Some nights it
is alarmingly
imperceptible:
an exoskeleton ascends
on iron rivets and steel;
unseen scaffolding tapers
to a steady pulsing point
of phosphorescence—
a mechanical heart
circulating red light
into leaden clouds.

Some nights the air thickens
with cordite, grief, and snow.

Tonight with winter here
we can see the tower’s
beacon blinking through
a tangled scrim of trees
half a mile across town,
and yet even with our
bodies squeezed together
like radio dials in the dark
we are unable to tune it in—
the signal that would calibrate
our estranged transistor hearts.

fists clenched
fingers torqued,
palms reddened

raise up the length
twist tight -the center,
muscle, guns...

feel the power
cheek to cheek
gobsmacked...

I live to see my arms.

Admire me.

I am a work in progress
And each day I chip away
at who I was
and begin to reveal
who I am
I have started a
revolution within my
bones that has pushed
me to my limits
I have shaken the foundation
of my beliefs and have
shouted in the face of my
insecurities
Though I will never
be perfect
I will be
true to my nature

I  hated the scent  of Old Spice and Vick’s
VapoRub in the old couple’s home,
and the stench of ****** diapers

in poverty’s  bedroom, and the stink of
*** and bacon grease in my friend’s
house;  when I remember these

smells I want to throw steel
at glass and cry into
the sun.

Iam a poet
I pull the stars with a string
I shoot the moon with a sling
I form an hurricane with an ink
I make roses stink

Iam a poet
My pen is my favourite toy
With it I prevent Homer's troy
I sell hope through humour
Even when all you have is a tumour

Iam a poet
Reality is my latest fiction
Not forgetting my diction
Mostly I write my mind
Though some find it not kind