That last piece

of love

left today

fading

out as I watched

The flame out.

cold took it's place

such pricking cold

when the mind

forgets love

it begins to hack away at the soul

unless you apprehend

your head with

the justice of your heart

it will make you cold

and thin

and empty



kinyopoetry.com

High synth notes

Japanese thunder

you amaze yourself



Walk with headphones

through grass patches

and brightly lit streets



heavy petroleum clouds

nigerian gutter feast

of trash and telephones



prepaid cards

litter homes floors

in cardboard sandals



shuffling past pubs

London clenched ribs

teeth breathe heart beats



Kick old orchestras

through instrumental mixes

modernity insanity




kinyopoetry.com

Brightly lit screens,

in the midst of my clutter and chaos.

I’m half man half machine,

my soul pours itself through these electronic windows.

Other streams reflect back at me,

from other souls raging on their own seas.

No wisdom only knowledge,

I still sit and study in a followers college.

A constant balance of quantity and quality,

measuring the weight of those who follow me.

and await the words of my interpreted prophecy.




kinyopoetry.com

Even if I were to sleep forever,

I’d soon become aware of my dreams,

and as my desires entered the scene,

they’d be upset left alone, unfulfilled, undefined,

unrefined a waft upon unremembered things,

but there is still hope in the rise,

in the lifting, in the morning,

in the joy of the waking sun.




kinyopoetry.com

Life is a mirror,

reflecting the heart placed

on it's placid surface,



Time is tabula rasa

7 layers of water stacked through

perpendicular dimensions,

and yet no two parallel.



An apple fell from a tree,

through six dimensions of man

and invented gravity;

now there is a black hole somewhere,

and the only way to escape it is to

release all matter,

and to become even less corporeal

than light.




kinyopoetry.com

If her fierceness be tamed

then let the world end

I’ve seen enough of complacent men

to know that shouldn’t be one of them

A wild thing is enough on it’s own

the only suitable home for the living



For if she be the sea

then I’ll be the clouds

and if she be the wind

then may I be allowed

to sail on into eternity



kinyopoetry.com

Why even still call them people

aren't they more like things

and even then what sort would they be

even trash we don't throw out onto the streets

but maybe they stand

as gatekeepers

to our humanity

allowing men to choose who they are

by how they see the homeless people


kinyopoetry.com