Far away

inside and out

Alone in my pain

cant scream or shout.

Wish I had a person

that i could call

spill out my heart to

anytime at all.

So many disappointments

too many misses

so much loss

not enough kisses.



Wish there were memories

of happy things too

not just losses

and feeling blue.



Tried to do it right

make dreams come true

just sad memories

when i am with you

They say that you are the lung of the world
An umbrella for the street light.
I know you can, and this I trust
Turn my bad habit into something of use
Unlike dear reflection, contemplation under
The stars.

At the concourse of many lives,
How much spite you must have caught,
I ‘hale a generation’s lot
Could I ask cleanliness that follows me
Into silence? Surely in the summer of its
Passionate body—
Surer towards its autumn.

Esoteria, this marble body wrought of burden
Of the Halcyon days, breathéd in these coarser ways
I peer rapture ‘pon the retina at what you sought
And won to capture.

I see my kind and its soul in artful craft and oil
Marvel at an author’s hand the suffuse horror
Beauty demands. How fickle the smoke of
Inspiration. My torture scratched half on leaf

Come as these came, fleeing we for it Eden
Burned and pacified this trembling hand needn’t pacify
The true desire of my own a prize for heart
‘gainst, I know the pillar lone.

So ebb and flow melancholia go, ‘twas that despair
Walked hand-in-hand down the ****** gates, no worse
For wear, that belle danseuse undone and bare
Morose lines drawn away in the scope of stare.

My future was so painted thus, these seconds were
A stronger pulse, no stranger to my wicked book
But I know difference; set I to find the charm and
Awe her radiance inspired.

Lo, it was not painting nor poetics, but the hand
Sleepy eyes, such confound this tongue and scene
Pathetic—this waylayer of my woe escaped
With the point of her toe, blind to things as I and drapes.

More joyous I couldn’t be, before aesthetics
As such let be and seeking to seek her out
As fiction demands content, I stay devout
Between pillar lone and the crashing wave of dreams

Come pouring forth. Shall I mar this angel,
Crestfallen, who, nay, suffers for awe?
Yes, I must for fear of my echo’s mate so cherished
Is fate for beauty so raw in moment’s time I’ll speak of love.

Her gaze is passed from room to wall as a spectre,
I, unseen and all, reach out, frozen as David to
Frustrate a period in done, unfinished verse
Still climbing, but to now a leveled curse.

‘T’is fitting a hand as mine would rightly ruin
No eye, nor brain, nor mouth a cage, my hex
An artist seeks Elysium so truth to coincide—
I’m vexed—as love and word step from my life
In tow, they from the page.

Perhaps even these can’t sustain the ecstacies
Ecstacies of the unlovely as I at portrait’s gaze
Stand and profane a sacred she or there,
Genius in the gallery still prey for Esoteria.

10:20 AM**
utensil song
repeats a sleepy dirge
like i repeat another day
of walking in a circle

The sun does arise
In that aubade way
It spills out over petals
Infinitely
So silent but a discourse:
A camp of brook and pale-freckled
Leaves,
A clamor of engines
Escaping the scene
Too busy, too distant
To actualize their hum.
At the intercession of wood and modern man
I stood dutiful, tenuous,
Apt to standing still
‘Tween what has my calling
And what, my will:
This aesthetic simplicity, resplendent awe
Stays with the punch-card
On my way to work
But I know I’ll stand at the edge
Once more.

this hum drum existence we live
working ourselves to the bone to have the bills paid
clock in, clock out
repeat

sometimes each momemt feels magical,
each one wrapped with infinite possibility

some days, life feels like utter futility
a grind till I get to the leisure or buy the next thing
I am supposed to work myself for

I am a clog in the machine of captilism,
but I know something that makes all this
futile monotony not lead to slow death of my soul

the secret I treasure in my heart is that my worth does not lie
in my production or function.

I have value, because I have the breadth of life flowing in me.
and when my heart connects to the bredth of life in you,
then two hearts transform futility into beauty
I realize for a moment I am not alone,
that a meeting of hearts sparked hope
and transformed each other from dehumanized
objects into persons