Here I stand, a most gracious host

For though we’ve just met

I’ll quickly bend my spine

And offer a look inside

While the contents may fly errant

I hope the words are read

Risking the tearing of my pages

Over performance and stages

Or the staining of my sleeve

Over the webs spiders weave

But when all is said and set

Those who are transparent

Have more in common with ghosts

You’d think us all farmers who toil
At this vast fertile soil
Tapping each network of roots
For the system that bears the best fruits

Though this is how we communicate
There are better ways to tend
Than seeing trees as disposable saplings
From which to ****** a date

With this smorgasbord of choice, I find
We all suffer a tell tale fate
Of being plucked from the stem
Half-heartedly nibbled upon the rind

Then silently thrown upon the rest
A wave unable to crest
Why not show some purpose on the ranch
Consider the date that was once on the branch

Instead we hear the same sad song
About the forgotten fruit of the palm
Condemned without a word
Left to their thoughts inferred

So maybe farmer’s the wrong term
They care for each flower, seedling, and worm
Creating darkness and dead air
Only leaves one famished and impaired

That said, I never hold delusions of hope
Thinking thumbs are stiff or broke
I’d rather pour myself a glass and toast
To all of the liches, nymphs, and ghosts

Guided by spirits

Swimming in lust

Sweat, saliva, and dried up ***

Here crumpled sheets lead to darkened streets

And the sound of the heartbeat drum

Is replaced by the tapping of feet

How beauty begins to rust

Fairy, muse, or nymph?

Opaque glass, sight unclear

They say the only way to know

Is to hold up a mirror

I was lured to the garden by the scent of fresh berries

With fruit so fresh as if it tended by faeries

I plucked a morsel from an extending branch

And without hesitation, put the pome to my lips

Savoring it for a sweet moment before devouring it whole

Eagerly lapping at my stained finger tips

So enamored I was by each bright sensation

I was unaware of the nettles, whose spines crept and settled

Sinking into my flesh, and poisoning the bone

First there was an itch and then a sharp pain

As I was torn away from what I couldn't lay claim

And what at first seemed a garden was but a damp grave

The plant tags were tombstones

Of others who’d strayed

And as I fell prone from my festering abrasions

My eyes becoming dark and my senses dulled

I realized I was nothing but a number in the faeries' death toll

Te dije una vez que si volabas de mi, te esperaría.

Y si regresaste, te besaría tus alas hermosas aunque te permiten dejarme.

Pero te hiciste humano cuando dejaste que te arrancaran las alas, tirándolos en el piso como pañuelo de papel.

Entonces no volaste de mí, simplemente caminaste sobre la grava para esperar a que tu vida se desenredara.

En ese momento, el mundo perdio una hada para nada.

Y cuando vi tus alas andrajosas, las recogí del suelo, las desempolvé, y las uní a mis espalda.

Sin mirar atrás, tomé de vuelo, a un día nuevo.

Y así, estaba libre de ti.

You gave me the keys to the home you abandoned.