A wishing dandy,
to blow away all the seeds
and foolishly think that it would make
all of your dreams come true?

Not foolish, no.
It was a mother of seedlings that would grow
and while she may have perished,
her children traveled and sprouted.

That is all I would have wished for; life.

I never rebelled,
I would never yell,
all was well
until I fell.

The folk tales say
that on the sapphire sea
the wind would roar
to the melody
of the siren's song.

The folk tales say
that the sailors were so enamoured
with the music of the seacreatures
that they jumped overboard to join them.

The folk tales say
that the sailors were hypnotized;
in reality, the sea drove them mad
and they dived to their demise.

I wear my scars like tattoos,
dead skin etched into my arm;
O, please know!
These are signs of pain turned to wisdom!
An exquisite display of an oath, a sword placed on both my shoulders as I am rewarded Grace for my sacrifice-
One cicatrice on my knee
from falling off of my red bicycle;
the other from crawling, climbing out of the utter Hell
that I suffered.

You no longer
serve a purpose
because all you are
is an anchor around my ankle
dragging me down,
drowning me in pity
for your miserable soul.

In my home,
I fight alone.

Alone protects me,
I have naught to fear,
for someone will not hurt me
if I remain alone.

the rain smashed against glass,
trying to penetrate the shield,
only to drip down
in a gloomy failure.

a teacup in my hand
is warm, steamy.
i sip the earl grey with a sigh,
looking at the continuous dewdrops
falling icily from the sky.

the extraordinary sensation
of my heart beating far too quickly to be comfortable in my idle body
is a pain that even i, a poet,
may find a hard time describing.
think of it as your body hosting the end of the world.

Alors que le soleil,
précédemment brillant,
était à peine visible,
le crépuscule était jonché
avec des étoiles, l'obscurité
et des lucioles.

In the twist of the seashell,
can you hear it?

The roaring ocean,
the seaguls,
the laughing and splashing?

Well, can you?

The pines stood tall on the alpines,
the snow sat heavily, splendidly,
on the prickly branches
or the top of the mountains.

Bright, big hunks of orange squash
open on a garden with leaves strewn across.
An oak litters withering, crippling leaves
that smell like cinnamon.

A lithe breeze
sweeps the hair
from my face
so that I may
appreciate
the good in the world.

Small and plump,
a slow bite into a fruit
that sings a song of sweet and sour
until you clash into the pit.

Whiskey and metal,
we wear black,
not to mourn,
but to hide.

We will do anything together,
commit a crime together,
solve a puzzle together
die together.
If you jump
into the sea, from a cliff,
of course I would do the same
because we do everything together.

They said
that you had played me
like a fiddle,
they said
that you had played me
like a pawn in chess.

I'm merely a fraud
in the presence of true art,
a measly charlatan.
Alas, my aspirations
to acquire such pure talent
tells me that I may begin a fraud,
but I may earn fame later on.

It's so early,
yet so late.
I wonder,
why am I awake?
What an ungodly hour,
I think,
as I listen to myself breathe
and listen to the leaking sink.

A B S T R A C T

Time, is abstract,
where does the time go?
Does it perish, voyaging to oblivion?
Does it recuperate, recycle?
Where, when, why does it go?
It can go fast or slow.
T'is a fabric, a constant ticking.
Time, is abstract,
and we'll never find the time we lost.

I love myself,
not like Narcissus,
rather likes Artemis
as I am always hunting for validation.

The spruce cries merry tears of sap,
like molasses or honey-
the bark holds no bucket or tap,
and now it's all sticky;
it cries, it stings with pine
as we strut through the forest
as if it were yours, as if it were mine,
let us venture, dearest.

Please,
but your mug on the coaster,
we wouldn't want the coffee
staining the oak.

I fell in love
just as you fell from Heaven;
I never wanted to fall,
and neither did you.
But here I am,
smitten,
and there's not much
I can do.

For a brief moment,
I felt happy.
I laughed, I cried,
I was no longer numb.
For a brief moment,
I socialized.
I talked and chattered
like a twittering bird.
For a brief moment,
I was me again.

1923,
leather cover,
French poetry.

