birds emerge-
unheard words purged
from fractured sidewalk to curb, stirred;
unkindness of ravens or crows murdered-
undeserved verbs, do footsteps further?
In daydreams, dawn's delusions offered-
though pavement portions promises, pressured.
In sandstone sections, divisions patterned-
loud nerves unassured, still soil's upturn preferred.
Gaps passed, no glance back, feathers furiously flap-
beaks biting, talons lashing tracks.
Dazed in morning maze or midnight's hapless lapse;
confusion, clouded, clothes to combat dusk's cold contrast...
numb, nothing felt from stitches, suture, cut, or ****.

"you're trash"
you would say
as you smiled my way
with a look in your eye
that said
"boy, what a guy"
a wonderful look that said
"you're wonderful" instead
a look that froze time
and stopped my heart on a dime

"you're dumb"
you would mutter
and cause my heartbeat to stutter
with a look in your peeper
that said
"my, what a keeper"
a stupendous look that said
"i want you" instead
a look as powerful as it felt
that caused my cold heart to melt

No matter our race or color or creed
or way of life or species or breed.
No matter our height or girth or scent,
we all hate Donald because Donald is a ******* ****.

If insomnia were a bicycle, I’d ride it
As I watch my yawn open eye
Wide awake I’d smell the roses
trace their spikes and wear their lipstick
And pardon me if dreamers can’t smell it
A fever akin to a violin’s soundest
Cutting right through 4AM
with a blade of flicker and undestined dim
I’d ride past the bus stop I walk to everyday
Hang my black coat and never claim it again
Ride past the point where I’d make it to work on time
But my boss to never see my face again
And if the hour hand were any slower
I swear…

I’d finally meet you
And when I do finally see you
our glass cages will then shatter

Out of the wreckage, a new kind of disaster

A happy one
but I’d have to warn you

I don’t have time for greeting cards
There are no lungs in paper
Life is
a box of limbs
And that,
I would open
And you bet!
That, I’d claim
If insomnia were a bicycle, I’d ride it
Straight into the sunset, I’d watch the sunrise

It seems that time
Like a thousand things
Leaves us with soiled
Broken wings
To tick onwards
Towards that every growing
Light
To fly into the abyss of
That unending
Night