i’ve never been stronger
never been so weak
never felt such fire, blistering heat
my throat too clogged to speak
danger surrounds me
why don’t you surround me?
ground me with your anchoring arms
do not let me drift too far gone
ground me with your anchoring arms
guide me like the north star

I've been finding myself more
in the arms of uncertainty and nostalgia lately.
Its warmth cascades down my back
like hair made of gold and silk,
draping its familiarity over me
in the form of weary exhaustion.

And yet, when I get too close,
it holds me painfully tighter;
or pushes me away.
Forcing me to feel the dreary shiver
of winter all over again.

Perhaps this affinity surmised
was nothing more
than a suffocating disguise;
its hands holding mine
as if they were akin
to the bequeathed stars above.

I intend to abandon its presence,
as it did to mine;
but then I find it knocking
on my door once more.
And what else shall I do,
than let it in?

When the drop is steep
And stomach needs filling
Not wanting to let you down
That feels unavoidable
Chasing affirmations for myself
Want to wake up earlier
Just tend to fall asleep late
Started to notice the flowers more
Maybe because they have blossomed
Doesn’t always feel like that
Winter dragging into spring
Autumn death apart from living
Feeling tired spiralling out of control
Back inside the same confines
You used to spend when you were young
Still very much the same kid
Just with a growing responsibility
Weighing heavy upon my chest
Armour which protects and limits
Trying to break the chains which jangle
Feet dragged walking the city streets
Wanting to say hello rather just rake the leaves
Go about my work in silent peace
Enjoying the solitude of the garden
Tired of not crying would like some tears
Weeping like a child loses its appeal
As you realise what you have to do
Need to take the initiative and start living
Make something of myself

thus concludes a text
from a dear friend whom
I have never met, but this a,
concluding statement is
both convulsing and
uncontained

autumn is a her, a self-selected
gender unique, that picks its
own pronouns, pronunciations,
for women greet us with
warmth+chill skill
combinatory, to
make ordinary
our daily green
reform into
a multi~variable aristocracy of colors,
a forest of expressions,
each a statement leaf,
stating look at me,
I’m transformed, resurrected, disguised,
though essence unchanged, for
I am the possibles of ad
infinitum and I am:
not-nearly as potent
as the sparks of god
within a human being

3:58am
10-20-24

Mountains of pillows,
Soft sheets,
and warm covers,
couldn't bring you into my arms.

Wrinkles and sunken silhouettes,
remind me of what we once had.
Now you only **** me
when the calories and lust hit your gut.

I hate sleeping alone,
you won't help me resolve the issues
that block my way to you.
What we once had.

Washing machines drain the fabric of you
in every cycle
One more day my body forget the tenderness of you
and your loving arms.

Knowing neither good nor evil but just what is
The science of being is to flow to reach goals
For which you're free to choose and dream
Armed with wits and strength to learn and strive
Never failing, always believing, of indefeasible spirit
Bowing to no one but yourself as justified
For you're always higher today than yesterday

Dud Bomb!
The worker was moved from the explosive mixing shop
Into the bomb assembly shop to see if he could manage
Explosive mixing was a fine art like producing wine
He used the wrong ingredients twice and was out
Given a last chance in the assembly shop
The most important job in the entire bomb factory
Ordnance production was hard difficult work
Not every worker could manage under pressure
Yet keep the error free high skill level alive
The batch of explosive he made still worked
It went bang but at only 50% of its potential
When a bomb exploded it needed full yield
Faulty weapons could cost the Allies the war
If the worker had no issues assembling bombs
Things were back on track for war production
If he proved incompetent he was drafted
Into the infantry where the action would be hot!

I kiss you as if to confirm you are here. With me. Not going anywhere.


To confirm your presence.


I kiss you as I kiss your hands, as I rub your hands, massaging them to make sure they are real. In disbelief, perhaps that it is your hand in mine and that I have the pleasure of holding it.


I run my fingers down your back, soft, your arms, sturdy. I clutch a wiry coil of hair, yours, in my fist.


I smooth your face. I kiss your face.


It is soft. It is safe. It is kind. It is right.