Books lined with years' accumulation of dust,
old ink and an ostrich feather quill,
crippled purple plants on macrame hangings
and mustard yellow couches with wooden legs.
It was my library, my home.

You threatened me,
you said you'd rip out my heart,
but you'll be devastated to hear
that I'm sure I don't have one.

What in the world did you do
to be pushed from the cloudy shores of the Heavens
and fall, wings aflame, into sulphur and hellfire?

The men leave nigh nine,
after sunset brings prism light onto the raindrops,
now dewdrops,
from last night.

I collect cassettes,
little boxes of music
as the tape spins about
in a vintage melody.

You bring me petunias
from your ****** garden,
hoping to hear
what you like.

I apologize,
for I may be broken,
but I am certainly not
a liar.

I cannot tell you
what you would like
to hear,
for I have been hurt
beyond repair.

I once sat, wealthy, proud,
on a throne of velvet and gold.
I wore satin, not rags.
My castle, once made of the finest stone
has since become debris
of a kingdom
that has fallen.

A white fabric,
a curtain, perhaps?
I'm not sure.
It's covered with dust
that floats in the air
of the sunlit room
as I pull it off of my most
prized possesion.
Just the same as I remember;
ivory keys in perfect shape,
ebony keys in between.
A black glaze painted expertly
on fine sprucewood.
The keys are cold
against my fingertips
as they drift mindlessly,
creating song.

Foxglove, for insincerity.
Orange lilies, for hatred.
Geraniums, for stupidity.
Meadowsweet, for uselessness.
Carnations, for disappointment.

You planned this, didn't you?
I understand your loathing for me,
but your loathing for yourself
is amplified tenfold.

Your knowing eyes,
they analyze;
Your curious mind,
ever blind;
Your vast intellect,
a grin of neglect;

You can see,
that may be;
You can spy,
but you will cry;
You can watch,
but you'll be a deathwatch;

You cannot be detective,
it takes the right perspective;
You cannot complete this task,
it would be too much to ask;
You cannot realize,
but you'd be traumatized;

You'd get quite a scare,
you couldn't bear;
It's quite a sight,
you'd get quite a fright;
Playing detective,
it's never fair;
Playing detective,
now that's rare.

you may have suffered
discrimination,
harsh words,
an offense towards your identity,
but remember
to remain
resilient.

i used to hold my head high
my stance filled with pride
but now my neck is aching
because I keep looking back.

What a pity
it would be
if suddenly,
I hear no melody.

It would be bad,
an awful fear,
it would be sad
if I couldn't hear.

Oh,
so taboo,
wouldn't you say?

An act of love,
but then again,
not cherished
like it was in my day.

Two layers of skin,
cries of pleasure,
an elixir of sweat.

Beautiful, truly.

you smell like a witch's storage,
a pantry of spice;
rosemary, basil,
turmeric, corriander.
the smell,
it's spice.

Every time I blink
a new world forms
behind my eyelids
like a screen,
like a dream,
so that,
temporarily,
I can escape.

It was a falling, tingly sensation at first.
And once I opened my eyes, well,
I couldn't believe what they were showing me.

"Oh, hello! Welcome to Hell!
What's your name? Oh, there's the bell!
Tell me your sign,
and I'll tell you mine!"

"Oh, uh, Emilio," I replied, hesitant.

"As the French say,
enchanté.
Persephone is my name,
let me lead the way!"

"It's not what you think,
no fiery pits of blazing brimstone.
There's no torture, torment, and you're surely not alone!"

"Welcome to Hell,
there's plenty of pros,
just don't venture to the well,
don't touch the rose."

"You live normally,
and to Heaven you go,
just as long
as you do all your chores!"

"Oh, take the left,
this is your dorm!
Please, make yourself at home,
you have a long way to go!"

"I beckon you good luck,
come out of your shell!
As I said before,
Welcome to Hell!"

You can attempt to protect him,
but he simply can't be saved.
You are simply a toy,
a pawn in his game.

A bridge of wood and rope
above a canyon filled with water
waits to be crossed.

A fathomless pit under you,
a glorious destination across.
Shall you cross,
or shall you stay?

I'm out of breath
trying to chase you,
but now you've left
like you were supposed to.

I'll mourn in pain
and sob and grieve,
but maybe again
we may meet.